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The Ragman

FineLinen

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The Rich Family In Church

I'll never forget Easter 1946. I was 14, my little sister Ocy was 12, and my older sister Darlene 16. We lived at home with our mother, and the four of us knew what it was to do without many things.

My dad had died five years before, leaving Mom with seven school kids to raise and no money.

By 1946 my older sisters were married and my brothers had left home. A month before Easter the pastor of our church announced that a special
Easter offering would be taken to help a poor family. He asked everyone to save and give sacrificially.

When we got home, we talked about what we could do. We decided to buy 50 pounds of potatoes and live on them for a month. This would allow us to save $20 of our grocery money for the offering. Then we thought that if we kept our electric lights turned out as much as possible and didn't listen to the radio, we'd save money on that month's electric bill.

The Best Month Of Our Lives

Darlene got as many house and yard cleaning jobs as possible, and both of us babysat for everyone we could. For 15 cents we could buy enough cotton loops to make three potholders to sell for $1. We made $20 on potholders. That month was the best of our lives.

Counting Our Money

Every day we counted the money to see how much we had saved. At night we'd sit in the dark and talk about how the poor family was going to enjoy having the money the church would give them. We had about 80 people in church, so we figured that whatever amount of money we had to give, the offering would surely be about 20 times that much. After all, every Sunday the pastor had reminded everyone to save for the sacrificial offering.

The day before Easter, Ocy and I walked to the grocery store and got the manager to give us three crisp $20 bills and one $10 bill for all our change.

We ran all the way home to show Mom and Darlene. We had never had so much money before.

That night we were so excited we could hardly sleep. We didn't care that we wouldn't have new clothes for Easter; we had $70 for the sacrificial offering.

We could hardly wait to get to church! On Sunday morning, rain was pouring. We didn't own an umbrella, and the church was over a mile from our home, but it didn't seem to matter how wet we got. Darlene had cardboard in her shoes to fill the holes. The cardboard came apart, and her feet got wet. But we sat in church proudly.

I heard some teenagers talking about the Smith girls having on their old dresses. I looked at them in their new clothes and felt rich.

When the sacrificial offering was taken, we were sitting on the second row from the front. Mom put in the $10 bill, and each of us kids put in a $20.

As we walked home after church, we sang all the way. At lunch Mom had a surprise for us. She had bought a dozen eggs, and we had boiled Easter eggs with our fried potatoes!

Late that afternoon the minister drove up in his car. Mom went to the door, talked with him for a moment, and then came back with an envelope in her hand. We asked what it was, but she didn't say a word. She opened the envelope and out fell a bunch of money. There were
three crisp $20 bills, one $10 and seventeen $1 bills.

Mom put the money back in the envelope. We didn't talk, just sat and stared at the floor. We had gone from feeling like millionaires to feeling like poor white trash. We kids had such a happy life that we felt sorry for anyone who didn't have our Mom and Dad for parents and a house full of brothers and sisters and other kids visiting constantly. We thought it was fun to share silverware and see whether we got the spoon or the fork that night. We had two knives that we passed around to whomever needed them. I knew we didn't have a lot of things that other people had, but I'd never thought we were poor.

That Easter day I found out we were.

The minister had brought us the money for the poor family, so we must be poor. I didn't like being poor. I looked at my dress and worn-out shoes
and felt so ashamed. I didn't even want to go back to church. Everyone there probably already knew we were poor! I thought about school. I was in the ninth grade and at the top of my class of over 100 students. I wondered if the kids at school knew that we were poor. I decided that I could quit school since I had finished the eighth grade. That was all the law required at that time.

We sat in silence for a long time.

Then it got dark, and we went to bed. All that week, we girls went to school and came home, and no one talked much. Finally on Saturday, Mom asked us what we wanted to do with the money. What did poor people do with money? We didn't know. We'd never known we were poor. We didn't want to go to church on Sunday, but Mom said we had to. Although it was a sunny day, we didn't talk on the way.

Mom started to sing, but no one joined in and she only sang one verse.

At church we had a missionary speaker. He talked about how churches in Africa made buildings out of sun dried bricks, but they needed money to buy roofs. He said $100 would put a roof on a church. The minister said,

"Can't we all sacrifice to help these poor people?"

We looked at each other and smiled for the first time in a week. Mom reached into her purse and pulled out the envelope. She passed it to
Darlene. Darlene gave it to me, and I handed it to Ocy. Ocy put it in the offering.

When the offering was counted, the minister announced that it was a little over $100. The missionary was excited. He hadn't expected such a
large offering from our small church. He said, "You must have some rich people in this church."

Suddenly it struck us! We had given $87 of that "little over $100." We were the rich family in the church! Hadn't the missionary just said so?

From that day on I've never been poor again. I've always remembered how rich I am because I have Jesus! - Eddie Ogan-

"Therefore have I hope and expectation that the Eternal's love is lasting and will never end. His kindnesses are never exhausted. They are new every morning. Great is His faithfulness. My heart whispers, The Lord is my portion, therefore I will trust/hope in Him."
 
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FineLinen

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The Beggars Rags

http://www.promiseofgod.com/rags/

"Therefore have I hope and expectation that the Eternal's love is lasting and will never end. His kindnesses are never exhausted. They are new every morning. Great is His faithfulness. My heart whispers, The Lord is my portion, therefore I will trust/hope in Him."
 
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FineLinen

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God Is In Charge Of Ants


Brenda was a young woman that wanted to learn to go rock climbing. Although she was scared to death she went with a group and they faced this tremendous cliff of rock. Practically perpendicular. In spite of her fear, she put on the gear and she took a hold of the rope and she started up the face of that rock.

Well, she got to a ledge where she could take a breather. As she was hanging on there, whoever was holding the rope up at the top of the cliff made cliff made a mistake and snapped the rope against Brenda's eye and knocked out her contact lens.

You know how tiny contact lenses are, and how almost impossible to find. Well, here she is on a rock ledge, with who know how many hundreds of feet behind and hundreds of feet above her. Of course, she looked and: looked and looked, hoping that she would be able to find that contact lens. Here she was, very far from home. Her sight was now blurry. She was very upset by the fact that she wouldn't be anywhere near a place where she could get a new contact lens. And she prayed that the Lord would help her to find it.

Perhaps

Well, her last hope was that perhaps when she got to the top of the cliff, one of the girls that was up there on the top might be able to find her contact lens in the corner of her eye. When she got to the top, a friend examined her eye. There was no contact lens to be found. She sat down with the rest of the party, waiting for the rest of them to come up the face of the cliff.

His Eyes Run To And Fro

She looked out across range after range of mountains, thinking of the Bible verse that says, "The eyes of the Lord run to and fro
throughout the whole earth."

She thought, "Lord, You can see all these mountains. You know every single stone and leaf that's on those mountains, and you know exactly where my contact lens is."

Finally, the time came when it was time to go down. They walked down the trail to the bottom. Just as they got there, there was a new party of rock climbers coming along. As one of them started up the face of the cliff, she shouted out,

"Hey, you guys! Anybody lose a contact lens?"

Well, that would be startling enough, wouldn't it? She had found the contact lens! But you know why she saw it? An ant was carrying the contact lens so that it was moving slowly across the face of the rock.

What does that tell you about the God of the universe? Is He in charge of the tiniest things? Do ants matter to Him? Of course they do. He made them. He designed them.

Brenda told me that her father is a cartoonist..

When she told him this incredible story, he drew a picture of that ant lugging that contact lens (as you see in the comics with a balloon with the words in it over his head) with the words....

"Lord, I don't know why You want me to carry this thing. I can't eat it but it's awfully heavy. But if this is what You want me to do, I'll carry it for You."

If God is in charge of the ants, don't you think He cares about you and me?

I guess Solomon was right. One could learn a valuable lesson from that ant--trust in God. We could probably all say a little more often, "God, I don't know why you want me to carry this load. I see no good in it and it's awfully heavy. Still, if you want me to, I'll carry it for You."

-Josh and Karen Zarandona-


"Therefore have I hope and expectation that the Eternal's love is lasting and will never end. His kindnesses are never exhausted. They are new every morning. Great is His faithfulness. My heart whispers, The Lord is my portion, therefore I will trust/hope in Him."
 
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FineLinen

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Why The American Flag Is Folded 13 Times

WHY THE AMERICAN FLAG IS FOLDED 13 TIMES

Have you ever noticed on TV or at military funerals that the honor guard
pays meticulous attention to correctly folding the American flag 13 times? I've known how the 21 gun salute was determined (adding the
individual digits of 1776), but only recently learned why the flag was folded 13 times when it is lowered or when it is folded and handed to the
widow at the burial of a veteran.

The first fold of our flag is a symbol of life.

The second fold is a symbol of our belief in eternal life.

The third fold is made in honor and remembrance of the veterans departing our ranks who gave a portion of their lives for the defense of our country to attain peace throughout the world.

The fourth fold represents our weaker nature, for as American citizens trusting in God, it is to Him we turn in times of peace as well as in time of war for His divine guidance.

The fifth fold is a tribute to our country, for in the words of Stephen Decatur, "Our Country, in dealing with other countries, may she always be right; but it is still our country, right or wrong."

The sixth fold is for where our hearts lie. It is with our heart that we pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States Of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for all.

The seventh fold is a tribute to our Armed Forces, for it is through the Armed Forces that we protect our country and our flag against all her enemies, whether they be found within or without the boundaries of our republic.

The eighth fold is a tribute to the one who entered into the valley of the shadow of death, that we might see the light of day, and to honor mother, for whom it flies on Mother's Day.

The ninth fold is a tribute to womanhood; for it has been through their faith, their love, loyalty and devotion that the character of the men and women who have made this country great has been molded.

The tenth fold is a tribute to the father, for he, too, has given his sons and daughters for the defense of our country since they were first born.

The eleventh fold, in the eyes of a Hebrew citizen represents the lower portion of the seal of King David and King Solomon, and glorifies in their eyes, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

The twelfth fold, in the eyes of a Christian citizen, represents an emblem of eternity and glorifies, in their eyes, God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

When the flag is completely folded, the thirteenth fold, the stars are uppermost reminding us of our nation's motto, "In God We Trust".

After the flag is completely folded and tucked in, it takes on the appearance of a cocked hat, ever reminding us of the soldiers who served under General George Washington, and the sailors and marines who served under Captain John Paul Jones, who were followed by their comrades and shipmates in the Armed Forces of the United States, preserving for us the rights, privileges, and freedoms we enjoy today.

There are some traditions and ways of doing things, which have deep meaning. You will see many flags folded in the coming weeks, and now you will know why.

"Therefore have I hope and expectation that the Eternal's love is lasting and will never end. His kindnesses are never exhausted. They are new every morning. Great is His faithfulness. My heart whispers, The Lord is my portion, therefore I will trust/hope in Him."
 
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FineLinen

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MaGaZiNa said:
I never knew that about the flag!

Hi there Zina....Your summer is concluding, and away to school you must go. I do trust it will be another good year for you, and we will find time to post to one another again. This is a secret, I did not know about the folds of the American flag either. There is always something that we have never considered...in His great, great love, David.
 
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FineLinen

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ICE said:
Thanx for all the stories, FLinen!

My friend, the joy that has come from the words of these stories have been of great strength and encouragement to me. You are most welcome, and please stop by to see us again.
 
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FineLinen

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Jessica Antonio said:
Hi Finelinen. How are you?I never knew all that stuff about the flag either.:)

Hi there Jessica...It is always good to see you at the Ragman. I am doing well, for an old, discombobulated rascal. I did not know the significance of the 13 folds of the American Flag either, so this "stuff" is breaking new on F.L. as well. I do trust we will meet again in coming days for another excursion into our Father's wonderful world. Until then, may His glorious Presence continue to lift us into the vortex of His love.
 
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Little Children

We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Justin in a high chair and noticed everyone was eating and talking.

Suddenly, Justin squealed with delight and said, "Hi there."

He pounded his fat baby hands on the high chair tray. His eyes were wide with excitement and his mouth was bared in a toothless grin. He wriggled and giggled with merriment.

I looked around and saw the source of his merriment.

It was a man with a tattered rag of a coat; dirty, greasy and worn. His pants were baggy with a zipper at half-mast and his toes poked out of would-be shoes. His shirt was dirty and his hair was uncombed and unwashed. His whiskers were too short to be called a beard and his nose was so varicose it looked like a road map. We were too far from him to tell, but I was sure he smelled. His hands waved and flapped on loose wrists.

"Hi there, baby; hi there, big boy. I see ya, buster," the man said to Justin.

My husband and I exchanged looks, "What do we do?"

Justin continued to laugh and answer, "Hi, hi there."

Everyone in the restaurant noticed and looked at us and then at the man. The old geezer was creating a nuisance with my beautiful baby.

Our meal came and the man began shouting from across the room, "Do ya know patty cake? Do you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look, he knows peek-a-boo."

Nobody thought the old man was cute. He was obviously drunk. My husband and I were embarrassed. We ate in silence; all except for
Justin, who was running through his repertoire for the admiring skid-row bum, who in turn, reciprocated with his cute comments.

We finally got through the meal and headed for the door. My husband went to pay the check and told me to meet him in the parking lot. The old man sat poised between me and the door.

"Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks to me or Justin," I prayed.

As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back trying to sidestep him and avoid any air he might be breathing. As I did, Justin leaned over my arm, reaching with both arms in a baby's "pick-me-up" position. Before I could stop him, Justin had propelled himself from my arms to the man's.

Suddenly a very old smelly man and a very young baby consummated their love relationship. Justin in an act of total trust, love, and submission laid his tiny head upon the man's ragged shoulder. The man's
eyes closed, and I saw tears hover beneath his lashes. His aged hands, full of grime, pain, and hard labor, gently, so gently, cradled my baby's bottom and stroked his back. No two beings have ever loved so deeply for so short a time.

I stood awestruck.

The old man rocked and cradled Justin in his arms for a moment, and then his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said in a firm
commanding voice, "You take care of this baby."

Somehow I managed, "I will," from a throat that contained a stone.

He pried Justin from his chest-unwillingly, longingly, as though he were in pain. I received my baby, and the man said, "God bless you, ma'am,
you've given me my Christmas gift."

Justin in my arms, I ran for the car. My husband was wondering why I was crying and holding Justin so tightly, and why I was saying, "My God, my God, forgive me."

I had just witnessed Christ's love shown through the innocence of a tiny child who saw no sin, who made no judgment; a child who saw a soul, and a mother who saw a suit of clothes. I was a Christian who was blind, holding a child who was not.

I felt it was God asking, "Are you willing to share your son for a moment?"-when He shared His for all eternity.

The ragged old man, unwittingly, had reminded me, "To enter the Kingdom of God, we must become as little children."

The Child In The Midst

http://www.ccel.org/m/macdonald/unspoken1/htm/ii.htm

The Consuming Fire

http://www.ccel.org/m/macdonald/unspoken1/htm/iii.htm

The Higher Faith

http://www.ccel.org/m/macdonald/unspoken1/htm/iv.htm

The Heart With The Treasure

http://www.ccel.org/m/macdonald/unspoken1/htm/vii.htm

The Hands Of The Father

http://www.ccel.org/m/macdonald/unspoken1/htm/x.htm
 
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FineLinen

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Lew Miller

A young American soldier was caught in a burst of German machine-gun fire. Five bullets smashed into him; two in his left arm, one in his shoulder, two in his head. It was near the end of World War 2 when Lew Miller was taken to a military hospital more dead than alive.

Almost Hopeless

The weeks passed into months. Lew's weight, normally 192 lbs., had dropped to 90. He was so weak that if he tried to stand he fell on his face. Struggling valiantly to regain strength, Lew Miller bravely pressed on. He tried praying, but his prayers seemed feeble and futile to him. The doctors did their best, but the best seemed to make little difference.

Thinking Happy Memories

To make the endless hours pass more quickly, he would try to recall happy memories of scenes from the past. Athletic triumphs as a boy, scholastic triumphs or honours. He would picture the applause of the crowds, and the pride and happiness on his parent's faces, and the satisfaction he had felt. For a moment he could forget the hospital bed where he lay.

A Common Denominator

As he reviewed these memories, he began to be aware that each time he had scored a triumph, or gained an objective, he had a mental picture of the success before it actually happened. Winning a tennis tournament, placing in the first ten runners in a cross-country race, Lew had had a mental picture of accomplishing it in advance. He had seen himself doing it before it happened. Clinging to the image with unswerving faith brought actuality to the dream.

"Whatsoever things you desire...."

"When you pray, believe that you receive them, and you shall have them." Was it possible, he asked himself, that an image backed by intense faith could actually be a form of silent prayer, unencumbered by words? And, if this were so, might he not hasten his own recovery by visualizing it happening and claiming Christ's promise at the same time?

Visions Becoming Reality

Lew Miller had always believed in the power of God, but now he began to see liberating that power in his own life in the creation of the image, nurtured by faith. He saw himself returning home, driving a car, holding a job, resuming a normal everyday lifestyle. Looking beyond that he envisioned raising a family and pursuing a career. And so in advance, he began to thank God for turning these visions into reality.

From The Edge Of The Grave To The Land Of The Living

As these thoughts came together in Lew Miller's mind and heart, he felt a remarkable upsurge of hope and well-being. To the amazement of the doctors, he began to mend rapidly. Lew Miller married, raised two children, and led the normal and happy life he imagined so vividly in the army hospital so many years ago. He is convinced that he groped his way to one of the most powerful healing combinations in the world: intense imaging bathed in unshakeable faith. And it brought him back from the grave to the land of the living.
 
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FineLinen

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"Red"

UCLA Medical Center was a big, scary place to an 11-year-old who was away from home for the first time. The sounds and smells seemed foreign as white shoes squeaked on the highly polished floors, people were being paged over an intercom, buzzers could be heard, and the faint odor of alcohol seemed everywhere.

In the bed next to me, and closest to the window, was a young girl about my age. The first thing I noticed about her were her beautiful eyes and bright smile. I wondered how she could seem so happy in this strange place. She had gone through the glass of a sliding door and had bandages covering the stitches. I knew she had to be in some pain, but she was friendly and a welcome companion.

It was the late 1950's and a tumor had been discovered in the bone marrow of my right ankle.

My foot was discolored and swollen to the point of not having anything that even resembled an ankle. I went through a battery of tests, and during that time my roommate and companion was released to go home. Without her to take my mind off my fears, I became quiet and retreated into books or watching television. One afternoon, a few days later, a rather frail looking, freckle faced, red haired boy peeked in to say "Hi!" He hopped on the empty bed near the window and began to chat like we were old friends. He talked about places he wanted to visit, favorite games, television shows, and how sick he was. His eyes sparkled, and other than being very pale, he didn't seem sick to me. He loved to do small skits and kept those of us in the children's ward laughing.

His father would come to visit us, too. He was a taller, older, broader version of my friend Richard, and just as funny. He had a kindness about him that made you feel warm and comfortable around him. We all enjoyed his visits and the humor and laughter he brought with him.

The day came when I was told surgery was necessary.

The doctor was as gentle as he could be when he told me there was a good chance I had something that would mean amputating my leg. I remember crying for hours that night. The night before surgery I was very scared. My mother was at home with three small children and I had a difficult time falling asleep. When I finally gave in and allowed sleep to take over, it wasn't for long.

I awoke to find my friend Richard's father asleep in the chair next to my bed.

He woke up soon after I did, and in a very gentle voice kept telling me it was going to be "OK." I just had to believe. He stayed for most of the night. I would sleep and waken, and he would sometimes be asleep, other times he'd smile and comfort me.

Surgery went well, and my leg wasn't amputated, but I was in and out of surgeries, casts, and the hospital for the next two years. Richard passed away from leukemia the second year, but has lived on in my heart and memory.

His father became my hero, then and in later years. For during the time I knew Mr. Skelton, and his son Richard, I only saw their courage, compassion, and tender hearts.

I saw a man who was "in character" to make the children laugh and forget their illnesses, but I also saw a very gentle man who was not in character as he sat by the bed of a fatherless 11-year-old girl.
Setting aside his own fears or sadness, "Red" Skelton, the clown who entertained millions during the early days of television, made sure that I was able to face a scary situation with the hope it was going to be OK.
 
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FineLinen

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Hi there friends, thanks for stopping by.

A Truckers Last Letter

http://mrmom.amaonline.com/special/atruckerslastletter.htm

On one trip up the highway, I came upon the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and several wreckers winching the remains of a semi up the cliff.

I parked my rig and went over to the quiet group of truckers who were watching the wreckage slowly come into sight. One of the Mounties walked over to us and spoke quietly. "I'm sorry," he said, "the driver was dead when we found him. He must have gone over the side two days ago when we had a bad snowstorm.

There weren't many tracks. It was just a fluke that we noticed the sun shining off some chrome. "He shook his head slowly and reached into his parka pocket. "Here, maybe you guys should read this. I guess he lived for a couple of hours until the cold got to him." I'd never seen tears in a cop's eyes before. I always figured they'd seen so much death and despair they were immune to it, but he wiped tears away as he handed me the letter. As I read it, I began to weep. Each driver silently read the words, then quietly walked back to his rig.

The words were burned into my memory and now, years later, that letter is still as vivid as if I were holding it before me. I want to share that letter with you and your families.

Bills Letter

December, 1974

My Darling Wife,


This is a letter that no man ever wants to write, but I'm lucky enough to have some time to say what I've forgotten to say so many times. I love you, sweetheart. You used to kid me that I loved the truck more than you because I spent more time with her. I do love this piece of iron-she's been good to me. She's seen me through tough times and tough places. I could always count on her in a long haul and she was speedy in the stretches. She never let me down.

But you want to know something?

I love you for the same reasons. You've seen me through the tough times and places, too. Remember the first truck? That run down "ol' cornbinder" that kept us broke all the time but always made just enough money to keep us eating? You went out and got a job so that we could pay the rent and the bills. Every cent I made went into the truck while your money kept us in food with a roof over our heads.

I remember that I complained about the truck, but I don't remember you ever complaining when you came home tired from work and I asked you for money to go on the road again.

If you did complain, I guess I didn't hear you. I was too wrapped up with my problems to think of yours. I think now of all the things you gave up for me. The clothes, the holidays, the parties, the friends. You never complained and somehow I never remembered to thank you for being you. When I sat having coffee with the boys, I always talked about the truck, my rig, my payments. I guess I forgot you were my partner even if you weren't in the cab with me.

It was your sacrifices and determination as much as mine that finally got the new truck.

I was so proud of that truck I was bursting. I was proud of you, too, but I never told you that. I took it for granted you knew, but if I had spent as much time talking with you as I did polishing chrome, perhaps I would have. In all the years I've pounded the pavement, I always knew your prayers rode with me. But this time they weren't enough. I'm hurt and it's bad. I've made my last mile and I want to say the things that should have been said so many times before. The things that were forgotten because I was too concerned about the truck and the job. I'm thinking about the missed anniversaries and birthdays. The school plays and hockey games that you went to alone because I was on the road.

I'm thinking about the lonely nights you spent alone, wondering where I was and how things were going.

I'm thinking of all the times I thought of calling you just to say hello and somehow didn't get around to. I'm thinking of the peace of mind I had knowing that you were at home with the kids, waiting for me. The family dinners where you spent all your time telling your folks why I couldn't make it. I was busy changing oil; I was busy looking for parts; I was sleeping because I was leaving early the next morning. There was always a reason, but somehow they don't seem very important right now.

When we were married, you didn't know how to change a light bulb.

Within a couple of years, you were fixing the furnace in a blizzard while I was waiting for a load in Florida. You became a pretty good mechanic, helping me with repairs, and I was mighty proud of you when you jumped into the cab and backed up over the rose bushes. I was proud of you when I pulled into the yard and saw you sleeping in the car waiting for me. Whether it was two in the morning or two in the afternoon you always looked like a movie star to me. You're beautiful, you know. I guess I haven't told you that lately, but you are.
I made lots of mistakes in my life, but if I only ever made one good decision, it was when I asked you to marry me. You never could understand what it was that kept me trucking. I couldn't either, but it was my way of life and you stuck with me. Good times, bad times, you were always there. I love you, sweetheart, and I love the kids. My body hurts but my heart hurts even more. You won't be there when I end this trip.

For the first time since we've been together, I'm really alone and it scares me.

I need you so badly, and I know it's too late. It's funny I guess, but what I have now is the truck. This ****** truck that ruled our lives for so long. This twisted hunk of steel that I lived in and with for so many years. But it can't return my love. Only you can do that. You're a thousand miles away but I feel you here with me. I can see your face and feel your love and I'm scared to make the final run alone. Tell the kids that I love them very much and don't let the boys drive any truck for a living. I guess that's about it, honey. My God, but I love you very much.

Take care of yourself and always remember that I loved you more than anything in life. I just forgot to tell you.

I love you, Bill

http://mrmom.amaonline.com/special/atruckerslastletter.htm
 
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FineLinen

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:eek::eek: Ooops! Friends Nikolai_42 has informed me that the story of the U.S. Flag, and why it is folded thirteen times is a lovely story, but simply not true. :cry::cry:

His e-mail to me is the following...

I hate to do this again, but something didn't sound quite right about the 13 significances of the folds of the American flag. It seemed too vague to be official, and there were some other things that didn't seem right. Anyway, after a bit of research, I've found that the 13 folds do not really carry any OFFICIAL significance other than the military needs a way to fold the flag the same way each time. There are a couple of other things that show that the 13 reasons are very modern.

For one thing, the sixth reason quotes the pledge of Allegiance as having 'under God' in it. Apparently that wasn't added until 1954. So this list is no more than 50 years old.

There's a link here:

http://www.ushistory.org/betsy/more/folds.htm

that goes into a bit more detail with other links.

Sorry to burst the bubble - again. But heartwarming and false is still false. It would be nice if that were the truth about the ceremony, but there is no evidence of any significance to any of the folds. Just military procedure.

I figured you could be the one to say something on ChristianForums.com Unless you want me to come on and point it out?

Gotta run,

By His Grace, -nikolai_42-

Away with the bubbles, and thanks Nikolai_42! It is assuring to know that we help to keep one another on the straight and narrow!

**************************************************************

As a replacement for the Flag folding story, let's have a change of pace and view the hummingbirds. This link will take a few moments to load if you do not have high speed internet, but is well worth the time. Let's call this....

Hummers

Humming Bird Nest

http://community-2.webtv.net/hotmail.com/verle33/HummingBirdNest/page2.html


*******************************************************




Why The American Flag Is Folded 13 Times

Have you ever noticed on TV or at military funerals that the honor guard pays meticulous attention to correctly folding the American flag 13 times? I've known how the 21 gun salute was determined (adding the individual digits of 1776), but only recently learned why the flag was folded 13 times when it is lowered or when it is folded and handed to the widow at the burial of a veteran.

The first fold of our flag is a symbol of life.

The second fold is a symbol of our belief in eternal life.

The third fold is made in honor and remembrance of the veterans departing our ranks who gave a portion of their lives for the defense of our country to attain peace throughout the world.

The fourth fold represents our weaker nature, for as American citizens trusting in God, it is to Him we turn in times of peace as well as in time of war for His divine guidance.

The fifth fold is a tribute to our country, for in the words of Stephen Decatur, "Our Country, in dealing with other countries, may she always be right; but it is still our country, right or wrong."

The sixth fold is for where our hearts lie. It is with our heart that we pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States Of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for all.

The seventh fold is a tribute to our Armed Forces, for it is through the Armed Forces that we protect our country and our flag against all her enemies, whether they be found within or without the boundaries of our republic.

The eighth fold is a tribute to the one who entered into the valley of the shadow of death, that we might see the light of day, and to honor mother, for whom it flies on Mother's Day.

The ninth fold is a tribute to womanhood; for it has been through their faith, their love, loyalty and devotion that the character of the men and women who have made this country great has been molded.

The tenth fold is a tribute to the father, for he, too, has given his sons and daughters for the defense of our country since they were first born.

The eleventh fold, in the eyes of a Hebrew citizen represents the lower portion of the seal of King David and King Solomon, and glorifies in their eyes, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

The twelfth fold, in the eyes of a Christian citizen, represents an emblem of eternity and glorifies, in their eyes, God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

When the flag is completely folded, the thirteenth fold, the stars are uppermost reminding us of our nation's motto, "In God We Trust".

After the flag is completely folded and tucked in, it takes on the appearance of a cocked hat, ever reminding us of the soldiers who served under General George Washington, and the sailors and marines who served under Captain John Paul Jones, who were followed by their comrades and shipmates in the Armed Forces of the United States, preserving for us the rights, privileges, and freedoms we enjoy today.
There are some traditions and ways of doing things, which have deep meaning. You will see many flags folded in the coming weeks, and now you will know why.

"Therefore have I hope and expectation that the Eternal's love is lasting and will never end. His kindnesses are never exhausted. They are new every morning. Great is His faithfulness. My heart whispers, The Lord is my portion, therefore I will trust/hope in Him."

 
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FineLinen

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Dear friends; This is the latest discovery of our Father's glorious world.

WASHINGTON, Sept 9 (Reuters) --

Big black holes sing bass. One particularly monstrous black hole has probably been humming B flat for billions of years, but at a pitch no human could hear, let alone sing, astronomers said this week.

"The intensity of the sound is comparable to human speech," said Andrew Fabian of the Institute of Astronomy at Cambridge, England. But the pitch of the sound is about 57 octaves below middle C, roughly the middle of a standard piano keyboard.

This is far, far deeper than humans can hear, the researchers said, and they believe it is the deepest note ever detected in the universe.

The sound waves are emanating from the Perseus Cluster, a giant clump of galaxies some 250 million light-years from Earth. A light-year is about 6 trillion miles (10 trillion km), the distance light travels in a year.

Fabian and his colleagues used NASA's orbiting Chandra X-Ray Observatory to investigate X-rays coming from the cluster's heart.

Researchers presumed that a supermassive black hole, with perhaps 2.5 billion times the mass of our sun, lay there, and the activity around the center bolstered this assumption.

Black holes are powerful matter-sucking drains in space, and astronomers believe most galaxies, including our own Milky Way, may contain black holes at their centers.

Black holes have not been directly observed, because their gravitational pull is so strong that nothing, not even light, can escape it.

Making waves

So researchers have concentrated on what happens around the edges of black holes, just before matter is pulled in.

When scientists trained the Chandra observatory on the center of Perseus last year, they saw concentric ripples in the cosmic gas that fills the space between the galaxies in the cluster.

"We're dealing with enormous scales here,"

Fabian said in a telephone interview. "The size of these ripples is 30,000 light-years."

Fabian said the ripples were caused by the rhythmic squeezing and heating of the cosmic gas by the intense gravitational pressure of the jumble of galaxies packed together in the cluster.

As the black hole pulls material in, he said, it also creates jets of material shooting out above and below it, and it is these powerful jets that create the pressure that creates the sound waves.

To scientists, he said, pressure ripples equate to sound waves. By calculating how far apart the ripples were, and how fast sound might travel there, the team of researchers determined the musical note of the sound.

Fabian said the notion of singing black holes might well be extrapolated to other galaxies, but not necessarily to the Milky Way.

Chandra has looked at X-ray emissions from the Milky Way's center, and astronomers believe there is a black hole there, but because it is a young, rambunctious galaxy with lots of activity at its heart, this may interfere with any note our black hole might sing, Fabian said.

http://edition.cnn.com/2003/TECH/space/09/10/blackhole.music.reut/index.html

Copyright 2003 Reuters. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
 
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