The Ragman
- Thread starter FineLinen
- Start date
Note:
This is a real letter submitted to the I.R.S. in the midst of 1995's weird and bizarre denial of dependents, exemptions and credits. The letter speaks for itself.
Dear Sirs:
I am responding to your letter denying the deduction for two of the three dependents I claimed on my 1994 Federal Tax return. Thank you. I have questioned whether or not these are my children for years. They are evil and pensive. It's only fair that, since they are minors and no longer my responsibility, the government should know something about them and what to expect over the next year.
Please do not try to reassign them back to me next year and reinstate the deductions. They are yours!
The oldest, Kristen, is now 17. She is brilliant. Ask her! I suggest you put her to work in your office where she can answer people's questions about their returns. While she has no formal training, it has not seemed to hamper her mastery of any subject you can name. Taxes should be a breeze. Next year she is going to college. I think it's wonderful that you will now be responsible for that little expense. While you mull that over, keep in mind that she has a truck. It doesn't run at the moment, so you have the choice of appropriating some Department of Defense funds to fix the vehicle, or getting up early to drive her to school. Kristen also has a boyfriend. Oh joy!
Patrick is 14. I've had my suspicions about this one. His eyes are a little closer together than those of normal people. He may be a tax examiner himself one day, if he is not incarcerated first. In February, I was awakened at three in the morning by a police officer who was bringing Pat home. He and his friends were TP'ing houses. In the future, would you like him delivered to the local IRS office, or to Ogden, Utah? Kids at 14 will do almost anything on a dare. His hair is purple. Permanent dye, temporary dye, what's the big deal? Learn to deal with it. You'll have plenty of time, as he is sitting out a few days of school after instigating a food fight in the
cafeteria. I'll take care of filing your phone number with the vice-principal. Oh yes, he and all of his friends have raging hormones. This is the house of testosterone and it will be much more peaceful when he lives in your home. DO NOT leave him or his friends unsupervised with girls,
explosives, inflammables, inflatables, vehicles, or telephones. (They find telephones a source of unimaginable amusement. Be sure to lock out the 900 and 976 numbers!)
Heather is an alien. She slid through a time warp and appeared as if by magic one year. I'm sure this one is yours. She is 10 going on 21. She came from a bad trip in the sixties. She wears tie-dyed clothes, beads, sandals, and hair that looks like Tiny Tim's. Fortunately you will be raising my taxes to help offset the pinch of her remedial reading courses. "Hooked On Phonics" is expensive, so the schools dropped it. But here's the good
news! You can buy it yourself for half the amount of the deduction that you are denying me! It's quite obvious that we were terrible parents (ask the other two). She cannot speak English. Most people under twenty understand the curious patois she fashioned out of valley girls/boys in the hood/reggae/ yuppie/political double speak. The school sends her to a speech pathologist who has her roll her r's. It added a refreshing Mexican/Irish touch to her voice. She wears hats backwards, baggy pants, and wants one of her ears pierced four more times. There is a fascination with tattoos that worries me, but I am sure that you can handle it. Bring a truck when you come to get her, she sort of "nests" in her room and I think that it would be easier to move the entire thing than find out what it is really made of.
You denied two of the three exemptions, so it is only fair that you get to pick which two you will take. I prefer that you take the youngest two, I will still go bankrupt with Kristen's college, but then I am free! If you take the two oldest, then I still have time for counseling before Heather becomes a teenager. If you take the two girls, then I won't feel so bad about putting Patrick in a military academy. Please let me know of your decision as soon as possible, as I have already increased the withholding on my W-4 to cover the $395 in additional tax and made a down payment on an airplane.
Yours truly,
Bob
Note: The IRS allowed the deductions and reinstated his refund.
This is a real letter submitted to the I.R.S. in the midst of 1995's weird and bizarre denial of dependents, exemptions and credits. The letter speaks for itself.
Dear Sirs:
I am responding to your letter denying the deduction for two of the three dependents I claimed on my 1994 Federal Tax return. Thank you. I have questioned whether or not these are my children for years. They are evil and pensive. It's only fair that, since they are minors and no longer my responsibility, the government should know something about them and what to expect over the next year.
Please do not try to reassign them back to me next year and reinstate the deductions. They are yours!
The oldest, Kristen, is now 17. She is brilliant. Ask her! I suggest you put her to work in your office where she can answer people's questions about their returns. While she has no formal training, it has not seemed to hamper her mastery of any subject you can name. Taxes should be a breeze. Next year she is going to college. I think it's wonderful that you will now be responsible for that little expense. While you mull that over, keep in mind that she has a truck. It doesn't run at the moment, so you have the choice of appropriating some Department of Defense funds to fix the vehicle, or getting up early to drive her to school. Kristen also has a boyfriend. Oh joy!
Patrick is 14. I've had my suspicions about this one. His eyes are a little closer together than those of normal people. He may be a tax examiner himself one day, if he is not incarcerated first. In February, I was awakened at three in the morning by a police officer who was bringing Pat home. He and his friends were TP'ing houses. In the future, would you like him delivered to the local IRS office, or to Ogden, Utah? Kids at 14 will do almost anything on a dare. His hair is purple. Permanent dye, temporary dye, what's the big deal? Learn to deal with it. You'll have plenty of time, as he is sitting out a few days of school after instigating a food fight in the
cafeteria. I'll take care of filing your phone number with the vice-principal. Oh yes, he and all of his friends have raging hormones. This is the house of testosterone and it will be much more peaceful when he lives in your home. DO NOT leave him or his friends unsupervised with girls,
explosives, inflammables, inflatables, vehicles, or telephones. (They find telephones a source of unimaginable amusement. Be sure to lock out the 900 and 976 numbers!)
Heather is an alien. She slid through a time warp and appeared as if by magic one year. I'm sure this one is yours. She is 10 going on 21. She came from a bad trip in the sixties. She wears tie-dyed clothes, beads, sandals, and hair that looks like Tiny Tim's. Fortunately you will be raising my taxes to help offset the pinch of her remedial reading courses. "Hooked On Phonics" is expensive, so the schools dropped it. But here's the good
news! You can buy it yourself for half the amount of the deduction that you are denying me! It's quite obvious that we were terrible parents (ask the other two). She cannot speak English. Most people under twenty understand the curious patois she fashioned out of valley girls/boys in the hood/reggae/ yuppie/political double speak. The school sends her to a speech pathologist who has her roll her r's. It added a refreshing Mexican/Irish touch to her voice. She wears hats backwards, baggy pants, and wants one of her ears pierced four more times. There is a fascination with tattoos that worries me, but I am sure that you can handle it. Bring a truck when you come to get her, she sort of "nests" in her room and I think that it would be easier to move the entire thing than find out what it is really made of.
You denied two of the three exemptions, so it is only fair that you get to pick which two you will take. I prefer that you take the youngest two, I will still go bankrupt with Kristen's college, but then I am free! If you take the two oldest, then I still have time for counseling before Heather becomes a teenager. If you take the two girls, then I won't feel so bad about putting Patrick in a military academy. Please let me know of your decision as soon as possible, as I have already increased the withholding on my W-4 to cover the $395 in additional tax and made a down payment on an airplane.
Yours truly,
Bob
Note: The IRS allowed the deductions and reinstated his refund.
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BaBiDaNsTaR
MaGaZiNa, ISsUe 16!
I finally got a chance to watch "a Father's Love Letter" and I loved it sooOOoo much, it was so meaningful!
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BaBiDaNsTaR, my young friend, greetings again in our glorious Lord. I was your age when Jesus Christ first touched my life. What a wonderful day when He reaches into us and by the marvel of His great love holds us in His arms. Father's Love Story does take some time to behold, but is well worth the time spent. I am pleased you enjoyed it.
Information Please Author Unknown
When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother used to talk to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person - her name was Information Please and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anybody's number and the correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway - The telephone! Quickly I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. Information Please I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. "Information."
"I hurt my finger. . ." I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me." I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?"
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open your icebox?" she asked. I said I could. "Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger."
After that I called Information Please for everything. I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math, and she told me my pet chipmunk I had caught in the park just the day before would eat fruits and nuts.
And there was the time that Petey, our pet canary died. I called Information Please and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was unconsoled. Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers, feet up on the bottom of a cage?
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in."
Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone. "Information Please."
"Information," said the now familiar voice.
"How do you spell fix?" I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the pacific Northwest. Then when I was 9 years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. Information Please belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the hall table.
Yet as I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me; often in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between planes, and I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please".
Miraculously, I heard again the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information." I hadn't planned this but I heard myself saying, "Could you tell me please how-to spell fix?'
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess that your finger must have healed by now."
I laughed, "So it's really still you, I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time."
"I wonder, she said, if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
"Please do, just ask for Sally."
Just three months later I was back in Seattle. . .A different voice answered Information and I asked for Sally.
"Are you a friend?" "Yes, a very old friend." "Then I'm sorry to have to tell you. Sally has been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago." But before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?"
"Yes."
"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down, Here it is I'll read it 'Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean'."
I thanked her and hung up. I did know what Sally meant.
New Hope Music
http://newhopemusic.com/howawesome.htm
"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ by whose great mercy we have been born anew into a living/undying hope by the resurrection of Christ Jesus from the dead." 1 Peter 1:3
Information Please Author Unknown
When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother used to talk to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person - her name was Information Please and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anybody's number and the correct time.
My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway - The telephone! Quickly I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. Information Please I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. "Information."
"I hurt my finger. . ." I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.
"Nobody's home but me." I blubbered.
"Are you bleeding?"
"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."
"Can you open your icebox?" she asked. I said I could. "Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger."
After that I called Information Please for everything. I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math, and she told me my pet chipmunk I had caught in the park just the day before would eat fruits and nuts.
And there was the time that Petey, our pet canary died. I called Information Please and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was unconsoled. Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers, feet up on the bottom of a cage?
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in."
Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone. "Information Please."
"Information," said the now familiar voice.
"How do you spell fix?" I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the pacific Northwest. Then when I was 9 years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. Information Please belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the hall table.
Yet as I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me; often in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between planes, and I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please".
Miraculously, I heard again the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information." I hadn't planned this but I heard myself saying, "Could you tell me please how-to spell fix?'
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess that your finger must have healed by now."
I laughed, "So it's really still you, I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time."
"I wonder, she said, if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls."
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
"Please do, just ask for Sally."
Just three months later I was back in Seattle. . .A different voice answered Information and I asked for Sally.
"Are you a friend?" "Yes, a very old friend." "Then I'm sorry to have to tell you. Sally has been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago." But before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?"
"Yes."
"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down, Here it is I'll read it 'Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean'."
I thanked her and hung up. I did know what Sally meant.
New Hope Music
http://newhopemusic.com/howawesome.htm
"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ by whose great mercy we have been born anew into a living/undying hope by the resurrection of Christ Jesus from the dead." 1 Peter 1:3
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Cure for Sorrow
There is an old Chinese tale about a woman whose only son died. In her grief, she went to the holy man and said, "What prayers, what magical incantations do you have to bring my son back to life?"
Instead of sending her away or reasoning with her, he said to her,
"Fetch me a mustard seed from a home that has never known sorrow. We will use it to drive the sorrow out of your life."
The woman went off at once in search of that magical mustard seed.
She came first to a splendid mansion, knocked at the door, and said, "I am looking for a home that has never known sorrow. Is this such a place? It is very important to me."
They told her, "You've certainly come to the wrong place," and began to describe all the tragic things that recently had befallen them.
The woman said to herself, "Who is better able to help these poor, unfortunate people that I, who have had misfortune of my my own?" She stayed to comfort them, then went on in search of a home that had never known sorrow. But wherever she turned, in hovels and in other places, she found one tale after another of sadness and misfortune. She became so involved in ministering to other people's grief that ultimately she forgot about her quest for the magical mustard seed, never realizing that it had, in fact, driven the sorrow out of her life.
"You have been a refuge to the helpless, a refuge for the needy in distress; a shelter from the storm and shade from the heat."
"Answer me when I call, O God, maintainer of my appeal, You have enlarged me when I was in distress." Psl. 4:1
There is an old Chinese tale about a woman whose only son died. In her grief, she went to the holy man and said, "What prayers, what magical incantations do you have to bring my son back to life?"
Instead of sending her away or reasoning with her, he said to her,
"Fetch me a mustard seed from a home that has never known sorrow. We will use it to drive the sorrow out of your life."
The woman went off at once in search of that magical mustard seed.
She came first to a splendid mansion, knocked at the door, and said, "I am looking for a home that has never known sorrow. Is this such a place? It is very important to me."
They told her, "You've certainly come to the wrong place," and began to describe all the tragic things that recently had befallen them.
The woman said to herself, "Who is better able to help these poor, unfortunate people that I, who have had misfortune of my my own?" She stayed to comfort them, then went on in search of a home that had never known sorrow. But wherever she turned, in hovels and in other places, she found one tale after another of sadness and misfortune. She became so involved in ministering to other people's grief that ultimately she forgot about her quest for the magical mustard seed, never realizing that it had, in fact, driven the sorrow out of her life.
"You have been a refuge to the helpless, a refuge for the needy in distress; a shelter from the storm and shade from the heat."
"Answer me when I call, O God, maintainer of my appeal, You have enlarged me when I was in distress." Psl. 4:1
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BaBiDaNsTaR
MaGaZiNa, ISsUe 16!
Finelinen-you can call me Xina instead of BaBiDaNsTaR...I think it takes too long to type in and anyways that's my name!
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BaBiDaNsTaR.....Howdy Zina, I'm David. What does your posting name BaBiDaNsTaR mean? As you know Valentines Day is around the bend. Today we will pursue.........
It was just a harmless prank, that's all it was!
And it wasn't as if Old Lady Hayes didn't deserve it. The way she used to scream at us for "borrowing" a few of her precious raspberries each summer, like we were stealing gold out of Fort Knox... well, she had it coming.
At least, that's the way we saw it as George finished tying the string to the red, heart-shaped box. We giggled as Ron added the final touch: two plastic red roses, glued to the lid. "I wonder what will surprise her most," I asked as George practiced jerking the box out of reach by yanking on the string. "Seeing a box of candy on her step, or watching it fly away when she tries to pick it up?"
We laughed as we watched George make Albert chase the box around the garage. For a chubby 10-year-old, Albert did a good imitation of Mrs. Hayes's hunched hobble and her seemingly permanent scowl. And we howled when he picked up a broom and pretended to ride it through the midwinter air while shouting, "I'm Old Lady Hayes, the driedest-up old prune in the West!"
Ron was first to notice my dad in the doorway. Within seconds, Ron's anxiety was shared by all but Albert, who continued to swoop around the garage until he came face-to-belt-buckle with our silent observer. For a moment the only movement in the room came from the little puffs of steam escaping our mouths. Dad broke the stillness by walking slowly to the empty candy box lying on the floor. He picked it up and dangled it by the string, watching it swing back and forth. Then he looked into the eyes of the frightened boys. And, as was his custom, he looked into their hearts as well.
"It doesn't seem so long ago that I was pulling Valentine's Day pranks," he said as he laid the box on a workbench. "One year my cousins and I decided to pull one on our Grandma Walker even though we loved her -- she was the sweetest grandma a boy could have. We were just feeling devilish and decided to have some fun at her expense.
"Early in the evening we snuck up to her doorstep with a can of red paint. Grandma was hard of hearing, so we didn't have to worry about being very quiet. Which was a good thing, because every time we thought about how funny it was going to be to see Grandma try to pick up a valentine that was just painted on her doorstep, we couldn't keep from laughing.
"It didn't take long, and it wasn't very artistic. But for an old woman with bad eyes, it would do. We kicked the door and hid behind bushes. When Grandma finally appeared she stood in the doorway, her gray hair pulled back tightly into her usual bun, wiping her hands on her usual apron. She must have heard the commotion in the bushes because she looked in our direction and spoke loudly enough for us to hear: 'Who could be knocking at my door?' Then she looked down. Even from 15 feet away we could see the joy in her eyes when she spotted a splash of red at her feet.
"'A valentine for Grandma!' she exclaimed. 'And I thought I'd be forgotten again this year!'
"She tried to retrieve her prize. This was the moment we had been waiting for, but somehow it wasn't as much fun as we expected. Grandma groped at the fresh paint for a moment. Slowly, she figured out our prank. She tried to smile. Then, with as much dignity as she could muster, she turned and walked back into her house, absently wiping red paint on her clean, white apron."
Dad paused, and for the first time I noticed that his eyes were moist. He took a deep breath. "Grandma died later that year," he said. "I never had another chance to give her a real valentine."
He took the box from the bench and handed it to me. Then he turned and left the garage.
Later that night a red, heart-shaped box with two plastic roses on it was placed on Mrs. Hayes's front doorstep by six giggling boys. We hid behind snow-covered bushes to see how she would react to receiving a full pound of candy and nuts.
With no strings attached.
"One thing do I desire, a vision of the Eternal's goodness, to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to seek Him in His temple."
It was just a harmless prank, that's all it was!
And it wasn't as if Old Lady Hayes didn't deserve it. The way she used to scream at us for "borrowing" a few of her precious raspberries each summer, like we were stealing gold out of Fort Knox... well, she had it coming.
At least, that's the way we saw it as George finished tying the string to the red, heart-shaped box. We giggled as Ron added the final touch: two plastic red roses, glued to the lid. "I wonder what will surprise her most," I asked as George practiced jerking the box out of reach by yanking on the string. "Seeing a box of candy on her step, or watching it fly away when she tries to pick it up?"
We laughed as we watched George make Albert chase the box around the garage. For a chubby 10-year-old, Albert did a good imitation of Mrs. Hayes's hunched hobble and her seemingly permanent scowl. And we howled when he picked up a broom and pretended to ride it through the midwinter air while shouting, "I'm Old Lady Hayes, the driedest-up old prune in the West!"
Ron was first to notice my dad in the doorway. Within seconds, Ron's anxiety was shared by all but Albert, who continued to swoop around the garage until he came face-to-belt-buckle with our silent observer. For a moment the only movement in the room came from the little puffs of steam escaping our mouths. Dad broke the stillness by walking slowly to the empty candy box lying on the floor. He picked it up and dangled it by the string, watching it swing back and forth. Then he looked into the eyes of the frightened boys. And, as was his custom, he looked into their hearts as well.
"It doesn't seem so long ago that I was pulling Valentine's Day pranks," he said as he laid the box on a workbench. "One year my cousins and I decided to pull one on our Grandma Walker even though we loved her -- she was the sweetest grandma a boy could have. We were just feeling devilish and decided to have some fun at her expense.
"Early in the evening we snuck up to her doorstep with a can of red paint. Grandma was hard of hearing, so we didn't have to worry about being very quiet. Which was a good thing, because every time we thought about how funny it was going to be to see Grandma try to pick up a valentine that was just painted on her doorstep, we couldn't keep from laughing.
"It didn't take long, and it wasn't very artistic. But for an old woman with bad eyes, it would do. We kicked the door and hid behind bushes. When Grandma finally appeared she stood in the doorway, her gray hair pulled back tightly into her usual bun, wiping her hands on her usual apron. She must have heard the commotion in the bushes because she looked in our direction and spoke loudly enough for us to hear: 'Who could be knocking at my door?' Then she looked down. Even from 15 feet away we could see the joy in her eyes when she spotted a splash of red at her feet.
"'A valentine for Grandma!' she exclaimed. 'And I thought I'd be forgotten again this year!'
"She tried to retrieve her prize. This was the moment we had been waiting for, but somehow it wasn't as much fun as we expected. Grandma groped at the fresh paint for a moment. Slowly, she figured out our prank. She tried to smile. Then, with as much dignity as she could muster, she turned and walked back into her house, absently wiping red paint on her clean, white apron."
Dad paused, and for the first time I noticed that his eyes were moist. He took a deep breath. "Grandma died later that year," he said. "I never had another chance to give her a real valentine."
He took the box from the bench and handed it to me. Then he turned and left the garage.
Later that night a red, heart-shaped box with two plastic roses on it was placed on Mrs. Hayes's front doorstep by six giggling boys. We hid behind snow-covered bushes to see how she would react to receiving a full pound of candy and nuts.
With no strings attached.
"One thing do I desire, a vision of the Eternal's goodness, to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to seek Him in His temple."
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BaBiDaNsTaR
MaGaZiNa, ISsUe 16!
Hey David, well the Babi part=baby, obviously just a different spelling and the "Danstar" part is like Dancer and Star put together. I just thought it'd be more interesting to write Danstar because if you say it really fast it sounds like Dance and Star, which is what I was aiming for! :-D!
Touching story
!
Touching story
!
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Hey Zina, baby dancing star. Your name has a lovely ring and dancing with the heart is the only way to go! Did you know that there is a word in Hebrew encompassing worship and praise to our glorious Lord that actually means to act madly? Dancing before the Lord's Presence is a glorious sight to behold! Dance on, baby Dancing Star!
The Doctors Say My Sister Can't Live
For months now we had been hearing about a man named Charles Price. Some years back, Dr. Price had been the pastor of a large Congregational church in Lodi, California__an ultramodern minister with an ultra modern church plant even boasting a bowling alley. Then the evangelist Aimee Semple McPherson visited the area. Dr. Price went to her tent meeting armed with pad and pencil to take notes of all the silly Pentecostal claims Miss McPherson would be spouting, so that he could warn his congregation against her. Halfway through the service the pad and pencil were back in his pocket, and Dr. Price was on his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks, hands raised above his head, praising God in an unkown tongue.
From that night on Charles Price's ministry was radically changed. He called his new message "the full gospel," by which he meant that no part of the New Testament message would henceforth be left out of his preaching. He became known especially for his insistence that healings like the ones recorded in the Bible were meant to be part of the normal experience of the church in every age.
And now Dr. Price was in nearby Maywood holding a tent meeting of his own. As I neared the spot, my heart sank. Cars were parked half a mile away, and when I finally reached the huge tent, every seat was taken with scores standing on the grass outside.
Dr. Price was speaking from a platform hung with red and white bunting, a sandy-haired middle-aged man with rimless spectacles that glittered in the overhead spotlights. He finished his sermon and invited any in need of healing to come forward for prayers. Hundreds of people surged into the aisles. I looked at my watch. It was nine P.M. I would never get near him tonight. But the thought of my church on their knees before God made me stay. Slowly the long lines inched forward. Ten. Ten-thirty. Eleven. The ushers were trying to close the meeting. "Dr. Price will be here again tomorrow night, sister. . . ." "Dr. Price will be glad to pray with you tomorrow night, brother."
Dr. Price was gathering up his Bible and the bottle of oil with which he anointed the sick. "Sir!" I called out. He turned and squinted to see past the bright lights. I dodged past an usher. "Dr. Price, my name is Demos Shakarian, and my sister's been in an automobile accident, and the doctors in Downey Hospital say she can't live, and we wondered if you'd come," I said, getting it all out in one breath.
Dr. Price closed his eyes and I saw the weariness in his face. He remained standing there a moment. Then abruptly he opened his eyes. "I will come," he said.
Don't Be Anxious
I hurried ahead of him through the slowly dispersing crowd, fretting each time someone stopped him. Dr. Price noticed my impatience. "Don't be anxious, son," he said. "Your sister will be healed tonight."
I stared at the man. How could he make such a blandly certain statement? But of course, I reminded myself, he hadn't seen the X rays; he couldn't have any idea how serious the situation was.
My skepticism must have showed in my face, because as I started up the motor he said, "Let me tell you, young man, why I am so sure your sister will he healed." Years before, he related, back in 1924, a short while after his experience in Miss McPherson's meeting, he had been motoring through Canada when he came to the little town of Paris, Ontario. As he drove through the village he felt a strange urging to turn to the right. He did so. Then he felt a compelling urge to turn left. In this manner Dr. Price was guided through the town until he came abreast of the Methodist church. There he seemed to get the order: Stop.
Without any idea why he was doing so, Charles Price rang the doorbell of the pastor's house next door and introduced himself. He was, he said, an evangelist; and suddenly he heard himself asking if he could hold a series of meetings in this church. Much to Dr. Price's surprise, the pastor said yes.
The Presence
Among the people who attended the meetings, Dr. Price's attention was especially drawn to apathetically crippled young woman, whose husband carried her in each evening, and laid her on a cushion on one of the front benches. Inquiring about them, he learned that their names were Louis and Eva Johnston, that they came from Laurel, Ontario, and that Eva Johnston had been bed ridden and in constant pain for over ten years following an attack of rheumatic fever. Dr. Price kept looking down at those shrivelled and twisted legs, the right one grotesquely drawn behind the other. The couple had gone to twenty different doctors in Toronto, he was told; they'd tried electric treatments, X rays, surgery, heat massage, only to have the deformity grow worse each year. And yet--as he preached--Dr. Price knew that tonight Eva Johnston was going to be healed. He knew because each time he looked toward her he felt physical warmth envelop him, like a heavy blanket settling over his shoulders. A shiver ran down my spine as I recalled my identical experience with Florence's ebow. With difficulty I kept my eyes on the road ahead.
Dr. Price interpreted the sensation of weight and warmth as the Presence of God. He told the congregation that they were about to witness a very special miracle. He stepped down from the platform, laid his hands on the woman's head, and began to pray. Before the entire congregation, the woman's back drew erect, the twisted legs straightened and grew visibly longer, and although she had not taken a step for over ten years, Eva Wilson Johnston got to her feet and walked--almost danced--the entire length of the aisle. Dr. Price was still in touch with the Johnstons; the healing had been permanent.
The Blanket Of His Glory
"And tonight," Charles Price went on, "we are going to see another miracle, because the moment you spoke to me that 'blanket' fell over my shoulders again. It's there now. God is in this situation."
I swallowed hard, for a moment not trusting myself to speak. In the eleven years since my own experience I had never heard of a similar thing.
It was half past eleven when we reached Downey. The front door to the little thirty-three-bed hospital was locked and we had to ring the bell. At last a nurse appeared. "I'm glad you're here," she told me. "Florence is bad tonight."
I asked if Dr. Price might come with me into the room and he, too, was fitted out with a sterile gown and mask. Then the two of us entered Florence's room.
She lay in her bed of salve, half hidden by a thicket of tubes and pulley wires. I introduced Charles to her and she nodded weakly.
Thick Air, Water From Under The Thresholds
Doctor Price took the bottle of oil from his pocket and poured a little in his hand. Then reaching through the apparatus around the bed, he placed his fingertips on Florence's forehead. "Lord Jesus," he said, "we thank You for being here. We thank You for healing our sister."
His strong gentle voice continued to pray but I no longer heard the words. For an extraordinary change had come over the atmosphere in the room. It seemed more . . . more crowded somehow. The air itself seemed to have become thick, almost as though we were standing in water.
All at once, on the high bed, Florence twisted. Dr. Price jumped back as one of the heavy steel traction weights swung past his head. Florence rolled to one side as far as the wires would allow, then to the other. Now weights all over the room were swinging, circling, as she rocked back and forth. I knew I should try to stop her-- doctors had said over and over that the shattered hip must remain immobile. But I stayed where I was, wrapped and bathed in that pulsing air.
Wrapped & Bathed In His Pulsing Air
A groan came from deep in Florence's throat, but whether of pain or a kind of wordless ecstasy, I could not tell. For twenty incredible minutes Florence continued to toss and roll in her wire prison, while Dr. Price and I dodged the wildly swinging weights. At every second I expected a nurse to burst through the doorway and demand to know what we were doing; I knew the room was checked every ten minutes. But no one came; it was as though the three of us had been transported out of ordinary space and time altogether into a world inhabited only by that warm all-invading Presence.
And just as suddenly, it was an ordinary hospital room again. Florence lay still on the bed, gradually the weights ceased their circling. For a long moment she stared at me.
"Demos," she whispered, "Jesus healed me." I bent down above her. "I know," I said. When the nurse stepped into the room a few minutes later, she was delighted to find Florence sleeping soundly....The next morning, after driving Dr. Price to his home in Pasadena, I was still asleep when Dr. Haygood phoned.
"I want you to come down and look at these X rays," was all he would say.
The X-ray room was jammed when I arrived, doctors, nurses, lab technicians all crowding to see. Pinned against a lighted screen were eight X-ray plates. The first seven showed a crushed and dislocated left hip and pelvis. The bone was almost pulverized in places, the bone chips more widely dispersed in each succeeding photograph. The eighth slide, taken that morning, showed a pelvis that was normal in every respect. The two sides of the picture were identical: the left hip bone as well formed as the right. Only some hair-fine lines indicated that once--surely many years ago--this solid bone had ever been injured.
Florence remained in the hospital another month while the burns on her back continued to heal. The night before she was discharged she had a dream, a strange one in which twenty-five glasses of water stood on a table for her to drink. "I believe those are the years I'm to have here on earth," she told Rose and me when we came next day to bring her home. "I believe God is giving me twenty-five more years in which to serve Him."
I didn't know about that. I only knew that with my own eyes I had seen God's power. What I had yet to learn was my own weakness.
Note:
From the founder of the Full Gospel Men's Fellowship International, Demos Shakarian's book "The Happiest People On Earth" by John Sherrill
The Doctors Say My Sister Can't Live
For months now we had been hearing about a man named Charles Price. Some years back, Dr. Price had been the pastor of a large Congregational church in Lodi, California__an ultramodern minister with an ultra modern church plant even boasting a bowling alley. Then the evangelist Aimee Semple McPherson visited the area. Dr. Price went to her tent meeting armed with pad and pencil to take notes of all the silly Pentecostal claims Miss McPherson would be spouting, so that he could warn his congregation against her. Halfway through the service the pad and pencil were back in his pocket, and Dr. Price was on his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks, hands raised above his head, praising God in an unkown tongue.
From that night on Charles Price's ministry was radically changed. He called his new message "the full gospel," by which he meant that no part of the New Testament message would henceforth be left out of his preaching. He became known especially for his insistence that healings like the ones recorded in the Bible were meant to be part of the normal experience of the church in every age.
And now Dr. Price was in nearby Maywood holding a tent meeting of his own. As I neared the spot, my heart sank. Cars were parked half a mile away, and when I finally reached the huge tent, every seat was taken with scores standing on the grass outside.
Dr. Price was speaking from a platform hung with red and white bunting, a sandy-haired middle-aged man with rimless spectacles that glittered in the overhead spotlights. He finished his sermon and invited any in need of healing to come forward for prayers. Hundreds of people surged into the aisles. I looked at my watch. It was nine P.M. I would never get near him tonight. But the thought of my church on their knees before God made me stay. Slowly the long lines inched forward. Ten. Ten-thirty. Eleven. The ushers were trying to close the meeting. "Dr. Price will be here again tomorrow night, sister. . . ." "Dr. Price will be glad to pray with you tomorrow night, brother."
Dr. Price was gathering up his Bible and the bottle of oil with which he anointed the sick. "Sir!" I called out. He turned and squinted to see past the bright lights. I dodged past an usher. "Dr. Price, my name is Demos Shakarian, and my sister's been in an automobile accident, and the doctors in Downey Hospital say she can't live, and we wondered if you'd come," I said, getting it all out in one breath.
Dr. Price closed his eyes and I saw the weariness in his face. He remained standing there a moment. Then abruptly he opened his eyes. "I will come," he said.
Don't Be Anxious
I hurried ahead of him through the slowly dispersing crowd, fretting each time someone stopped him. Dr. Price noticed my impatience. "Don't be anxious, son," he said. "Your sister will be healed tonight."
I stared at the man. How could he make such a blandly certain statement? But of course, I reminded myself, he hadn't seen the X rays; he couldn't have any idea how serious the situation was.
My skepticism must have showed in my face, because as I started up the motor he said, "Let me tell you, young man, why I am so sure your sister will he healed." Years before, he related, back in 1924, a short while after his experience in Miss McPherson's meeting, he had been motoring through Canada when he came to the little town of Paris, Ontario. As he drove through the village he felt a strange urging to turn to the right. He did so. Then he felt a compelling urge to turn left. In this manner Dr. Price was guided through the town until he came abreast of the Methodist church. There he seemed to get the order: Stop.
Without any idea why he was doing so, Charles Price rang the doorbell of the pastor's house next door and introduced himself. He was, he said, an evangelist; and suddenly he heard himself asking if he could hold a series of meetings in this church. Much to Dr. Price's surprise, the pastor said yes.
The Presence
Among the people who attended the meetings, Dr. Price's attention was especially drawn to apathetically crippled young woman, whose husband carried her in each evening, and laid her on a cushion on one of the front benches. Inquiring about them, he learned that their names were Louis and Eva Johnston, that they came from Laurel, Ontario, and that Eva Johnston had been bed ridden and in constant pain for over ten years following an attack of rheumatic fever. Dr. Price kept looking down at those shrivelled and twisted legs, the right one grotesquely drawn behind the other. The couple had gone to twenty different doctors in Toronto, he was told; they'd tried electric treatments, X rays, surgery, heat massage, only to have the deformity grow worse each year. And yet--as he preached--Dr. Price knew that tonight Eva Johnston was going to be healed. He knew because each time he looked toward her he felt physical warmth envelop him, like a heavy blanket settling over his shoulders. A shiver ran down my spine as I recalled my identical experience with Florence's ebow. With difficulty I kept my eyes on the road ahead.
Dr. Price interpreted the sensation of weight and warmth as the Presence of God. He told the congregation that they were about to witness a very special miracle. He stepped down from the platform, laid his hands on the woman's head, and began to pray. Before the entire congregation, the woman's back drew erect, the twisted legs straightened and grew visibly longer, and although she had not taken a step for over ten years, Eva Wilson Johnston got to her feet and walked--almost danced--the entire length of the aisle. Dr. Price was still in touch with the Johnstons; the healing had been permanent.
The Blanket Of His Glory
"And tonight," Charles Price went on, "we are going to see another miracle, because the moment you spoke to me that 'blanket' fell over my shoulders again. It's there now. God is in this situation."
I swallowed hard, for a moment not trusting myself to speak. In the eleven years since my own experience I had never heard of a similar thing.
It was half past eleven when we reached Downey. The front door to the little thirty-three-bed hospital was locked and we had to ring the bell. At last a nurse appeared. "I'm glad you're here," she told me. "Florence is bad tonight."
I asked if Dr. Price might come with me into the room and he, too, was fitted out with a sterile gown and mask. Then the two of us entered Florence's room.
She lay in her bed of salve, half hidden by a thicket of tubes and pulley wires. I introduced Charles to her and she nodded weakly.
Thick Air, Water From Under The Thresholds
Doctor Price took the bottle of oil from his pocket and poured a little in his hand. Then reaching through the apparatus around the bed, he placed his fingertips on Florence's forehead. "Lord Jesus," he said, "we thank You for being here. We thank You for healing our sister."
His strong gentle voice continued to pray but I no longer heard the words. For an extraordinary change had come over the atmosphere in the room. It seemed more . . . more crowded somehow. The air itself seemed to have become thick, almost as though we were standing in water.
All at once, on the high bed, Florence twisted. Dr. Price jumped back as one of the heavy steel traction weights swung past his head. Florence rolled to one side as far as the wires would allow, then to the other. Now weights all over the room were swinging, circling, as she rocked back and forth. I knew I should try to stop her-- doctors had said over and over that the shattered hip must remain immobile. But I stayed where I was, wrapped and bathed in that pulsing air.
Wrapped & Bathed In His Pulsing Air
A groan came from deep in Florence's throat, but whether of pain or a kind of wordless ecstasy, I could not tell. For twenty incredible minutes Florence continued to toss and roll in her wire prison, while Dr. Price and I dodged the wildly swinging weights. At every second I expected a nurse to burst through the doorway and demand to know what we were doing; I knew the room was checked every ten minutes. But no one came; it was as though the three of us had been transported out of ordinary space and time altogether into a world inhabited only by that warm all-invading Presence.
And just as suddenly, it was an ordinary hospital room again. Florence lay still on the bed, gradually the weights ceased their circling. For a long moment she stared at me.
"Demos," she whispered, "Jesus healed me." I bent down above her. "I know," I said. When the nurse stepped into the room a few minutes later, she was delighted to find Florence sleeping soundly....The next morning, after driving Dr. Price to his home in Pasadena, I was still asleep when Dr. Haygood phoned.
"I want you to come down and look at these X rays," was all he would say.
The X-ray room was jammed when I arrived, doctors, nurses, lab technicians all crowding to see. Pinned against a lighted screen were eight X-ray plates. The first seven showed a crushed and dislocated left hip and pelvis. The bone was almost pulverized in places, the bone chips more widely dispersed in each succeeding photograph. The eighth slide, taken that morning, showed a pelvis that was normal in every respect. The two sides of the picture were identical: the left hip bone as well formed as the right. Only some hair-fine lines indicated that once--surely many years ago--this solid bone had ever been injured.
Florence remained in the hospital another month while the burns on her back continued to heal. The night before she was discharged she had a dream, a strange one in which twenty-five glasses of water stood on a table for her to drink. "I believe those are the years I'm to have here on earth," she told Rose and me when we came next day to bring her home. "I believe God is giving me twenty-five more years in which to serve Him."
I didn't know about that. I only knew that with my own eyes I had seen God's power. What I had yet to learn was my own weakness.
Note:
From the founder of the Full Gospel Men's Fellowship International, Demos Shakarian's book "The Happiest People On Earth" by John Sherrill
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Dee Dee Warren
Regular Member
I am sorry if I missed this comment anywhere.. but I have a version of the Rag Man performed as a skit... it is common with Via de Cristo, a movement that I am part of,and it can be very powerful.
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Just A Little Smile
Mark was walking home from school one day when he noticed the boy ahead of him had tripped and dropped all of the books he was carrying, along with two sweaters, a baseball bat, a glove and a small tape recorder. Mark knelt down and helped the boy pick up the scattered articles. Since they were going the same way, he helped to carry part of the burden. As they walked Mark discovered the boy's name was Bill, that he loved video games, baseball and history, and that he was having lots of trouble with his other subjects and that he had just broken up with his girlfriend.
They arrived at Bill's home first and Mark was invited in for a Coke and to watch some television. The afternoon passed pleasantly with a few laughs and some shared small talk, then Mark went home. They continued to see each other around school, had lunch together once or twice, then both graduated from junior high school. They ended up in the same high school where they had brief contacts over the years. Finally the long awaited senior year came and three weeks before graduation, Bill asked Mark if they could talk.
Bill reminded him of the day years ago when they had first met. "Did you ever wonder why I was carrying so many things home that day?" asked Bill. "You see, I cleaned out my locker because I didn't want to leave a mess for anyone else. I had stored away some of my mother's sleeping pills and I was going home to commit suicide. But after we spent some time together talking and laughing, I realized that if I had killed myself, I would have missed that time and so many others that might follow. So you see, Mark, when you picked up those books that day, you did a lot more. You saved my life."
You Are Exalted!
http://newhopemusic.com/thine.htm
Thine, Oh Lord, is the greatness;
Thine, Oh Lord, is the power.
Thine, Oh Lord is the glory,
And the majesty and the splendor.
For all that is in the heavens and the earth is Yours,
Yours is the kingdom and You are
Exalted as Head over all,
Exalted as Head over all.
Mark was walking home from school one day when he noticed the boy ahead of him had tripped and dropped all of the books he was carrying, along with two sweaters, a baseball bat, a glove and a small tape recorder. Mark knelt down and helped the boy pick up the scattered articles. Since they were going the same way, he helped to carry part of the burden. As they walked Mark discovered the boy's name was Bill, that he loved video games, baseball and history, and that he was having lots of trouble with his other subjects and that he had just broken up with his girlfriend.
They arrived at Bill's home first and Mark was invited in for a Coke and to watch some television. The afternoon passed pleasantly with a few laughs and some shared small talk, then Mark went home. They continued to see each other around school, had lunch together once or twice, then both graduated from junior high school. They ended up in the same high school where they had brief contacts over the years. Finally the long awaited senior year came and three weeks before graduation, Bill asked Mark if they could talk.
Bill reminded him of the day years ago when they had first met. "Did you ever wonder why I was carrying so many things home that day?" asked Bill. "You see, I cleaned out my locker because I didn't want to leave a mess for anyone else. I had stored away some of my mother's sleeping pills and I was going home to commit suicide. But after we spent some time together talking and laughing, I realized that if I had killed myself, I would have missed that time and so many others that might follow. So you see, Mark, when you picked up those books that day, you did a lot more. You saved my life."
You Are Exalted!
http://newhopemusic.com/thine.htm
Thine, Oh Lord, is the greatness;
Thine, Oh Lord, is the power.
Thine, Oh Lord is the glory,
And the majesty and the splendor.
For all that is in the heavens and the earth is Yours,
Yours is the kingdom and You are
Exalted as Head over all,
Exalted as Head over all.
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Hey Zina, baby dancing star. Your name has a lovely ring and dancing with the heart is the only way to go! Did you know that there is a word in Hebrew encompassing worship and praise to our glorious Lord that actually means to act madly? Dancing before the Lord's Presence is a glorious sight to behold! Dance on, baby Dancing Star!
Dancing Star Asked
David responds...
"Break into shouts of joy for Jacob's sake, lead the nations, crying loud and clear, sing out your praise and say, The Lord has saved His people, and preserved a remnant of Israel." Jer. 31:7
Praise= Halal=
To shine forth/ flash forth/ act madly.
http://bible.crosswalk.com/Lexicons/Hebrew/heb.cgi?number=01984&version=
"And you shall eat in plenty, and be satisfied, and praise (halal) the Name of the Lord your God, that hath dealt wondrously with you; and My people shall never be ashamed." Joel 2:26
The worship of our God involves shining forth/ flashing forth with the lambent glow of His Presence. His love encompassing us, wooing us, captivating us, interpenetrating us, leads us to acting madly (in love). Think of an alabaster box filled with precious anointing oil worth one years wages. Think of pouring the entire contents upon the feet of Jesus in one single act of unrestrained love and worship!
Let us break the alabaster box
Upon the feet of Jesus.
Let us tell Him of our love,
And adoration.
Let us give Him of our hearts,
Warm affection.
Let us break the alabaster box,
Upon the feet of Jesus.
Praise= T@hillah=
Worship that is demanded by the qualities/ deeds and attributes of the Eternal One.
".....save me, and I shall be saved; for You are my praise." Jer. 17:14
Zina, if you have read this far....have a good day! I hope you are doing your homework BEFORE you come over here to read the stories. No completion of homework, no more stories!
Dancing Star Asked
David responds...
"Break into shouts of joy for Jacob's sake, lead the nations, crying loud and clear, sing out your praise and say, The Lord has saved His people, and preserved a remnant of Israel." Jer. 31:7
Praise= Halal=
To shine forth/ flash forth/ act madly.
http://bible.crosswalk.com/Lexicons/Hebrew/heb.cgi?number=01984&version=
"And you shall eat in plenty, and be satisfied, and praise (halal) the Name of the Lord your God, that hath dealt wondrously with you; and My people shall never be ashamed." Joel 2:26
The worship of our God involves shining forth/ flashing forth with the lambent glow of His Presence. His love encompassing us, wooing us, captivating us, interpenetrating us, leads us to acting madly (in love). Think of an alabaster box filled with precious anointing oil worth one years wages. Think of pouring the entire contents upon the feet of Jesus in one single act of unrestrained love and worship!
Let us break the alabaster box
Upon the feet of Jesus.
Let us tell Him of our love,
And adoration.
Let us give Him of our hearts,
Warm affection.
Let us break the alabaster box,
Upon the feet of Jesus.
Praise= T@hillah=
Worship that is demanded by the qualities/ deeds and attributes of the Eternal One.
".....save me, and I shall be saved; for You are my praise." Jer. 17:14
Zina, if you have read this far....have a good day! I hope you are doing your homework BEFORE you come over here to read the stories. No completion of homework, no more stories!
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0
A picture is worth a thousand words!
The Only Man Standing!
http://www.talltexian.com/AmericaForever/id28.htm
"The Lord is close to those whose courage is broken and He saves those whose spirits are crushed....good mens misfortunes may be many, but the Lord delivers him out of them all."
The Only Man Standing!
http://www.talltexian.com/AmericaForever/id28.htm
"The Lord is close to those whose courage is broken and He saves those whose spirits are crushed....good mens misfortunes may be many, but the Lord delivers him out of them all."
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0
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Consider making a one-time or monthly donation. We appreciate your support!
- Dan Doughty and Team Christian Forums
BaBiDaNsTaR
MaGaZiNa, ISsUe 16!
David-Thanks for the bible reference and the word. Anyways, I don't read the stories here. I just copy and paste them into an email then email it to myself and read it later once I finish my homework and everything else I need to do. !
!
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Baby Dancing Star....Hi Zina keep up the pace with your homework and chores. Mrs. FineLinen has warned me that my chores are falling behind and has made it clear that the stories must be posted AFTER my chores are done! That big silly makes me
A World Of Smiles
A World Of Smiles
About ten years ago when I was an undergraduate in college, I was working as an intern at my University's Museum of Natural History. One day while working at the cash register in the gift shop, I saw an elderly couple come in with a little girl in a wheelchair.
As I looked closer at this girl, I saw that she was kind of perched on her chair. I then realized she had no arms or legs, just a head, neck and torso. She was wearing a little white dress with red polka dots.
As the couple wheeled her up to me I was looking down at the register. I turned my head toward the girl and gave her a wink. As I took the money from her grandparents, I looked back at the girl, who was giving me the cutest, largest smile I have ever seen. All of a sudden her handicap was gone and all I saw was this beautiful girl, whose smile just melted me and almost instantly gave me a completely new sense of what life is all about. She took me from a poor, unhappy college student and brought me into her world; a world of smiles, love and warmth.
That was ten years ago. I'm a successful business person now and whenever I get down and think about the troubles of the world, I think about that little girl and the remarkable lesson about life that she taught me. (Unknown Author)
There Is A Wonderful Morning
There must be a wonderful morning somewhere
A dawn lit by justice and judgment is fair
A place where a helping hand is always held out
An ear that will listen stands poised and devout.
A place you can go when your heart needs attending
A place where a spirit gets healing and mending
A place where loves fire burns bright day and night
And in from the cold you may warm by its light.
There must be a wonderful evening somewhere
Where the sun finally sets on pain and despair
Where the coming of night is not filled with grief
And comforting sleep brings you joyful relief.
A place where the sunset is apt to reflect
A day without malice, without disrespect
A place where the only tears shed, are for joy
And a heart is not battered and bounced like a toy.
There must be a wonderful day somewhere
In a place filled with love and a great need to care
A place where the burdens of conflict are lifted
Where love is a skill and all lovers are gifted.
Where daily are spoken the words that support
And every mistake is not met with retort
A place where the land has not soaked up the blood
Where honor and truth are not cast in the mud.
A Place where the children are not left alone
Where Sisters and Brothers may come to atone
Where homeless and helpless don't cower in fright
Where the hearts and the minds of the world can unite.
So you set on a journey to seek out this land
With compass and map and a vision so grand
To find peace and comfort in a world that's so new
Where waters are crystal and skies are so blue.
With showers that cleanse and winds that refresh
Where the spirit is fed and not just the flesh
But search as you may, what you'll find to be true
That it cannot be found, till it's found within you.
Author Unknown
Tomorrow Is Valentines Day
We will have a special story to celebrate the day. Maranatha!
Baby Dancing Star....Hi Zina keep up the pace with your homework and chores. Mrs. FineLinen has warned me that my chores are falling behind and has made it clear that the stories must be posted AFTER my chores are done! That big silly makes me A World Of Smiles
A World Of Smiles
About ten years ago when I was an undergraduate in college, I was working as an intern at my University's Museum of Natural History. One day while working at the cash register in the gift shop, I saw an elderly couple come in with a little girl in a wheelchair.
As I looked closer at this girl, I saw that she was kind of perched on her chair. I then realized she had no arms or legs, just a head, neck and torso. She was wearing a little white dress with red polka dots.
As the couple wheeled her up to me I was looking down at the register. I turned my head toward the girl and gave her a wink. As I took the money from her grandparents, I looked back at the girl, who was giving me the cutest, largest smile I have ever seen. All of a sudden her handicap was gone and all I saw was this beautiful girl, whose smile just melted me and almost instantly gave me a completely new sense of what life is all about. She took me from a poor, unhappy college student and brought me into her world; a world of smiles, love and warmth.
That was ten years ago. I'm a successful business person now and whenever I get down and think about the troubles of the world, I think about that little girl and the remarkable lesson about life that she taught me. (Unknown Author)
There Is A Wonderful Morning
There must be a wonderful morning somewhere
A dawn lit by justice and judgment is fair
A place where a helping hand is always held out
An ear that will listen stands poised and devout.
A place you can go when your heart needs attending
A place where a spirit gets healing and mending
A place where loves fire burns bright day and night
And in from the cold you may warm by its light.
There must be a wonderful evening somewhere
Where the sun finally sets on pain and despair
Where the coming of night is not filled with grief
And comforting sleep brings you joyful relief.
A place where the sunset is apt to reflect
A day without malice, without disrespect
A place where the only tears shed, are for joy
And a heart is not battered and bounced like a toy.
There must be a wonderful day somewhere
In a place filled with love and a great need to care
A place where the burdens of conflict are lifted
Where love is a skill and all lovers are gifted.
Where daily are spoken the words that support
And every mistake is not met with retort
A place where the land has not soaked up the blood
Where honor and truth are not cast in the mud.
A Place where the children are not left alone
Where Sisters and Brothers may come to atone
Where homeless and helpless don't cower in fright
Where the hearts and the minds of the world can unite.
So you set on a journey to seek out this land
With compass and map and a vision so grand
To find peace and comfort in a world that's so new
Where waters are crystal and skies are so blue.
With showers that cleanse and winds that refresh
Where the spirit is fed and not just the flesh
But search as you may, what you'll find to be true
That it cannot be found, till it's found within you.
Author Unknown
Tomorrow Is Valentines Day
We will have a special story to celebrate the day. Maranatha!
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The Rose
Red roses were her favorites , her name was also Rose. And every year her husband sent them, tied with pretty bows.
Be My Valentine
The year he died, the roses were delivered to her door. The card said,"Be my Valentine," like all the years before. Each year he sent her roses, and the note would always say, "I love you even more this year, than last year on this day. My love for you will always grow, with every passing year." She knew this was the last time that the roses would appear.
She thought, he ordered roses in advance before this day. Her loving husband did not know, that he would pass away. He always liked to do things early, way before the time. Then, if he got too busy, everything would work out fine.
She trimmed the stems, and placed them in a very special vase. Then, sat the vase beside the portrait of his smiling face. She would sit for hours, in her husband's favorite chair. While staring at his picture, and the roses sitting there.
A year went by, and it was hard to live without her mate. With loneliness and solitude, that had become her fate. Then, the very hour,as on Valentines before, The doorbell rang, and there were roses, sitting by her door. She brought the roses in, and then just looked at them in shock. Then, went to get the telephone, to call the florist shop. The owner answered, and she asked him, if he would explain, Why would someone do this to her, causing her such pain? "I know your husband passed away, more than a year ago," The owner said, "I knew you'd call, and you would want to know. The flowers you received today, were paid for in advance.
Your husband always planned ahead, he left nothing to chance. There is a standing order, that I have on file down here, And he has paid, well in advance, you'll get them every year. There also is another thing, that I think you should know, He wrote a special little card...he did this years ago. Then, should ever I find out that he's no longer here, That's the card...that should be sent, to you the following year."
She thanked him and hung up the phone, her tears now flowing hard. Her fingers shaking, as she slowly reached to get the card. Inside the card, she saw that he had written her a note. Then, as she stared in total silence, this is what he wrote...
"Hello my love, I know it's been a year since I've been gone, I hope it hasn't been too hard for you to overcome. I know it must be lonely, and the pain is very real. Or if it was the other way, I know how I would feel. The love we shared made everything so beautiful in life. I loved you more than words can say, you were the perfect wife. You were my friend and lover, you fulfilled my every need. I know it's only been a year, but please try not to grieve I want you to be happy, even when you shed your tears. That is why the roses will be sent to you for years. When you get these roses, think of all the happiness, That we had together, and how both of us were blessed. I have always loved you and I know I always will. But, my love, you must go on, you have some living still.
Please...try to find happiness, while living out your days. I know it is not easy, but I hope you find some ways. The roses will come every year, and they will only stop, When your door's not answered, when the florist stops to knock. He will come five times that day, in case you have gone out. But after his last visit, he will know without a doubt To take the roses to the place, where I've instructed him. And place the roses where we are, together once again. "
Sometimes in life, you find a special friend; Someone who changes your life just by being part of it. Someone who makes you laugh until you can't stop; Someone who makes you believe that there really is good in the world. Someone who convinces you that there really is an unlocked door just waiting for you to open it.
This is Forever Friendship.....
"Oh, the fullness, pleasure, sheer excitement of knowing God on Earth! I care not if I never raise my voice again for Him, if only I may love Him, please Him. Mayhap in mercy He shall give me a host of children that I may lead them through the vast star fields to explore His delicacies whose finger ends set them to burning. But if not, if only I may see Him, touch His garments, smile into His eyes--ah then, not stars nor children shall matter, only Himself." Jim Elliot
Red roses were her favorites , her name was also Rose. And every year her husband sent them, tied with pretty bows.
Be My Valentine
The year he died, the roses were delivered to her door. The card said,"Be my Valentine," like all the years before. Each year he sent her roses, and the note would always say, "I love you even more this year, than last year on this day. My love for you will always grow, with every passing year." She knew this was the last time that the roses would appear.
She thought, he ordered roses in advance before this day. Her loving husband did not know, that he would pass away. He always liked to do things early, way before the time. Then, if he got too busy, everything would work out fine.
She trimmed the stems, and placed them in a very special vase. Then, sat the vase beside the portrait of his smiling face. She would sit for hours, in her husband's favorite chair. While staring at his picture, and the roses sitting there.
A year went by, and it was hard to live without her mate. With loneliness and solitude, that had become her fate. Then, the very hour,as on Valentines before, The doorbell rang, and there were roses, sitting by her door. She brought the roses in, and then just looked at them in shock. Then, went to get the telephone, to call the florist shop. The owner answered, and she asked him, if he would explain, Why would someone do this to her, causing her such pain? "I know your husband passed away, more than a year ago," The owner said, "I knew you'd call, and you would want to know. The flowers you received today, were paid for in advance.
Your husband always planned ahead, he left nothing to chance. There is a standing order, that I have on file down here, And he has paid, well in advance, you'll get them every year. There also is another thing, that I think you should know, He wrote a special little card...he did this years ago. Then, should ever I find out that he's no longer here, That's the card...that should be sent, to you the following year."
She thanked him and hung up the phone, her tears now flowing hard. Her fingers shaking, as she slowly reached to get the card. Inside the card, she saw that he had written her a note. Then, as she stared in total silence, this is what he wrote...
"Hello my love, I know it's been a year since I've been gone, I hope it hasn't been too hard for you to overcome. I know it must be lonely, and the pain is very real. Or if it was the other way, I know how I would feel. The love we shared made everything so beautiful in life. I loved you more than words can say, you were the perfect wife. You were my friend and lover, you fulfilled my every need. I know it's only been a year, but please try not to grieve I want you to be happy, even when you shed your tears. That is why the roses will be sent to you for years. When you get these roses, think of all the happiness, That we had together, and how both of us were blessed. I have always loved you and I know I always will. But, my love, you must go on, you have some living still.
Please...try to find happiness, while living out your days. I know it is not easy, but I hope you find some ways. The roses will come every year, and they will only stop, When your door's not answered, when the florist stops to knock. He will come five times that day, in case you have gone out. But after his last visit, he will know without a doubt To take the roses to the place, where I've instructed him. And place the roses where we are, together once again. "
Sometimes in life, you find a special friend; Someone who changes your life just by being part of it. Someone who makes you laugh until you can't stop; Someone who makes you believe that there really is good in the world. Someone who convinces you that there really is an unlocked door just waiting for you to open it.
This is Forever Friendship.....
"Oh, the fullness, pleasure, sheer excitement of knowing God on Earth! I care not if I never raise my voice again for Him, if only I may love Him, please Him. Mayhap in mercy He shall give me a host of children that I may lead them through the vast star fields to explore His delicacies whose finger ends set them to burning. But if not, if only I may see Him, touch His garments, smile into His eyes--ah then, not stars nor children shall matter, only Himself." Jim Elliot
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Boy I Sure Envy You!
The passengers on the bus watched sympathetically as the attractive young woman with the white cane made her way carefully up the steps. She paid the driver and, using her hands to feel the location of the seats, walked down the aisle and found the seat he'd told her was empty. Then she's settled in, placed her briefcase on her lap and rested her cane against her leg.
Into A World Of Frustration & Self Pity
It had been a year since Susan, thirty-four, became blind. Due to a medical misdiagnosis she had been rendered sightless, and she was suddenly thrown into a world of darkness, anger, frustration and self-pity.
Once a fiercely independent woman, Susan now felt condemned by this terrible twist of fate to become a powerless, helpless burden on everyone around her. "How could this have happened to me?" she would plead, her heart knotted with anger. But no matter how much she cried or ranted or prayed, she knew the painful truth - her sight was never going to return.
Clouds Of Depression
A cloud of depression hung over Susan's once optimistic spirit. Just getting through each day was an exercise in frustration and exhaustion. And all she had to cling to was her husband Mark.
Mark was an Air Force officer and he loved Susan with all of his heart. When she first lost her sight, he watched her sink into despair and was determined to help his wife gain the strength and confidence she needed to become independent again. Mark's military background had trained him well to deal with sensitive situations, and yet he knew this was the most difficult battle he would ever face.
A New Start
Finally, Susan felt ready to return to her job, but how would she get there? She used to take the bus, but was now too frightened to get around the city by herself. Mark volunteered to drive her to work each day, even though they worked at opposite ends of the city. At first, this comforted Susan and fulfilled Mark's need to protect his sightless wife who was so insecure about performing the slightest task.
Soon, however Mark realized that this arrangement wasn't working - it was hectic, and costly. Susan is going to have to start taking the bus again, he admitted to himself. But just the thought of mentioning it to her made him cringe. She was still so fragile, so angry. How would she react?
I'm Blind!
Just as Mark predicted, Susan was horrified at the idea of taking the bus again. "I'm blind!" she responded bitterly. "How am I supposed to know where I'm going? I feel like you're abandoning me." Mark's heart broke to hear these words, but he knew what had to be done. He promised Susan that each morning and evening he would ride the bus with her, for as long as it took, until she got the hang of it.
And that is exactly what happened. For two solid weeks, Mark, military uniform and all, accompanied Susan to and from work each day. He taught her how to rely on her other senses, specifically her hearing, to determine where she was and how to adapt to her new environment. He helped her befriend the bus drivers who could watch out for her, and save her a seat.
He made her laugh, even on those not-so-good days when she would trip exiting the bus, or drop her briefcase. Each morning they made the journey together, and Mark would take a cab back to his office.
Although this routine was even more costly and exhausting than the previous one, Mark knew it was only a matter of time before Susan would be able to ride the bus on her own. He believed in her, in the Susan he used to know before she'd lost her sight, who wasn't afraid of any challenge and who would never, ever quit.
Finally, Susan decided that she was ready to try the trip on her own.
Monday morning arrived, and before she left she threw her arms around Mark, her temporary bus riding companion, her husband, and her best friend. Her eyes filled with tears of gratitude for his loyalty, his patience, his love. She said good-bye, and for the first time, they went their separate ways.
Boy, I Sure Envy You!
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday ... Each day on her own went perfectly, and Susan had never felt better. She was doing it! She was going to work all by herself!
On Friday morning, Susan took the bus to work as usual. As she was paying for her fare to exit the bus, the driver said, "Boy, I sure envy you."
Susan wasn't sure if the driver was speaking to her or not. After all, who on earth would ever envy a blind woman who had struggled just to find the courage to live for the past year?
Curious, she asked the driver, "Why do you say that you envy me?" The driver responded, "It must feel so good to be taken care of and protected like you are."
Susan had no idea what the driver was talking about, and asked again, "What do you mean?"
The driver answered, "You know, every morning for the past week, a fine looking gentleman in a military uniform has been standing across the corner watching you when you get off the bus. He makes sure you cross the street safely and he watches you until you enter your office building. Then he blows you a kiss, gives you a little salute and walks away. You are one lucky lady."
Tears of happiness poured down Susan's cheeks. For although she couldn't physically see him, she had always felt Mark's presence. She was lucky, so lucky, for he had given her a gift more powerful than sight, a gift she didn't need to see to believe - the gift of love that can bring light where there had been darkness.
"...And, mind you, I am alongside you/ I am with you always, day by day, until the close of the Age." Matt. 28:20
The passengers on the bus watched sympathetically as the attractive young woman with the white cane made her way carefully up the steps. She paid the driver and, using her hands to feel the location of the seats, walked down the aisle and found the seat he'd told her was empty. Then she's settled in, placed her briefcase on her lap and rested her cane against her leg.
Into A World Of Frustration & Self Pity
It had been a year since Susan, thirty-four, became blind. Due to a medical misdiagnosis she had been rendered sightless, and she was suddenly thrown into a world of darkness, anger, frustration and self-pity.
Once a fiercely independent woman, Susan now felt condemned by this terrible twist of fate to become a powerless, helpless burden on everyone around her. "How could this have happened to me?" she would plead, her heart knotted with anger. But no matter how much she cried or ranted or prayed, she knew the painful truth - her sight was never going to return.
Clouds Of Depression
A cloud of depression hung over Susan's once optimistic spirit. Just getting through each day was an exercise in frustration and exhaustion. And all she had to cling to was her husband Mark.
Mark was an Air Force officer and he loved Susan with all of his heart. When she first lost her sight, he watched her sink into despair and was determined to help his wife gain the strength and confidence she needed to become independent again. Mark's military background had trained him well to deal with sensitive situations, and yet he knew this was the most difficult battle he would ever face.
A New Start
Finally, Susan felt ready to return to her job, but how would she get there? She used to take the bus, but was now too frightened to get around the city by herself. Mark volunteered to drive her to work each day, even though they worked at opposite ends of the city. At first, this comforted Susan and fulfilled Mark's need to protect his sightless wife who was so insecure about performing the slightest task.
Soon, however Mark realized that this arrangement wasn't working - it was hectic, and costly. Susan is going to have to start taking the bus again, he admitted to himself. But just the thought of mentioning it to her made him cringe. She was still so fragile, so angry. How would she react?
I'm Blind!
Just as Mark predicted, Susan was horrified at the idea of taking the bus again. "I'm blind!" she responded bitterly. "How am I supposed to know where I'm going? I feel like you're abandoning me." Mark's heart broke to hear these words, but he knew what had to be done. He promised Susan that each morning and evening he would ride the bus with her, for as long as it took, until she got the hang of it.
And that is exactly what happened. For two solid weeks, Mark, military uniform and all, accompanied Susan to and from work each day. He taught her how to rely on her other senses, specifically her hearing, to determine where she was and how to adapt to her new environment. He helped her befriend the bus drivers who could watch out for her, and save her a seat.
He made her laugh, even on those not-so-good days when she would trip exiting the bus, or drop her briefcase. Each morning they made the journey together, and Mark would take a cab back to his office.
Although this routine was even more costly and exhausting than the previous one, Mark knew it was only a matter of time before Susan would be able to ride the bus on her own. He believed in her, in the Susan he used to know before she'd lost her sight, who wasn't afraid of any challenge and who would never, ever quit.
Finally, Susan decided that she was ready to try the trip on her own.
Monday morning arrived, and before she left she threw her arms around Mark, her temporary bus riding companion, her husband, and her best friend. Her eyes filled with tears of gratitude for his loyalty, his patience, his love. She said good-bye, and for the first time, they went their separate ways.
Boy, I Sure Envy You!
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday ... Each day on her own went perfectly, and Susan had never felt better. She was doing it! She was going to work all by herself!
On Friday morning, Susan took the bus to work as usual. As she was paying for her fare to exit the bus, the driver said, "Boy, I sure envy you."
Susan wasn't sure if the driver was speaking to her or not. After all, who on earth would ever envy a blind woman who had struggled just to find the courage to live for the past year?
Curious, she asked the driver, "Why do you say that you envy me?" The driver responded, "It must feel so good to be taken care of and protected like you are."
Susan had no idea what the driver was talking about, and asked again, "What do you mean?"
The driver answered, "You know, every morning for the past week, a fine looking gentleman in a military uniform has been standing across the corner watching you when you get off the bus. He makes sure you cross the street safely and he watches you until you enter your office building. Then he blows you a kiss, gives you a little salute and walks away. You are one lucky lady."
Tears of happiness poured down Susan's cheeks. For although she couldn't physically see him, she had always felt Mark's presence. She was lucky, so lucky, for he had given her a gift more powerful than sight, a gift she didn't need to see to believe - the gift of love that can bring light where there had been darkness.
"...And, mind you, I am alongside you/ I am with you always, day by day, until the close of the Age." Matt. 28:20
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