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CF has always been a site that welcomes people from different backgrounds and beliefs to participate in discussion and even debate. That is the nature of its ministry. In view of recent events emotions are running very high. We need to remind people of some basic principles in debating on this site. We need to be civil when we express differences in opinion. No personal attacks. Avoid you, your statements. Don't characterize an entire political party with comparisons to Fascism or Communism or other extreme movements that committed atrocities. CF is not the place for broad brush or blanket statements about groups and political parties. Put the broad brushes and blankets away when you come to CF, better yet, put them in the incinerator. Debate had no place for them. We need to remember that people that commit acts of violence represent themselves or a small extreme faction.
Your First Thought....Part 2 (4)
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The Story Teller
The Story Teller
- Jun 27, 2003
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The Story Teller
The Story Teller
- Jun 27, 2003
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The Eyes of a Child
*** WARNING TISSUES NEEDED ***
The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree. Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown, For the world was intent on dragging me down.
And if that weren't enough to ruin my day, A young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play. He stood right before me with his head tilted down and said with great excitement, "Look at what I found"
In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight, With its petals all worn-not enough rain, or to little light. Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to play, I faked a small smile and then shifted away.
But instead of retreating he sat next to my side and placed the flower to his nose and declared with overacted surprise, "It sure smells pretty and it's beautiful, too. That's why I picked it; here, it's for you."
The weed before me was dying or dead. Not vibrant of colors, orange, yellow or red. But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave. So I reached for the flower, and replied, "Just what I need."
But instead of him placing the flower in my hand, He held it midair without reason or plan. It was then that I noticed for the very first time that weed-toting boy could not see: he was blind.
I heard my voice quiver, tears shone like the sun as I thanked him for picking the very best one. You're welcome," he smiled, and then ran off to play, Unaware of the impact he'd had on my day.
I sat there and wondered how he managed to see A self-pitying woman beneath an old willow tree. How did he know of my self-indulged plight? Perhaps from his heart, he'd been blessed with true sight.
Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see the problem was not with the world; the problem was me. And for all of those times I myself had been blind, I vowed to see the beauty in life, and appreciate every second that's mine.
And then I held that wilted flower up to my nose And breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose And smiled as I watched that young boy, another weed in his hand About to change the life of an unsuspecting old man.
Author Unknown
Submitted by Richard
*** WARNING TISSUES NEEDED ***
The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree. Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown, For the world was intent on dragging me down.
And if that weren't enough to ruin my day, A young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play. He stood right before me with his head tilted down and said with great excitement, "Look at what I found"
In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight, With its petals all worn-not enough rain, or to little light. Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to play, I faked a small smile and then shifted away.
But instead of retreating he sat next to my side and placed the flower to his nose and declared with overacted surprise, "It sure smells pretty and it's beautiful, too. That's why I picked it; here, it's for you."
The weed before me was dying or dead. Not vibrant of colors, orange, yellow or red. But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave. So I reached for the flower, and replied, "Just what I need."
But instead of him placing the flower in my hand, He held it midair without reason or plan. It was then that I noticed for the very first time that weed-toting boy could not see: he was blind.
I heard my voice quiver, tears shone like the sun as I thanked him for picking the very best one. You're welcome," he smiled, and then ran off to play, Unaware of the impact he'd had on my day.
I sat there and wondered how he managed to see A self-pitying woman beneath an old willow tree. How did he know of my self-indulged plight? Perhaps from his heart, he'd been blessed with true sight.
Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see the problem was not with the world; the problem was me. And for all of those times I myself had been blind, I vowed to see the beauty in life, and appreciate every second that's mine.
And then I held that wilted flower up to my nose And breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose And smiled as I watched that young boy, another weed in his hand About to change the life of an unsuspecting old man.
Author Unknown
Submitted by Richard
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The Story Teller
The Story Teller
- Jun 27, 2003
- 22,646
- 1,154
- 74
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- Methodist
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- Married
Upvote
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The Story Teller
The Story Teller
- Jun 27, 2003
- 22,646
- 1,154
- 74
- Faith
- Methodist
- Marital Status
- Married
Upvote
0
The Story Teller
The Story Teller
- Jun 27, 2003
- 22,646
- 1,154
- 74
- Faith
- Methodist
- Marital Status
- Married
Upvote
0
If Not For Grace
Legend-but then so's Keith Richards
- Feb 4, 2005
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