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Mod Breakdown:
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+713 / +429 |
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Karma Level:
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+ 34
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| Signed up: |
4 years ago (8/02/05) |
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Last signed in:
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16 hours ago |
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Total time online:
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9d 14h 14m |
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Guess what?
I turned 18 today! 
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Just Stay
A nurse took the tired, anxious serviceman to the bedside.
'Your son is here,' she said to the old man.
She had to repeat the words several times before the patient's eyes opened...
Heavily sedated because of the pain of his heart attack,
he dimly saw the young uniformed Marine standing outside
the oxygen tent.
He reached out his hand.
The Marine wrapped his toughened fingers around the old man's
limp ones, squeezing a message of love and encouragement.
The nurse brought a chair so that the Marine could sit
beside the bed.
All through the night the young Marine sat there
in the poorly lighted ward, holding the old man's hand
and offering him words of love and strength
Occasionally, the nurse suggested that the Marine
move away and rest awhile.
He refused.
Whenever the nurse came into the ward,
the Marine was oblivious of her
and of the night noises of the hospital -
the clanking of the oxygen tank,
the laughter of the night staff members exchanging greetings,
the cries and moans of the other patients.
Now and then she heard him say a few gentle words. The dying man said nothing, only held tightly to his son all through the night.
Along towards dawn, the old man died. The Marine released the now lifeless hand he had been holding and went to tell the nurse.
While she did what she had to do, he waited.
Finally, she returned.
She started to offer words of sympathy,
but the Marine interrupted her.
'Who was that man?' he asked.
The nurse was startled,
'He was your father,' she answered.
'No, he wasn't,' the Marine replied.
'I never saw him before in my life.'
'Then why didn't you say something when I took you to him?'
'I knew right away there had been a mistake,
but I also knew he needed his son, and his
son just wasn't here.
When I realized that he was too sick to tell
whether or not I was his son,
knowing how much he needed me, I stayed.'
The next time someone needs you ... just be there. Stay.
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Such a good story!
A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art.. They had
everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael.. They would
often
sit together and admire the great works of art..
When the Vietnam conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very
courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father
was notified and grieved deeply for his only son.
About a month later, just before Christmas,
There was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door with a
large
package in his hands..
He said, 'Sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son
gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to
safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly....
He
often talked about you, and your love for art..' The young man held out
this package. 'I know this isn't much. I'm not really a great artist,
but
I think your son would have wanted you to have this.'
The father
Opened the package.. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young
man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the
personality
of his son in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his
own eyes welled up with tears.. He thanked the young man and offered to
pay him for the picture.. 'Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son
did for me. It's a gift.'
The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came
to
his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed
them
any of the other great works he had collected.
The man died a few months later. There was to be a great auction of his
paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the
great
paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their
collection.
On the platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his
gavel. 'We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will
bid for this picture?'
There was silence....
Then a voice in the back of the room shouted, 'We want to see the famous
paintings. Skip this one.'
But the auctioneer persisted. 'Will somebody bid for this painting? Who
will start the bidding? $100, $200?'
Another voice angrily. 'We didn't come to see this painting. We came to
see the Van Gogh's, the Rembrandts. Get on with the Real bids!'
But still the auctioneer continued. 'The son! The son! Who'll take the
son?'
Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the
longtime
gardener of the man and his son. 'I'll give $10 for the painting...'
Being
a poor man, it was all he could afford.
'We have $10, who will bid $20?'
'Give it to him for $10. Let's see the masters.'
The crowd was becoming angry.. They didn't want the picture of the son.
They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.
The auctioneer pounded the gavel.. 'Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!'
A man sitting on the second row shouted, 'Now let's get on with the
collection!'
The auctioneer laid down his gavel. 'I'm sorry, the auction is over.'
'What about the paintings?'
'I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a
secret stipulation in the will... I was not allowed to reveal that
stipulation until this time.. Only the painting of the son would be
auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate,
including the paintings.
The man who took the son gets everything!'
God gave His son 2,000 years ago to die on the cross. Much like the
auctioneer, His message today is: 'The son, the son, who'll take the
son?'
Because, you see, whoever takes the Son gets everything.
FOR GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD HE GAVE HIS ONLY BEGOTTEN SON, WHO SO EVER
BELIEVETH, SHALL HAVE ETERNAL LIFE...THAT'S LOVE
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Divine Computer Battle! (Funny)
Jesus and Satan were having an on-going argument about
who was better on the computer. They had been going at it for days, and
frankly God was tired of hearing all the bickering.
Finally fed up, God said, 'THAT'S IT! I have had enough.
I am going to set up a test that will run for two hours, and from those
results, I will judge who does the better job.'
So Satan and Jesus sat down at the keyboards and typed
away.
They moused.
They faxed.
They e-mailed.
They e-mailed with attachments.
They downloaded.
They did spreadsheets!
They wrote reports.
They created labels and cards.
They created charts and graphs.
They did some genealogy reports .
They did every job known to man.
Jesus worked with heavenly efficiency and Satan was faster than hell.
Then, ten minutes before their time was up, lightning suddenly flashed across the sky, thunder rolled, rain poured, and, of course, the power went off.
Satan stared at his blank screen and screamed every curse word known in the underworld.
Jesus just sighed.
Finally the electricity came back on, and each of them restarted their computers. Satan started searching frantically, screaming:
'It's gone! It's all GONE! 'I lost everything when the power went out!'
Meanwhile, Jesus quietly started printing out all of his files from the past two hours of work.
Satan observed this and became irate.
'Wait!' he screamed. 'That's not fair! He cheated! How come he has all his work and I don't have any?'
God just shrugged and said,
JESUS SAVES....
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A Rite of Passage (good read)
Do you know the legend of the Cherokee Indian youth's rite of Passage?
His father takes him into the forest, blindfolds him an leaves him alone. He is required to sit on a stump the whole night and not remove the blindfold until the rays of the morning sun shine through it. He cannot cry out for help to anyone.
Once he survives the night, he is a MAN. He cannot tell the other boys of this experience, because each lad must come into manhood on his own.
The boy is naturally terrified. He can hear all kinds of noises. Wild beasts must surely be all around him . Maybe even some human might do him harm. The wind blew the grass and earth, and shook his stump, but he sat stoically, never removing the blindfold. It would be the only way he could become a man! Finally, after a horrific night the sun appeared and he removed his blindfold.
It was then that he discovered his father sitting on the stump next to him. He had been at watch the entire night, protecting his son from harm.
Moral of the story:
Just because you can't see Father God,
Doesn't mean He is not there.
"For we walk by faith, not by sight."
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Nobel Peace and Irena (READ IT!)
The Nobel Peace Prize doesn't always go to the most deserving
Irena Sendler
There recently was a death of a 98 year-old lady named Irena. During WWII, Irena, got permission to work in the Warsaw Ghetto, as a Plumbing/Sewer specialist. She had an 'ulterior motive' .. She KNEW what the Nazi's plans were for the Jews, (being German.) Irena smuggled infants out in the bottom of the tool box she carried and she carried in the back of her truck a burlap sack, (for larger kids..) She also had a dog in the back that she trained to bark when the Nazi soldiers let her in and out of the ghetto. The soldiers of course wanted nothing to do with the dog and the barking covered the kids/infants noises.. During her time of doing this, she managed to smuggle out and save 2500 kids/infants. She was caught, and the Nazi's broke both her legs, arms and beat her severely. Irena kept a record of the names of all the kids she smuggled out and kept them in a glass jar, buried under a tree in her back yard. After the war, she tried to locate any parents that may have survived it and reunited the family. Most had been gassed. Those kids she helped got placed into foster family homes or adopted.
Last year Irena was up for the Nobel Peace Prize ... She was not selected.
Al Gore won, for a slide show on Global Warming.
All this, then to think that Obama was nominated just days after he was elected to the presidency...
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Good story
I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily apprising a basket of freshly picked green peas.
I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.
Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next to me.
'Hello Barry, how are you today?'
'H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas. They sure look good.'
'They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?'
'Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time.'
'Good. Anything I can help you with?'
'No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas.'
'Would you like to take some home?' asked Mr. Miller.
'No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with.'
'Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?'
'All I got's my prize marble here.'
'Is that right? Let me see it' said Miller.
'Here 'tis. She's a dandy.'
'I can see that. Hmm mmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?' the store
owner asked.
'Not zackley but almost.'
'Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble'. Mr. Miller told the boy.
'Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller.'
Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me.
With a smile she said, 'There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever.
When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, when they come on their next trip to the store.'
I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado , but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering for marbles.
Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his visitation that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.
Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts...all very professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket.
Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and
moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.
Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and reminded her of the story from those many years ago and what she had told me about her husband's bartering for marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand
and led me to the casket.
'Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about.
They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim 'traded' them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size....they came to pay their debt.'
'We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world,' she confided, 'but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho ..'
With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.
The Moral :
We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds. Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath.
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Something to think about
Washington, DC Metro Station on a cold January morning in 2007. The man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time approx. 2 thousand people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. After 3 minutes a middle aged man noticed there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried to meet his schedule.
4 minutes later:
the violinist received his first dollar: a woman threw the money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk.
6 minutes:
A young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.
10 minutes:
A 3-year old boy stopped but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head all the time. This action was repeated by several other children. Every parent, without exception, forced their children to move on quickly.
45 minutes:
The musician played continuously. Only 6 people stopped and listened for a short while. About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32.
1 hour:
He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.
No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before Joshua Bell sold out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100.
This is a true story. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and people's priorities. The questions raised: in a common place environment at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context?
One possible conclusion reached from this experiment could be this:
If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made.... How many other things are we missing?
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