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Who Started This Christmas Stuff?
A woman was out Christmas shopping with her two children. After many hours of looking at row after row of toys and everything else imaginable; and after hours of hearing both her children asking for everything they saw on those many shelves, she finally made it to the elevator with her two kids.
She was feeling what so many of us feel during the holiday season time of the year - overwhelming pressure to go to every party, every housewarming, taste all the holiday food and treats, getting that perfect gift for every single person on our shopping list, making sure we don't forget anyone on our card list, and the pressure of making sure we respond to everyone who sent us a card.
Finally the elevator doors opened, and there was already a crowd in the car. She pushed her way into the car and dragged her two kids in with her and all the bags of stuff. When the doors closed, she couldn't take it anymore and she stated, "Whoever started this whole Christmas thing should be found, strung up and shot."
From the back of the car, everyone heard a quiet, calm voice respond, "Don't worry, we already crucified Him."
For the rest of the trip down in the elevator, it was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. This year, don't forget to keep "the One who started this whole Christmas thing" in your every thought, deed, purchase and words. If we all did it, just think of how different this whole world would be.
"For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son; that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life." (John 3:16)
Tags: Christ Christmas Children
Merry Christmas Everyone! I Love All Your Christmas Pages! Merry Christmas from Mississippi! I've been visiting some of your pages and all I can say is Wow! So many nice graphics out there! Now who would not love Christmas here on the hill? I've never seen it so lit up with all the twinkling lights! I keep adding to mine. Hope you don't mind if I snag a few of yours...LOL! We may not have snow here in Mississippi all the time ( just every now and then ) but we sure know how to decorate! You know I think snow would be nice for Christmas, maybe I'll wish for some, never know what might happen...LOL! Hope you all have a wonderful Christmas Season! Remember The Reason For The Season! Hurry back Katie I miss you already! Love Ya Bunches My Dear Friends! Musiclady/Donna ^j^
Tags: Christmas Merry Mississippi
This is long but it's good! My cousin, Jeanne, who is going through watching her husband losing his battle with cancer, sent it to me and I thought I would share it with you.
The Old Man and the Dog
by Catherine Moore
'Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!' My father yelled at me.
'Can't you do anything right?'
Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man
in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat
as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.
'I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving.' My voice
was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.
Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in
front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts.
Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of
distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil.
What could I do about him?
Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon . He had enjoyed being
outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of
nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed
often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to
his prowess.
The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy
log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone,
straining to lift it.
He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or
when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.
Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An
ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to
keep blood and oxygen flowing. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an
operating room. He was lucky; he survived.
But something inside Dad died.
His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's
orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and
insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether.
Dad was left alone.
My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm.
We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. Within
a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation.
It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I
became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on
Dick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and
explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling
appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to
soothe Dad's troubled mind. But the months wore on and God was silent.
Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.
The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of
the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages.
I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered. In
vain. Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed,
'I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article.' I
listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a
nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic
depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were
given responsibility for a dog.
I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a
questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of
disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each
contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black
dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one
but rejected one after the other for various reasons; too big, too small,
too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far
corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down.
It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a
caricature of the breed. Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades
of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes
that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me
unwaveringly.
I pointed to the dog. 'Can you tell me about him?' The officer looked, then
shook his head in puzzlement.
'He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We
brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was
two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow.' He
gestured helplessly.
As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. 'You mean you're going
to kill him?'
'Ma'am,' he said gently, 'that's our policy. We don't have room for every
unclaimed dog.'
I looked at the pointer again.
The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. 'I'll take him,' I said.
I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the
house I honked the horn twice.
I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front
porch.
'Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!' I said excitedly.
Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. 'If I had wanted a dog I
would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than
that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it' Dad waved his arm scornfully
and turned back toward the house.
Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded
into my temples.
'You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!' Dad ignored me. 'Did you
hear me, Dad?' I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands
clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate.
We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer
pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front
of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.
Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion
replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was
on his knees hugging the animal.
It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the
pointer Cheyenne . Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They
spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on
the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend
Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly
at his feet.
Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's
bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends.
Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing
through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night.
I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his
bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the
night.
Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying
dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept
on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently
thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of
mind.
The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks
like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews re
served for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne
had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute
to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor
turned to Hebrews 13:2. 'Be not forgetful to entertain strangers.'
'I've often thanked God for sending that angel,' he said.
For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not
seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article...
Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. . .his calm
acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . .and the proximity of
their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my
prayers after all.
Life is too short for drama & petty things, so laugh hard,love truly and
forgive quickly.
Live While You Are Alive.
Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity.
Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second time.
Do share this with someone.
Love Ya Bunches! Donna ^j^
Tags: OldMan Dog Love
Well I'll start out by saying that you never know what the Lord has in store for you each new day. I've been dealing with a lot of pain in my legs and feet for the last few months. This morning when I got up I ask the Lord to help me to get through the day with as little pain as possible. Well I went on and got ready for work and left my house at 6:15. As I neared the end of the road we live on and got on the main road to town I saw a bright pink line in the sky. It was such a pretty color against the clouds. The clouds were not that thick as the sun was coming up and there was no rain around. So I followed the pink line and then I realized it was a rainbow, but I've never seen one when there wasn't any rain for it to reflect off of. As I drove on I knew it was the Good Lord sending my a promise of a great day to come. HE had answer my prayers. I worked 10 hours today and never had to take anything for the pain in my legs and feet. Wow! Our God is an Awesome God! We never know what can happen until we pray. I say prayers all the day long but I had never just ask for no pain for a day, but when I did ask my prayers were answered. I wish I could have shared my rainbow with all of you my dear friends. I will never forget this day and being it was Veteran's Day made it even more special! Just wanted to share my day with all of you! Have a great rest of the week my friends! Love Ya Bunches, Donna ^j^
Tags: Lord Rainbow Pain
Never Too Old to Live Your Dream
BY: Dan Clark
The first day of school our professor introduced himself to our chemistry class and challenged us to get to know someone we didn’t already know. I stood up to look around when a gentle hand touched my shoulder. I turned around to find a wrinkled, little old lady beaming up at me with a smile that lit up her entire being.
She said, “Hi, handsome. My name is Rose. I’m eighty-seven years old. Can I give you a hug?”
I laughed and enthusiastically responded, “Of course you may!” and she gave me a giant squeeze.
“Why are you in college at such a young, innocent age?” I asked.
She jokingly replied, “I’m here to meet a rich husband, get married, have a couple children, and then retire and travel.”
“No seriously,” I asked. I was curious what may have motivated her to be taking on this challenge at her age.
“I always dreamed of having a college education and now I’m getting one!” she told me.
After class we walked to the student union building and shared a chocolate milkshake. We became instant friends. Every day for the next three months we would leave class together and talk nonstop. I was always mesmerized listening to this “time machine” as she shared her wisdom and experience with me.
Over the course of the school year, Rose became a campus icon and easily made friends wherever she went. She loved to dress up and she reveled in the attention bestowed upon her from the other students. She was living it up.
At the end of the semester we invited Rose to speak at our football banquet and I’ll never forget what she taught us. She was introduced and stepped up to the podium. As she began to deliver her prepared speech, she dropped her three-by-five cards on the floor. Frustrated and a bit embarrassed she leaned into the microphone and simply said, “I’m sorry I’m so jittery. I gave up beer for Lent and this whiskey is killing me! I’ll never get my speech back in order so let me just tell you what I know.” As we laughed, she cleared her throat and began:
“We do not stop playing because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing. There are only four secrets to staying young, being happy and achieving success.
“You have to laugh and find humor each and every day.
“You’ve got to have a dream. When you lose your dreams, you die. We have so many people walking around who are dead and they don’t even know it!
“There is a giant difference between growing older and growing up. If you are nineteen years old and lie in bed for one full year and don’t do one productive thing, you will turn twenty years old. If I am eight-seven years old and stay in bed for a year and never do anything I will turn eighty-eight. Anybody can grow older. That doesn’t take any talent or ability. The idea is to grow up by always finding the opportunity in change.
“Have no regrets. The elderly usually don’t have regrets for what we did, but rather for things we did not do. The only people who fear death are those with regrets.”
She concluded her speech by courageously singing “The Rose.” She challenged each of us to study the lyrics and live them out in our daily lives.
At year’s end, Rose finished the college degree she had begun all those years ago. One week after graduation Rose died peacefully in her sleep. Over two thousand college students attended her funeral in tribute to the wonderful woman who taught by example that it’s never too late to be all you can possibly be.
Tags: Dream School Rose
 Jul 14, 2008 A Fathers Love
Donald Zimmermann
Nearly fifty years ago, during one of my summer college vacations, my father drove me to my favorite fishing spot at Candlewood Lake in western Connecticut. The winding country road paralleled a beautiful little stream, about thirty feet wide, which flowed into the lake. As I soaked up the passing scenery, I decided to tell him about an idea I had been visualizing for several weeks, even if he thought it was outrageous.
We had taken this route many times before and had established a now-familiar routine. My father would bring me to the lake, carry my wheelchair to an easy location at the water’s edge and then carry me to my wheelchair. He’d make one more trip from the car to bring me my fishing rod, spinning reel and tackle box, which also contained my snack. My mother was sure I’d get hungry.
Despite my cerebral palsy, I had found unique ways to cast my lure between fifty and one hundred feet. The biggest trick was how to hang onto the line after releasing the bail, and then let go of it at the right moment while casting. Believe me, there was a lot of trial and error in the backyard before I finally got the technique just right.
Truthfully, I never cared whether I caught any fish or not. I wanted to be out in nature by myself for awhile, just like other people. My father, another nature lover, understood perfectly well and, by mutual agreement, he would leave me at the lake for three or four hours before returning to pick me up. Only once did he have to return earlier than planned because of a sudden downpour; I was pretty wet by the time he arrived, but it really didn’t matter. In fact, it was fun.
But on this particular day I asked him to pull over to the side of the road where we could easily see the gently moving stream.
“See that big rock out there in the middle?” I asked him.
“That flat one?” my father asked.
I had a hunch he knew what I was going to ask next. “Yes. Do you think you could carry me out there?”
He laughed at first, then said, “Let me take a look.” I watched him walk to the edge of the stream, scouting for a way to step from rock to rock without getting wet. Then he began stepping carefully across the water until he was on my desired location. Though getting there did not look easy, he didn’t get wet and it was obvious, as he looked all around, that he enjoyed the short journey. When he came back to the car, he said, “So you really want to fish out there?”
“Yes, I’d love to. I’ve always envied guys who fish standing in the water up to their knees or higher in the middle of a fast-moving stream. Several weeks ago, when we drove by here, I noticed that rock and thought it looked perfect for me, if you can just get me out there.”
“Well, I’m game if you are,” he said. So we began our routine, but in a different location this time. I watched him set up my wheelchair in the middle of the rock, making sure to put the brakes on, a very necessary precaution, especially in this case. Then he came back for me. Truly, I was a little scared as we went from one small rock to another because he could not use his arms for balancing as needed, but we somehow made it across the water. We were both relieved when I was sitting safely in my chair. After bringing me my usual equipment, he said he would return in a couple of hours.
And then I was alone.
The sounds of the rushing water got louder and it seemed to flow faster, as if saying, “What are you doing out here?” But I knew it was only my imagination and some of my fear of being there all by myself. “What ifs” began popping into my consciousness: What if Moby Dick grabs my lure and pulls me off this rock? What if the water rises? What if someone sees me out here and calls the fire or police department to rescue me? I quickly told myself how silly I was being and started appreciating how awesome the site truly was.
I began fishing and noticed that I could let the water’s current carry my lure away instead of me casting it. I liked that. Fishermen really don’t want to work too hard. Reeling it back to me was easy, despite the tug of the current, and I soon felt wonderfully calm as my lure went out and back, out and back. It was a beautiful day, and time flew by.
My father came back for me a little early that afternoon, but it didn’t matter. I hadn’t caught a thing, except great personal satisfaction from fulfilling a small dream. I also gained an awareness of how much my father loved me. He demonstrated it many times throughout my life, willingly taking risks for me, so that I too might experience what everyone else does.
Tags: Cerebralpalsy Wheelchair
Jul 19, 2008 Living His Dream
Dan Raley
He loved baseball. Couldn’t get enough.
When it rained in Seattle, as it frequently does, and practice was cancelled, it used to make him so mad. That’s when he knew he was hooked.
He pestered his dad to hit him grounders in the backyard. He routinely led three younger brothers and a sister out the front door to play catch.
A Wiffle-ball machine was set up in the garage, allowing him to take batting practice at any time. Siblings were paid a quarter or fifty cents to feed the machine.
Posters of Rod Carew and Pete Rose hung on his bedroom wall. He watched games on TV. He was a big, big fan of his hometown team, the Seattle Mariners.
But like most fourteen-year-old boys, he was merely a good baseball player, not a great one. Some day, he would have to channel his energy into something else.
Find another outlet, another passion. Or so everyone thought.
Through a friend on his suburban Pony League team, he heard that the Mariners were hiring. He got on the phone, got an interview, got a job.
Now this isn’t some Disney movie, some outrageous fairy tale come true. No one was occupying someone else’s body, acquiring magical powers, walking out of cornfields or answering to Roy Hobbs.
He wouldn’t be fielding or hitting. Folding and scrubbing were more like it.
He was a clubhouse boy.
For two seasons, he showed up at the Kingdome and wandered the Mariners’ locker room. He picked up soiled uniforms, hung fresh ones. He polished shoes, ran errands. He did everything except get in the way.
He was in awe of the big leaguers. He didn’t say much. He tried to stay anonymous. Yet he watched all of the activity that went on before him behind closed doors, the good and the bad, the professionalism and the immaturity, and put everything to memory.
“I learned a lot,” he said. “I learned when you think people aren’t watching you, they really are. I watched the way people acted. Some were really nice.”
A few of the players noticed him and took an interest. Mariners second baseman Harold Reynolds, outfielder Bruce Bochte and relief pitcher Dave Heaverlo sat him down and encouraged him. Heaverlo even gave him added work, enlisting him to baby-sit his kids.
One day, he saw one of his heroes, Carew, sitting alone in a Kingdome dugout. He wanted his autograph. He was too shy to ask for it. He turned and walked away.
The dream job ended when it was time for him to go to high school. He couldn’t juggle work and play anymore. More than ever he was determined to become a big-leaguer, but most people figured he had come as close to this fantasy world as he would get. How many people get to do what he did, even if it was picking up sweaty uniforms?
For the next seven years, he played high school, community college and college baseball. By now, he had settled in at catcher after trying several positions. Still, he was not a standout. He didn’t even make the all-league team in high school.
His baseball career was about to come to an unceremonious end when he showed up for one last collegiate tournament. Something magical happened.
He hit everything thrown to him, threw out every base runner.
Scouts were in the stands. Scouts were on the phone. He was drafted, signed and in the majors before long.
Fifteen years and six big-league teams later, Tom Lampkin now plays for the Mariners. They pursued him and he happily joined them as a free agent. He’s been home for three seasons and is a fan favorite, often providing game-winning hits, a familiar face, hope. It’s what he always wanted.
“When I started playing, I didn’t know the difference between professional baseball and the major leagues; I just wanted to play for the Mariners,” he said. “I always wanted to play for the Mariners because they were my hometown team.”
He never let go of his dream, actually living it twice, whether it was offering up towels or using them.
Along the way, Lampkin encountered Carew a second time. Yes, he now has the Hall of Famer’s autograph. He signs a few himself these days.
Not only that, Lampkin treats all of the Mariners clubhouse boys with ultimate respect.
Tags: Tom Lampkin Mariners
This is a great lesson and so well presented. I hope that you enjoy it as much as I did! Back in September of 2005, on the first day of school, Martha Cothren, a social studies school teacher at Robinson High School in Little Rock, AR, did something not to be forgotten. On the first day of school, with the permission of the school superintendent, the principal and the building supervisor, she removed all of the desks from her classroom. When the first period kids entered the room they discovered that there were no desks. Looking around, confused, they asked, 'Ms. Cothren, where're our desks?' She replied, 'You can't have a desk until you tell me what you have done to earn the right to sit at a desk.' They thought, 'Well, maybe it's our grades.' 'No,' she said. Maybe it's our behavior.' She told them, 'No, it's not even your behavior. And so, they came and went, the first period, second period, third period. Still no desks in the classroom. By early afternoon television news crews had started gathering in Ms. Cothren's classroom to report about this crazy teacher who had taken all the desks out of her room. The final period of the day came and as the puzzled students found seats on the floor of the deskless classroom. Martha Cothren said, 'Throughout the day no one has been able to tell me just what he/she has done to earn the right to sit at the desks that are ordinarily found in this classroom. Now I am going to tell you.' At this point, Martha Cothren went over to the door of her classroom and opened it. Twenty-seven (27) U.S. Veterans, all in uniforms, walked into that classroom, each one carrying a school desk. The Vets began placing the school desks in rows, and then they would walk over and stand alongside the wall. By the time the last soldier had set the final desk in place those kids started to understand, perhaps for the first time in their lives, just how the right to sit at those desks had been earned. Martha said, 'You didn't earn the right to sit at these desks. These heroes did it for you. They placed the desks here for you. Now, it's up to you to sit in them. It is your responsibility to learn, to be good students, to be good citizens. They paid the price so that you could have the freedom to get an education. Don't ever forget it.' By the way, this is a true story. You can verify this by clicking on: God Bless America - and Our Veterans!! What Is A Veteran? A 'Veteran' -- whether active duty, discharged, retired, or reserve is 'someone who, at one point in his life, wrote a blank check made payable to 'The United States of America', for an amount of 'up to and including his life.'
That is honor, and there are way too many people in this country today who no longer understand that fact.
Tags: Lesson U.S Veterans
A Camel in a Cage A woman who lost her sight uses a wonderful parable to knock down self-imposed limitations. By Janet Perez Eckles A baby camel asked his mother, "Why do we have such large hooves on our feet?" She turned to him. "God made us that way for a very special reason," and she began her explanation. "The big hooves are to keep us from sinking into the sand." "Oh! So why do we have long eyelashes?"
"It's to protect our eyes from the sand."
"Why the big humps?"
"That is to store fat and have enough energy to go long distances in the hot desert!"
"I see!" The baby camel stretched his neck and looked up at his mother, "The big hooves are to keep from sinking into the sand, the long eyelashes are to keep the sand out of our eyes, and the humps are to store energy to travel long distances--then what are we doing in this cage in the middle of a zoo?"
Like the camel, I had asked the same kind of questions. When my blindness set in, I initially locked myself in a cage of self-pity and bitterness. Weary from pacing within that gloomy cage, something nudged me to see beyond my circumstance and unfortunate plight.
Heavens! What was I thinking? Those bars were self-imposed. But worst of all, I'd supported them with the cold metal of my negative attitude.
Eventually, eagerness to leave my stuffy cell of discontent prompted me to open my ears to hear a reassuring whisper--God had created me for much more.
Itching to break free, I broke down those bars and stepped out into the desert of life. I trudged through the heat with determination and drive. I endured the blistering sun with perseverance and tenacity. I quenched my thirst with fresh inspiration and encouragement. And the hooves of confidence kept me from sinking into the sand of insecurity.
Thinking ahead, I made sure I'd stored a healthy supply of wisdom and positive attitude to take me through the long haul.
Goodness gracious. Each time I reached another point in my journey, my eyes saw a whole new world with opportunities to make a difference. Best of all, I was delighted with the affirmation that I was indeed created for much more! Bars come in all sizes and shapes. Some are physical, others are emotional or even mental. But none can withstand the force of determination that breaks them down. The effort is worth it and the results, simply amazing! So, batting my long eyelashes to keep out the sand of discouragement, I challenge you...
Step back and peek at what bars limit you. Take a deep breath, break them down, and emerge into the freshness of a new life!
Tags: Camel Cage
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