TREAT ME WITH RESPECT......I AM HUMAN

                                  

i have been reading alot of journals of late, just a snippet here & an entry there........but in several journals i found mention made of the welfare system, & how those who are in the system are treated by the system, & the general public.  this is a very sore subject with me, so bear with me, & hopefully i will edit & re-edit this so that it does not come through as the rantings of a madwoman.......  

                              

in december of 1985, i gave birth to my daughter.  though not really ready for the job of parenthood, my husband & i started on the journey together.  he told me i could quit my job of 13 years, one that had i kept, would have put me in a great financial position now, only a mere 5 years from a possible retirement.  but i chose to quit, because driving to atlanta an hour & a half both ways in bumper to bumper traffic didn't appeal to me, while my baby grew up under the care of someone else.  my mother was deceased, my father & i were estranged, & i was an only child, thus i did not have any support system on my side of the family.  my husband had estranged himself from his parents & sister by being shiftless & disrespectful over the years.  so there was little support on his side of the family.  so here we were, me 31, my husband 32, raising our first child. 

my husband had always been a medical experiment....... meaning he had been having this surgery & that surgery, this condition, that condition, all his life.  he was even asked by the army not to reinlist due to the numerous health problems & injuries he had or sustained while in boot camp & his tour of germany.  so he stayed home most of our daughter's first year along with me.  we lived off his army disability.  well, we barely survived off his army disability.  my husband finally got work as an undertaker's assistant.  then went to mortuary school on the GI bill.  he didn't finish, though, again, due to health problems (mostly imagined, i later learned).  he ended up just being an undertaker's assistant for another year.  then for some odd reason, he decided to get his CDL (truck driving license), & drive a cross country truck for an independent trucker.  this is when it all started falling apart.  my husband started cheating on me,  & naive me never noticed it.  i was busy trying to raise our daughter.  he then changed jobs again, going back to the undertaking business. 

                        

then one day, i came home from grocery shopping, & there was a note for me, saying he had left me, & our daughter, for another woman.  this was february of 1989.  here i was with a 3 yr old daughter, no job, no money, no food, no support system.  i wasn't a member of a church, mainly due to the fact my husband was an agnostic, & i allowed him to convince me to stay home from church.   needless to say, i panicked.  i applied for 387 jobs in 4 months (yep, you read it right).  i got called back for one interview.... and didn't get the job.  so i signed up with a local model & talent agency & they started sending me on jobs as an extra in films & commercials shot locally.  my daughter, aged 3, was also in several movies, one of which was a movie with john lithgow (he is truly a nice person).  the money wasn't enough to pay the bills, but enough to eat on, & buy me gas to get to & from job sites to put in applications.   

                                         

this is where the welfare system comes into play.  there was little assistance back then for single moms out looking for work.  today there are programs out the wazoo, to help single parents to become educated, & find jobs to become active and productive members of society.  but back then, when you got "on welfare" you were trapped in the system.  i applied for food stamps, & for monthly monetary assistance.  in the midst of this, my estranged husband contacts me & tells me he wants a divorce, for he has already moved in with a woman he had a son with BEFORE we separated, & they now want to marry since the boy is one year old.  the welfare system had no clue as to how to help me with  my divorce, didn't even have any phone numbers to assist me with.  i eventually contacted united way, who put me in contact with the jewish league, who put me in contact with an independent attorney who did some pro bono work, & happened to be an ordained pentecostal minister to boot.  his office was 110 miles from me & the courthouse where we had to go, but he made three trips to meet with me, & two trips to the courthouse, all pro bono, & helped me get a fair divorce, as well as the proper amount of child support.  due to my terrible memory of certain things, i don't remember the man's name, but i praise God for him.   my ex paid child support for 4 months, at $350.00 a month, only because his wages were garnisheed.  then he either quit or lost his job as an undertaker's assistant, & the child support stopped.  and when i attempted to put a fire under child support recovery, they sided with my ex, saying he was a poor disabled vet who had a new family he was trying to support on his meager military disability & retirement pay.  haha, ok, i was living (or surviving) on $275.00 a month welfare assistance, & $220.00 in food stamps per month, & my ex was drawing $490.00 in disability military pay, as well as another $450.00 in retirement pay.  his new wife had been left a pension by her now deceased husband, & was bringing in $1800.00 a month for her & her one son still living at home, aged 16.  plus....... my ex, though "disabled" was working a full time job as a car courier, someone who drives a van full of men &/or women to various locations to pick up rental cars that have been dropped off by the renter.  he was not only receiving at least $500.00 cash under the table a week to do this, but was being supplied with a van he was converting into a handicapped van for himself.  does anyone else see the absurdity in this whole scenario???  

ok, i have rambled on enough about the ex.  when i first got food stamps, they came in booklets, like checks, & were in denominations......tens, twenties, fives, ones.  you could only get certain types of foods, & of course, no alcoholic beverages (i don't drink) & no cigarettes (i never have smoked).  but you also don't get toilet paper, paper towels, shampoo, & other necessities that are non food items.  the small check i got from welfare was supposed to pay all my bills & help me acquire these necessities.  hahaha.  yeah, right.  though my house note was only $350.00 a month, i still couldn't pay it.   back to the food stamps.....when i was in line at the grocery store, i would pull out my food stamp booklets, & start tearing out the proper denominations to pay for my food.  that is when the whispering began.  as well as the out loud comments.  "oh great, she has food stamps, we will be here all day".  "did you see that big steak she had in her groceries?  here we are having to buy hamburger, & she is buying steak......with food stamps, i never!" or "can't you send welfare people to another line, just for them, so we people who pay our own bills don't have to wait?".  believe me, i heard every loud statement, & every whisper.  as my daughter grew older, & could understand things better, she would often ask me why people were so mean.  it broke my heart.  she never asked to be on welfare.  of course, i didn't want to be either.  but i didn't have a choice, & was basically glad there was something to fall back on in hard times.    being on welfare also meant that if you had a child or children you could be on medicaid.  free medical care, & my daughter's pediatrician, one of the best pediatric groups in the state, accepted medicaid patients, so i knew i was getting good care for her.  my own doctor accepted medicaid too, so again, i knew i was getting excellent care even though the state was paying for it.   but now pharmicists were something else altogether.  the pharmacy i frequented as a regular paying customer also accepted medicaid.  so i continued to get mine & my daughter's medications filled there.  shortly after i started on medicaid, one of the newer pharmicists & i had a little, um, skirmish.  let me preface this by saying i am a well educated woman. i placed second out of the top 10 seniors in my high school.  i am also someone with at least a modicum of class.  i carry myself well, dress appropriately, not trashy, or like i am living in an alley.  so, when i went to this pharmacy to pick up the prescription my daughter's pediatrician had called in the day before, i was dressed nice, clean, & had a demeaner of class.  i waited my turn, like everyone else, & when i was never called, yet others who came long after me to drop off their prescriptions were serviced & had left, i approached the counter.  the pharmacy assistant told me that she didn't see a filled prescription for my daughter, but would ask the pharmicist.  he said something rather gruff to the assistant, & she came back to inform me that the pharmacist said the doctor hadn't called it in yet.   i knew this to not be true.  i had called the pharmacy earlier in the day & someone had told me they had the order, but it wasn't filled yet, but should be filled by that afternoon.   i insisted on speaking with this pharmacist.  he glared at me over the counter, & said, "yes, what do you want?"  i told him i was attempting to pick up a prescription that was called in the day before, & was told it wasn't called in yet.  he looked at his records, & said, "they just have called it in!"  i told him no, it was called in much earlier.  he muttered something about "medicaid" & i asked him what he said.  he then decided he didn't care who heard him, & said "we don't fill medicaid patients' prescriptions before paying customers.  you will just have to wait".    ok, now when they say anger will make you see red, they really are not kidding.  i don't think i have ever been so publicly angry, & humiliated, since there were about 20 people in the waiting area, & all heard him.  the blood rushed to my head, & i assume my eyeball vessels filled up, because i actually saw red.  i had my daughter with me, then age 4-1/2, & i tried very hard not to use the words i shouldn't have.  but i told him that first of all, my child's health was just as important as any other child's, & that her prescription better be filled immediately, or i was calling someone in authority (not having a clue who that would be).  then the muttering among the waiting customers started.  i heard mostly mutterings about me being trash, & that i should have to wait.  but there were a few there that i assume were also on medicaid, & one little old woman who was on medicare, & she walked up to me, put her arm around me, & said "don't let him get to you, just stand your ground, for i had to when i first came in".  the pharmacist proceeded to tell the assistant to fill my prescription for me, while he was muttering something about "trash" under his breath.  i was livid, but was trying not to show it in front of my child.   when you are on medicaid, & get a prescription filled, you have to sign a form, so that the state can keep up with it all.  it was on a clipboard, & had spaces for about 50 names & signatures per page.  when i approached the window to sign the clipboard, & get the filled prescription, the pharmacist literally THREW the clipboard at me & said "sign this!".  i jumped back after it hit me, & let it hit the floor.  i glared at him through the window, wondering if it was bullet proof glass.  i don't think it would have mattered, if i had let myself give in to my anger.   i picked it up, threw it back through the window, hitting him in the, um, lower region, & demanded he hand it to me like a human being.  he thrust it back at me, but didn't let go of it.  i signed, & turned to the crowd of customers, & told them that i hoped they never treated anyone like that, nor was ever treated like that.  i turned, & left with my child.   my daughter started crying as we went out the door, & when in the car, asked why was that man mean to me.  of course, i couldn't answer her.  i don't know why some people are like that.   but i do know that i called the pharmacy the next day, & everyone else i could think of to have this man removed & have his license pulled.  a week later, he was gone.  i heard through the grapevine he lost his license in georgia as well, & moved to another state.  i guess where he could still fill prescriptions & be mean to medicaid recipients.   

today things are a bit different, mainly because more & more people are having to go on some sort of assistance.  food stamps come in the form of a card now.  looks more like a credit card, or a debit card, so people behind you may or may not know it is an EBT card.  i spent 9 years in the system.  i am not proud of the fact i depended on the tax dollars of john q. public to support my daughter & i, but i also know that my 13 years of paying taxes helped pay some of my assistance.  but being caught up in the system doesn't make you a bad person.  it doesn't mean you are trailer trash, or gutter scum (some of the terms i heard in those 9 years).  it means you are having problems, & need compassion, & someone to help you out.   

granted, there are millions of people out there scamming the system.  taking money from the system that could go to a deserving family.  now those people to me are definitely scum & trash.   but to all you honest people out there that have had to or will have to take a hand out (which i like to call a hand up), don't let others make you feel bad, unworthy, or trashy.  you are one of God's own, & you have the right to have a quality life, & you do what you have to do in life to survive, & if it means taking some assistance where offered, then so be it.  hold your head high, & know that there will be a better day.   

to those of you who abuse the system, i beg you to stop & to think of the poor children & elderly doing without, all because you got that last spot on the list...

SHAME ON YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  

pictures by harvey finkle @ harveyfinkle.com and carol highsmith

IMAGINE

 

 

IMAGINE, FOR A MOMENT

THAT PEACE BEFELL THE LAND,

THAT ALL OF HUMANKIND REACHED OUT

AND HELD EACH OTHER'S HAND.

IMAGINE, FOR AN INSTANT

THE TOUCH OF SKIN TO SKIN

PROVED SO POWERFUL A FEELING

EVERY NATION FELT LIKE KIN.

IMAGINE, FOR A SECOND

LOVE POSSESSED THE HONEST SOUL

OF EACH CITIZEN ON THE PLANET

AND THE WORLD WAS TRULY WHOLE.

IMAGINE, FOR A HEARTBEAT

HOW QUICKLY HATRED WOULD DISSOLVE

AND COMPASSION RISE UP GALLANTLY

WITH BLAZING-STRONG RESOLVE.

IMAGINE, IN YOUR LIFETIME

THIS CHAIN OF HOPE BEGAN

AND THE LINK AT ITS INCEPTION

WAS YOUR FIRM, EXTENDED HAND.

IMAGINE........

 

WRITTEN BY:  TERRI MCPHERSON

BUZZARDS, BATS AND BEES

                     if you put a buzzard in a pen six or eight feet square, and entirely open at the top, the bird, in spite of his ability to fly, will be an absolute prisoner.  the reason is that a buzzard always begins a flight from the ground with a run of ten or twelve feet.  without space to run, as is his habit, he will not even attempt to fly, but will remain a prisoner for life in a small jail with no top.                                                                               

                               the ordinary bat that flies around at night, a remarkably nimble creature in the air, cannot take off from a level place.  if it is placed on the floor or flat ground, all it can do i shuffle about helplessly and, no doubt, painfully, until it reaches some slight elevation from which it can throw itself into the air.  then, at once, it takes off like a flash.                             

                              a bumblebee, if dropped into an open jar will be there until it dies, unless it is taken out.  it never sees the means of escape at the top, but persists in trying to find some way out through the sides near the bottom of the jar.  it will seek a way where none exists, until it completely destroys itself.  

in many ways, there are lots of people like the buzzard, the bat and the bee.  they are struggling about with all their problems and frustrations, not realizing that if they but look up, they will find the answer. 

ICE CREAM

this is a lovely story i received in my email several years ago.....i saved it and found it again tonight.  i felt like sharing it with all of you.  hope you enjoy it...........................

Last week I took my children to a restaurant. My six-year-old son asked if he could say grace.

As we bowed our heads he said, "God is good. God is great. Thank you for the food, & I would even thank you more if Mom gets us ice cream for dessert. And Liberty & justice for all!  Amen!" 
      

Along with the laughter from the other customers nearby, I heard a woman remark, "That's what's wrong with this country. Kids today don't even know how to pray. Asking God for ice-cream!  Why, I never!" 

Hearing this, my son burst into tears & asked me, "Did I do it wrong?  Is God mad at me?" 
      

As I held him & assured him that he had done a terrific job & God was certainly not mad at him, an elderly gentleman approached the table.  He winked at my son & said, "I happen to know that God thought that was a great prayer."  "Really?" my son asked.  "Cross my heart," the man replied. 
      

Then in a theatrical whisper he added (indicating the woman whose remark had started this whole thing), "Too bad she never asks God for ice cream. A little ice cream is good for the soul sometimes." 
      

Naturally, I bought my kids ice cream at the end of the meal.

My son stared at his for a moment & then did something I will remember the rest of my life. He picked up his sundae & without a word, walked over & placed it in front of the woman. With a big smile he told her, "Here, this is for you. Ice cream is good for the soul sometimes; and my soul is good already."

PAY IT FORWARD

                

                

i watched a movie tonight on tv.  that is the only way i see movies anymore.   and i usually don't have the patience to sit through anything longer than an hour.   but this movie kept me interested, actually, it kept me glued to the screen.  not many movies that aren't horror genre do that to me................. but this movie struck a few nerves...........and i had never seen it before..........so let me tell you what is on my heart....................  

i watched PAY IT FORWARD tonight.  for those of you who have seen this movie, you will probably understand what i am going to say.  those that haven't, well, i hope i explain it properly.  

i have been at the mercy of others for a couple of years now.  i lost two jobs, then lost my home, moved into a rental house i couldn't afford, and the girl who was going to room with me backed out, couldn't pay the movers who moved me from the house i lost, and almost went to jail over it, was almost evicted from the rental house i am currently in, had my car repossessed, filed bankruptcy (second time in 2 years) and am unable to pay this month's rent, so will more than likely be evicted in the next couple of weeks and be homeless.  my health leaves a lot to be desired (hypertension, diabetes, high cholesterol, anxiety attacks, panic attacks, to name a few, and no insurance to see a doctor or buy meds). 

i know there are many out there that are in much more difficult times and health than i am.  but that still doesn't make my own private hell any less hell.  i say all this to say this...............all my life i have tried to do for others........... tried to "pay it forward" for all the good that happened in my life early on.  basically, i have "done unto others as i would have them do unto me". 

that is, until the last two years.  i have been financially and physically unable to do much for others.  and it has truly caused me heartache.  after watching this movie tonight, my heart ached more.  recently, i was able to reclaim my car, and someone i go to church with GAVE me $2000 to pay my arrears in rent to keep from being evicted last month.  i want to be able to do something for others, not for glory on earth or heaven, but because i know how it feels to be on the receiving end............ and i want to make someone feel that good, and allow them to know there is a reason to carry on......................

i know that it is my love of God that makes me feel the need to do for others, but there is also a part of the human me that needs to see others smile.  i don't even care if the person i would do something nice for would ever know i was the one who did it (with God's help).  i just feel so good knowing that i could help someone become a better person by believing things are possible.  just think about it........if each of us did like in the movie, and helped three people in some big way (or even small way), and then asked them to do the same, and they did, wow!!!!!!!!!   what a wonderful world this would be to live in. 

though i am a Christian, a person doesn't have to be one to do this.  just be someone who wants to do something good for humanity.  there is no utopia here on earth.  and like in the movie, not all good deeds will bring forth other good deeds.......... but, if one out of 25 did "pay it forward", this world would still be so much nicer to live in............  

i also thought of a friend of mine from back maybe 30+ years ago, who went to medical school and became a pediatrician.  he married a registered nurse.  they eventually had three strapping sons.  but when he started his practice, he vowed he would never turn anyone down, whether they could pay or not.  they found out that the town they lived in, being a sorta backwoods southern town, had alot of indigent residents.  my friend and his wife moved to a farm with acreage, and began accepting livestock in trade for medical services when money was not available.  there were some folks who didn't even have livestock, and offered family heirlooms, antiques, and household items in trade.  so the wife opened a shop in town to sell these items............

thus, they bartered and everyone was happy.    we all need to get back to a simpler way of life.  not saying we all need to grow our own food, make our own clothes, and homeschool our kids.  but we do need to take the time to do something nice for someone, even a perfect stranger. 

it takes so little sometimes to make someone feel important, or needed, or just good about themselves.   so i challenge each of you fellow journalers out there in aol journal land to try this..........you don't have to do like in the movie, and choose 3 people to do something for...........but maybe one person..........someone you know, or maybe a stranger.  do something nice for them........even if it hurts your pocketbook a little.  even if it seems you can't let go of that certain item you love and cherish so much.  or even if it makes you step outside your comfort zone. 

you may never fully realize what you have done for someone, but will know you at least planted a seed of good will.     

                 

IT'S BACK, IT'S BACK

for those of you who have followed my journal and the woes of losing my car, i wanted you to know.............................I HAVE MY CAR BACK!!!!

PRAISE THE LORD, AMEN!!!!!!!!!!!!

thanks to all who offered words of encouragement and prayers. 

                             

MY FAIRY NAME

 

   my fairy name is:  

                                     FIRE ELFSHIMMER

she is a cheerful sprite and lives where fireflies mate and breed.

              she is only seen when the first flowers begin to blossom.

THE PUBLIC TOILET SEAT

this is not a story about my own experence, but something i found on a joke site.  but every woman has surely been through this experience at one point in her life.  if not, she will.        

 

                                                                                                                

my mother was a fanatic about public toilets.  as a little girl, she would bring me in the stall, teach me to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat.  then she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat.

finally, she would instruct, "never sit on a public toilet seat, for a bad lady might have just used this toilet."  and then she would demonstrate "THE STANCE", which consisted of balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without letting any of your flesh make contact with the toilet seat.  by this time i would have peed down my leg, and we would go home.

that was a long time ago.  i've had lots of experience with public toilets since then, but i am still not particularly fond of public toilets, especially those with the powerful red-eye sensors.  these toilets know when you want them to flush.  they are psychic toilets.  but i always confuse their psychic ability by following my mother's advice and assuming "THE STANCE."

"THE STANCE" is excruciatingly difficult to maintain when one's bladder is especially full.

this is most likely to occur after watching a full-length feature film.  during the "movie pee" it is nearly impossible to hold "THE STANCE."

you know what i mean.  you drink a two-liter cup of diet coke, then sit still through a three-hour saga because, for God's sake, even if you didn't wipe or wash your hands in the bathroom, you'd still miss the pivotal part of the movie, or the scene where they flash the leading man's naked derriere.

so, you cross your legs, and you hold it.  and you hold it till that first credit rolls and you sprint to the bathroom, about ready to explode all over your internal organs.

at the bathroom, you find a line of women that makes you think there's a half-price sale on mel gibson's underwear in there.  so, you wait, and smile politely at all the other ladies, also crossing their legs and smiling politely.  and you finally get closer.  you check for feet under the stall doors.  every one is occupied.  you hope no one is doing frivolous things behind those stall doors, like blowing her nose, or checking the contents of her wallet.

finally a stall door opens and you dash, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall.  you get in, to find the door won't latch.  it doesn't matter.  you hang your handbag on the door hook, yank down your pants and assume "THE STANCE."  relief.  more relief.

then your thighs begin to shake.  you'd like to sit down but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "THE STANCE" as your thighs experience a quake that would register an eight on the richtor scale.

to take your mind off it,you reach for the toilet paper.  might as well be ready when you are done.  the toilet paper dispenser is empty.  your thighs shake more.  you remember the tiny napkin you wiped your fingers on after eating buttered popcorn.  it would have to do.  you crumple it in the puffiest way possible.

it is still smaller than your thumbnail.  someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work and your pocketbook whams you in the head.  "occupied!" you scream, as you reach out for the door, dropping your buttered popcorn napkin in a puddle and falling backward, directly onto the toilet seat.

you get up quickly, but it is too late.  your bare bottom has made contact with all the germs and life forms on the bare seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper, not that there was any, even if you had had enough time to.  and your mother would be utterly ashamed of you if she knew, because her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because frankly, "you don't know what kind of disease you could get."

and by this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused, that it flushes, sending up a stream of water akin to a fountain and then it suddenly sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged to china.

at that point, you give up.  you're finished peeing.  you're soaked by the splashing water.  you're exhausted.  you try to wipe with a chicklet wrapper you found in your pocket, then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.

you can't figure out how to operate the sinks with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past a line of women, still waiting, cross-legged and unable to smile politely at this point.

one kind soul at the very end of the line points out that you are trailing a piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long as the mississippi river.  you yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand, and say warmly, "here, you might need this."

at this time, you see your spouse, who has entered, used, and exited his bathroom and read a copy of war and peace while waiting for you.  "what took you so long?" he asks, annoyed.  that's when you kick him sharply in the shin and go home.

this is dedicated to all woman who have ever had to deal with a public toilet.  and it finally explains to all you men why it takes us so long.

                                                                

LETTER TO WOMEN FROM GOD

Enjoy, and remember who you are.............

LETTER FROM GOD TO WOMEN

When I created the heavens and the earth, I spoke them into being.

When I created man, I formed him and breathed life into his nostrils.

But you, woman, I fashioned after I breathed the breath of life into man because your nostrils are too delicate. I allowed a deep sleep to come over him so I could patiently and perfectly fashion you. Man was put to sleep so that he could not interfere with the creativity.

From one bone, I fashioned you. I chose the bone that protects man's life. I chose the rib, which protects his heart and lungs and supports him, as you are meant to do. Around this one bone, I shaped you.... I modeled you.

I created you perfectly and beautifully. Your characteristics are as the rib, strong yet delicate and fragile. You provide protection for the most delicate organ in man, his heart. His heart is the center of his being; his lungs hold the breath of life.

The rib cage will allow itself to be broken before it will allow damage to the heart. Support man as the rib cage supports the body. You were not taken from his feet, to be under him, nor were you taken from his head, to be above him. You were taken from his side, to stand beside him and beheld close to his side.

You are my perfect angel.....

You are my beautiful little girl.

You have grown to be a splendid woman of excellence, and my eyes fill when I see the virtues in your heart.

Your eyes......don't change them.

Your lips-how lovely when they part in prayer.

Your nose, so perfect in form.

Your hands so gentle to touch I've caressed your face in your deepest sleep.

I've held your heart close to mine. Of all that lives and breathes, you are most like me.

Adam walked with me in the cool of the day, yet he was lonely. He could not see me or touch me. He could only feel me. So everything I wanted Adam to share and experience with me, I fashioned in you; my holiness, my strength, my purity, my love, my protection and support. You are special because you are an extension of me.

Man represents my image, woman my emotions.

Together, you represent the totality of God.

So man......treat woman well. Love her, respect her, for she is fragile.

CHILDHOOD MEMORIES......WHERE ARE THEY?

i mentioned in an earlier entry that i don't remember much about my childhood.  (entry:  UNCERTAINTY).  i am sure i had dreams of the future like most children do.........and i am sure i had alot of happy times as well as bad times.  occasionally something said or seen will trigger a memory, and i usually smile when i think about it.  that brings me to a memory i just had................

                               

i was 4 or 5 years old.  i lived in a white frame house in a southeastern portion of atlanta, called lakewood heights.  i lived with my mother and father, and behind our house was the cabin my mawmaw built herself, in which she lived.  mawmaw was what most today would call a "mountain woman".  she raised rabbits, chickens and an occasional duck in a penned area next to her cabin.  she didn't let alot of things upset her, but when she did get upset, watch out.........

behind my house was a concrete patio, which completely surrounded that side of the house.  the back yard was higher than the house, so there was a retaining wall, with steps going up to the yard.  the concrete was that really rough textured type.  i remember several things that happened on that patio. 

this particular day, mawmaw (who, by the way, was my maternal grandmother), was sitting in an original adirondak chair, and i was sitting on the concrete steps.  we were bouncing a small ball back and forth to each other.  now, you must first understand that my mawmaw was a tall, thin woman, with widening hips, and a sagging bossom.  i bounced the ball a little too hard, and mawmaw's arms flew up over her head to make sure she would catch the ball.  but the ball disappeared.  of course, from my vantage point on the steps, i saw where it went, but i couldn't stop laughing long enough to tell mawmaw.  she looked all over for the ball, then finally decided to get up out of the chair to look for it.  when she stood up, the ball fell out from under her right breast.  when she had thrown up her hands, her sagging breasts had flown up, and the ball went under one, then they came back down.......on the ball.  if i remember correctly, i almost wet my panties on that one................

another memory i have of mawmaw was around the same age, and happened in her cabin back behind our house.  i was visiting her one day around the time she fed her two dogs, spot and jackie.  (oh my, i remember the dogs' names......)  she opened a can of alpo dog food that smelled so very good, i asked mawmaw if i could taste it.  she handed me a fork, and said enjoy.  i vaguely remember that it tasted good.......but i wouldn't suggest it as a culinary delight. 

mawmaw was someone i would have loved to have stick around till i was older.........but she passed on when i was around 8 i think.  not even sure now what she died from.  i just know that life was different after her death.  my mother wasn't much like her....... even though i loved both of them equally.  mawmaw was seventh day adventist........and had lots of religious books that i still possess today. 

mawmaw, i miss you, even though i didn't spend alot of my life with you...........but you did leave a few lasting memories.  see you when i get to heaven...................

VOTING BADGE

            

ok lahoma, you better win after all the trouble i went through to put this on my journal....................

HEROES AMONG US

for some time i have wanted to add some of the "heroes among us" stories i receive in my email.  so today, i begin by adding this entry from cassie mcquay of jonesboro, arkansas:

               

Today's Hero:

I call my hero my gentle giant (he's really big), and I'm not even sure he realizes that he is a hero to me.  I hope he does, but he saves so many lives everyday that saving mine was almost just "all in a day’s work."  Thank God he enjoys his work.  You see, when I was a senior in high school, I was riding with some friends on my way to school.  It was raining pretty hard that morning, and the driver was in a hurry.  We slid off a curve and the small Firebird we were in hit
a truck head-on.  There were three of us in the firebird, all young stubborn teenagers, and two of us were hurt very badly.  The three passengers in the truck, one a small child, thankfully sustained only minor injuries.

Paramedics were called to the scene and were quick to help my friends, and I am very grateful for that.  Sadly, they took one look at me and
determined that I was dead, without even checking my vital signs.  You must understand, I looked dead.

Now this is where God sent my gentle giant to intercept.  He is a paramedic in a nearby state who just happens to live close to the school I was attending.  I know it was not just coincidence that he was driving through that exact way at that exact time.  He didn't have to stop and help even.  He had been working for 24 hours straight and was very tired.  Since he did stop though, he realized that I wasn't dead and ripped the car door off that had me trapped in, and he kept
me alive.  I thank God for him every night before I go to bed, especially since I'm now married to his wife's brother.  My gentle giant didn't realize it at the time because I was unrecognizable, but
I was the little girl that was engaged to his wife's brother (his future sister-in-law)!  So, I now get to see my hero at family get-togethers, and he is the uncle of my children.

The best thing we can be is the hero of another.

A PRAYER ANSWERED

 

                     

all too often we push God to the background till we need Him.  then, we beg Him for favors, some of which we need and deserve, and some of which we could surely live without. 

two weeks ago today my car was repo'd by the lienholder.  i made an entry about it here in my journal.  it surprised, shocked, hurt and angered me that this happened.  it seems that suddenly everything is going horribly bad in my life.............but................

i had pushed God to the background, and called on Him from time to time, but hadn't had the faith required to allow God to work in my life.  i am the type of person who tries to do everything myself.  guess that comes from being abandoned by two husbands..........sigh.........anyway.............

i spoke with my bankruptcy attorney this morning, and she gave me a number to call to find out where my car had been taken, and how much in storage fees i would have to pay.  i called the long distance number (which i thought was odd, since the car was supposed to be 23 miles away in griffin, georgia) and he told me the lienholder had released the car, and i could come get it anytime before 5:00 pm today, or any day m-f 8am-5pm.  i asked how much were the storage fees, and he said, well, it says here that the lienholder is paying those for you, so you owe nothing to us or the storage company.  i fell over out of my chair, lol, and then began singing inside praises to God.  i told the man, kevin, i could just hug his neck.  but, then he told me where he, and my car, were..........charlotte, north carolina.  i was shocked.  the lienholder had sent it to a car auction house to be sold.  i saved it by filing chapter 13 bankruptcy.  but it all happened in God's timing, and in His will.  so i cannot complain, but only sing praises.

so, don't wait till God answers a prayer the way you want Him to.....sing His praises before something good happens.........and let Him know you have faith in Him and His will for you life.  good advice, but now, can i accept it too????????? 

CYBERBALL ATTIRE

           

my dress for the j-land ball                                my hairdo for the ball

  

my shoes for the ball                                          my intimates for the ball

     AND OF COURSE.........

MY DATE FOR THE J-LAND BALL..........

I JUST CAN'T WAIT............SIGH.................

                            

UNCERTAINTY

  

ever wish you had a small peephole into your future?  ever wish God would send an occasional email as to what tomorrow will hold?  ever wish you would get visions of things to come, and be provided with the strength to face them? 

my life hasn't always been the way it is now.  i grew up in a upper middle class family, consisting of a mother, father and me.  though i didn't appreciate it much at the time, my father worked 6 jobs to make sure we had the nicest things, and that my mother had the latest appliances.  yes, my father was one of those men who thought birthdays and Christmas were for appliance giving......poor mother. 

i never had to really do much in my childhood as long as i studied hard and kept up my grades, and did a few household chores.  for some reason, still not clear to me, i have shut out the memories of my childhood, other than an occasional flash back when something in the present jogs my memory.  i do remember my father and i never got along, even though my first and middle names put together mean "father's queen".  i also remember snippets of his beating me, and verbally abusing me.  one of the worst memories i have is when i was about 7, my mother made me apologize to my father for something i felt i didn't do, and he wouldn't put down the paper to look at me, and when i told him i was sorry, he told me in a very angry tone he didn't want to hear my apology. that hurt me pretty bad, since it took all my strength to apologize in the first place.

you see, my father was not a very nice man.  and, though we should never speak ill of the dead, i feel i must address this here.  he was placed in an orphanage as a small boy, even though he had two parents who were married at the time. he grew up in the orphanage, with money being sent to them from his mother, for help in his upkeep.  she would visit occasionally.  when he was 14, he ran away from the orphanage and hitchhiked across the southeast.  he stopped in some small southern town and lied about his age to the owner of a diner, similar to the waffle house of today, and landed a job as dishwasher.  eventually he became a cook.  there was a story i remember him telling me about this woman, who came into the diner, and asked for two eggs, over easy, bacon, fried potatoes, grits and toast, with coffee.  he prepared the meal just as he had numerous other times for other people, and the waitress took it to the woman at the counter.  the woman called back the waitress, and told her that the eggs were way too hard, and the waitress sent them back.  my father fixed two more, a little less done, and returned them to the waitress.  upon receiving these latest eggs, the woman told the waitress, nope, still too hard.  the waitress returned them to my father once again, and he muttered something, but cooked two more eggs, and this time, he redid all the other food too, so that it would all be hot.  the woman took the plate, cut into the eggs, and told the waitress the cook must be an idiot, for the eggs were still not over easy, and she sent them back.  my father, quite angry by this time, cracked two raw eggs on the plate with the potatoes, bacon and toast, walked out to the counter, sat the plate in front of the woman himself, and said, eat, or get out.  the funny thing is, i actually don't remember ever hearing the ending to that story.  but we can all assume what she did.

my father had alot of anger in him.  i am sure he had every right to be angry, but he never had a way to vent his anger in a positive way, thus, when i came along, he vented it on me.

my father did work hard for his family.  we never did without.  well, without material things.  we hardly ever saw him except when we took vacations.  but vacations were a wonderful thing around my house.  we would pack and prepare for them a week before the event, and would always go somewhere exciting.  well, to me it was exciting.  the mountains, the beach.  in 1972, the year before my mother died, we went to toronto, canada, up through the states and around the great lakes, and returned back down the coast through niagra falls, new york (oh, yeah, forgot to mention, we lived in georgia).  a very obese friend of my mother's, sarah, went with us.  she couldn't keep up with us in new york, and the subways there are fast........doors open, you have to be on, and out of the way, and they close, and off you go.  we all made it on, sarah didn't.  had to wait for her to get there on the next train, lol.  we didn't know on this trip that both sarah and my mother were carrying a time bomb.......cancer.  my mother died the very next year in january, right after my birthday.  sarah died a couple of years later. 

my father would also take the family, and other relatives, like uncle emmett, on weekend trips.  uncle emmett always said he never knew whether to pack a bathing suit or fur coat, for my dad never planned these weekenders.  just got up about 4 am on a saturday morning, and packed a few things, and headed out.  drove my mother crazy, lol.  heck, i didn't care.  it was fun.

but though my father tried to do his best to provide for his family, he just held too much emotion and anger inside to be a good father and husband.  my parents were not "touchy feely" people, so there weren't alot of hugs and kisses, and "i love you's" spoken.  it was as if the "love" was supposed to be understood.  my father must have had alot of bad days at his many jobs, for when he would come home late at night, he would either go straight to bed, or i would hear him having words with my mother.  sometimes, if i were up still, i would catch it. 

i remember once, probably in the late 60's or early 70's, my father came home from work late, about 11 pm.  mother and i both had been cleaning house all day.  i remember specifically because i was really really tired.  my father stepped inside the carport door into the kitchen, and felt some grit under his shoes.  probably brought it in himself from the carport.  he yelled something about how he hated coming home to a filthy house, and that two women at home should be fully capable of cleaning grit off a floor.  he turned back around, slammed the door and stormed off in the car.  he allegedly spent the night at a hotel near work, and went straight there the next morning.  now that i am a mature adult i wonder what exactly was the motive behind that little tirade.

i guess my life wasn't too much different than alot of other people's from that era, but when you live it yourself, you feel you are the only one on earth going through it all.  i have never felt the urge to write about my past life publicly till now.  i guess though i have written for years in a private paper journal, i felt the need to expose myself openly to the public.  i hope no one rubs salt in the wounds, but if so, maybe that is the purpose of this journal.

i am going to stop writing for now.  when i started this entry, the emotions, and the power i felt writing about this, were immense, and were compelling me to pen (or type) my thoughts.  now, i feel sorta like the wind is out of my sails.  i am going to take this slow, and that way i will hopefully remember more, and be able to get alot of this out of my system.  if i have bored you readers out there, sorry.  but i guess this is something that has been a long time in the making.......something i really needed to do.  bear with me, ok?

LOSS

MY INNER FAERIE

              
You are a faerie of the flame. You tend to lose
your temper at the littlest thing, hot-headed.
You're a loyal friend to those who can understand your raging moods. You're social though claim not to be. You are no one else but yourself and sometimes you try too hard to be just that. You're a passionate friend, and would do almost anything for those you care for.

What's your inner Faerie?
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BRIAN'S STORY

Seventeen year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a class. The subject was what Heaven was like.  "I wowed 'em," he later told his father, Bruce.  "It's a killer.  It's the bomb. It's the best thing I ever wrote."   It also was the last.

Brian's parents had forgotten about the essay when a cousin found it while cleaning out the teenager's locker at Teary Valley

High School.  Brian had been dead only hours, but his parents desperately wanted every piece of his life near them - notes from classmates and teachers, his homework. Only two months before, he had handwritten the essay about encountering Jesus in a file room full of cards detailing every moment of the teen's life.  But it was only after Brian's death that Beth and Bruce Moore realized that their son had described his view of heaven.  It makes such an impact that people want to share it.  "You feel like you are there, "  Mr.Moore said.


Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day.  He was driving home from a friend's house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in Pickaway County and struck a utility pole.  He emerged from the wreck unharmed but stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted.


The Moores framed a copy of Brian's essay and hung it among the family portraits in the living room.  "I think God used him to

make a point.  I think we were meant to find it and make something out of it," Mrs. Moore said of the essay.  She and her husband want to share their son's vision of life after death. "I'm happy for Brian.  I know he's in heaven.  I know I'll see him."


Brian's Essay:


The Room...

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room.  There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order.  But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings.


As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read  "Girls I have liked."   I opened it and began flipping through the cards . I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.  And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was.  This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life.  Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in detail my memory couldn't match.  A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content.  Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.


A file named "Friends" was next to one-marked "Friends I have betrayed."  The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I have Read,"  "Lies I Have Told,"  "Comfort I have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed At."   Some were almost hilarious in their exactness:  "Things I've yelled at my brothers."  Others I couldn't laugh at:  "Things I Have Done in My Anger",  "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents."   I never ceased to be surprised by the contents.


Often there were many more cards than I expected.  Sometimes fewer than I hoped.  I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived.  Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of cards?  But each card confirmed this truth.   Each was written in my own handwriting.  Each signed with my signature.


When I pulled out the file marked "TV Shows I have watched," I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file.  I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time I knew that file represented.


When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts,"  I felt a chill run through my body.   I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size,  and drew out a card.  I shuddered at its detailed content.  I felt sick to think that sucha moment had been recorded.


An almost animal rage broke on me.  One thought dominated my mind:  No one must ever see these cards!  No one must ever see this room!  I have to destroy them!"   In insane frenzy I yanked the file out.  Its size didn't matter now.  I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card.  I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.


Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot.  Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.


And then I saw it.  The title bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel With."  The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused.  I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands.  I could count the cards it contained on one hand.


And then the tears came.   I began to weep.  Sobs so deep that they hurt.  They started in my stomach and shook through me.  I fell on my knees and cried.  I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all.  The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes.  No one must ever, ever know of this room.  I must lock it up and hide the key.  But then as I pushed away the tears,  I saw..... Him.



No, please not Him.  Not here.  Oh, anyone but Jesus.  I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards.  I couldn't bear to watch His response.  And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face,  I saw a sorrow greater than my own.


He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes.


Why did He have to read every one?  Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room.  He looked at me with pity in His eyes.  But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again.  He walked over and put His arm around me . He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word.  He just cried with me.


Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files.  Starting at one end of the room,  He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. "No!"  I shouted rushing to Him.  All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him.  His name shouldn't be on these cards.   But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, and so alive.


The name of Jesus covered mine.  It was written with His blood.  He gently took the card back.  He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards.  I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side.  He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished."


I stood up, and He led me out of the room.  There was no lock on its door.  There were still cards to be written.


"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."- Phil. 4:13

"For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life."

LOSS OF HOPE

If we might have a second chance
To live the day's once more,
And rectify mistakes we've made
To even up the score.
If we might have a second chance
To use the knowledge gained,
Perhaps we might become at last
As fine as God ordained.
But though we can't retrace our steps,
However stands the score,
Tomorrow brings another chance
For us to try once more.

author unknown

my car was repo'd tonight.......totally a shock...........since i was informed the lienholder would be in touch with me over restarting payments..............guess i was hoodwinked.........so now, no car, and i don't have a clue as to what to do.  that car was my only way to and from work.........not sure what God is trying to teach me here, but obviously i am not getting it.........

THE MESSAGE BOARD MASSACRE

But anyway, my point is, let's all get passed this and move on :)

(((hugs to all)))

 

several days ago, i sent my farewell letter to the journal board.  there was so much drama, so much meanness, i decided it was in my best interests to move away from it at least for awhile.  i apologized to the one who was hurt, as well as to everyone who felt i had somehow offended them.  yet, i open the journal message board today, and there are 20 new posts about this issue.  as jes states above.........get past this and move on...........

i was not born with a hurtful nature, nor was i taught to be mean and hateful and hurtful.  amazing what a bad life can do to you............but.........what hurts me more is that people cannot forgive and forget.  and that some people feel that they have to keep the fires going to feel self important.  this is the last time i will mention this journal board incident.  it was heavy on my heart, and i felt the need to write what i was feeling.  to those who feel they must carry this torch forward, i pray you will let go of it, and instead, pick up the torch of forgiveness, and move forward. 

thanks to those who made some nice comments about moving on and letting go of this.

HER CAR

well, the daughter came by today, to show me the new car.........she was very very ecstatic over it.  i have to admit, it is a great looking car.  has alot of the extras she wanted.  but of course, i do worry about her........it is a sports type car, and she is a maniac lol.  but, she has been driving for 2.5 years and is still alive........so i just have to relax and pray.  yeah, right, lol.  there were a few things wrong with the car, like a busted out blinker light in the front, and moisture accumulating in two of the light wells.   but overall, a nice car.  i was really surprised that my ex-inlaws bought it for her.........they felt all she needed was a chevy cavalier. 

daughter was very pleasant, mostly because she was so ecstatic over the car.  now, all she has to do is spend the next week looking for a job to pay for the car.  $7000.14...........for 3 years..........$194.00 a month.............hope the ex-inlaws know what they are in for, lol.  well, it was good to see her happy anyway.  don't know how long it will last........probably till the first time something goes wrong with it.  it has a 30 day guarantee........i have to give my ex-fatherinlaw that much..........he is a great dealer with automotive places..........was in the autobody business for many years, and knows most of the dealership owners. 

well, guess i better log off here, and get some shut eye.  had to make this comment about my daughter, since i never know from one day to another if she is still speaking to me...................ahhhhhhhhh..........PARENTHOOD!!

THE SANDPIPER

        

She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to close in on me. She was building a sandcastle or something and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.

"Hello," she said.

I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child. 

               

"I'm building," she said.

"I see that. What is it?" I asked, not really caring.

"Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand."

That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper glided by.

"That's a joy," the child said.

"It's a what?"

"It's a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy."  

The bird went gliding down the beach. Good-bye joy, I muttered to myself, hello pain, and turned to walk on.
I was depressed, my life seemed completely out of balance.  

"What's your name?" She wouldn't give up.

"Robert," I answered. "I'm Robert Peterson."  

"Mine's Wendy... I'm six." 

"Hi, Wendy." 

She giggled. "You're funny," shesaid.

In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on. Her musical giggle followed me.

"Come again, Mr. P," she called. "We'll have another happy day."  

After a few days of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, and an ailing mother, I knew I would be back.

The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwater. I need a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up my coat.

The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.  

"Hello, Mr. P," she said. "Do you want to play?"  

"What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.

"I don't know, you say."  

 

"How about charades?"  I asked sarcastically.

The tinkling laughter burst forth again. "I don't know what that is."   

"Then let's just walk."

Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face.

"Where do you live?" I asked.

"Over there." She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.

Strange, I thought, in winter.

"Where do you go to school?"

"I don't go to school. Mommy says we're on vacation."

She chattered "little girl talk" as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was on other things. When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day. Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.

Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I was in no mood to even greet Wendy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt like demanding she keep her child at home.

"Look, if you don't mind," I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, "I'd rather be alone today."  She seemed unusually pale and out of breath.

"Why?" she asked.

I turned to her and shouted, "Because my mother died!" and thought, My God, why was I saying this to a little child?

"Oh," she said quietly, "then this is a bad day."

"Yes," I said, "and yesterday and the day before and--oh, go away!"  

"Did it hurt?" she inquired.  

"Did what hurt?" I was exasperated with her, with myself.  

"When she died?"

"Of course it hurt!" I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in myself. I strode off.

A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there. Feeling guilty, ashamed and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn looking young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.

"Hello," I said, "I'm Robert Peterson. I missed your little girl today and wondered where she was."

"Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy spoke of you so much. I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance, please, accept my apologies."  

"Not at all -- she's a delightful child." I said, suddenly realizing that I meant what I had just said.  

"Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson. She had leukemia. Maybe she didn't tell you."

Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. I had to catch my breath

"She loved this beach so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no. She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days. But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly..." Her voice faltered, "She left something for you ... if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I look?"  

I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely young woman. She handed me a smeared envelope with "MR. P" printed in bold childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues -- a yellow beach, a blue sea, and a brown bird.

Underneath was carefully printed: A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY.  

               

Tears welled up in my eyes and a heart that had almost forgotten to love opened wide. I took Wendy's mother in my arms. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," I muttered over and over, and we wept together.

The precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six words -- one for each year of her life -- that speak to me of harmony, courage, and undemanding love. A gift from a child with sea blue eyes and hair the color of sand -- who taught me the gift of love.

                              

NOTE: This is a true story by Robert Peterson.   It happened over 20 years ago and the incident changed his life forever. 

It serves as a reminder to all of us that we need to take time to enjoy living and life and each other.

The price of hating other human beings is loving oneself less. Life is so complicated, the hustle and bustle of everyday traumas can make us lose focus about what is truly important or what is only a momentary setback or crisis. 

This week,  be sure to give your loved ones an extra hug, and by all means, take a moment...even if it is only ten seconds, to stop and smell the roses. This comes from someone's heart, and is shared with many and now I share it with you.

     May God Bless everyone that receives this!
     There are NO coincidences!
     Everything that happens to us happens for a reason.
     Never brush aside anyone as insignificant.
     Who knows what they can teach us?