tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64624956252145958222024-02-20T10:24:14.860-08:00Interesting Pics and Storiesspybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-80274925873602227642013-08-19T11:43:00.000-07:002013-08-19T11:43:16.532-07:00ReclamationHello to all of you who still read this blog despite nothing new showing up here. I know I have been absent but i have been very busy trying to stay up on life :) You know the usual, and spending any free time with my family and attempting to keep up on my usual shows. Yes some Doctor Who, and believe it or not I have just started watching the 4 episode of the first season. I have been assured that it does get much better, and we will see :) So what i would like to say is that I will be completely redoing this blog and erasing some of the previous posts. If you wish for your favorite posts to remain here please leave a comment for your your fav. post. Well the best of wishes to all of you who remain faithful readers of this blog as we work towards the goal of honoring our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ :)spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-37971784943775931482013-02-15T16:22:00.000-08:002013-02-15T16:22:18.250-08:00Random<br />
Admit it. We've all done it. At one point or another we have all talked to an inanimate object. If only they could reveal their secrets to the rest of us. Those of us wishing to know what goes on in someone else life. Yeah, it's not really right, wishing to know someone else secrets. But we've all done it. If those objects could talk back to us, it might be really funny, especially if they have an attitude. But on the other hand, they would prolly tell us what we don't want to hear. Just like instead of telling it over and over again what you would really like to say to someone, but you just don't want to. They would prolly all tell us to shut up and just do it! Cuz really what could you lose by saying it to their face? But the sometimes sad reality is that they can't talk back to us, and personally I'm kinda glad for that.<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>One such object is used by us, but never really thanked for the gift it gives us. So unselfish it lies there always ready to hold our weary head, or rest our tired feet. Yep you guessed it, I'm talking about our pillows. I guess you could say i'm speaking up about the abuse that these poor things have to suffer. It seems like a long stretch to say that they should be cared for as unselfishly as they care for us, but really, they do so much for us, and what do we give them. Most of the time, it's a few bad words cuz it's not fluffed up enough. If they could only give us advice when we need it. But no, they lay there listening with open ears to our groans, maybe wishing that we weren't so hard on ourselves. How many times do we beat our pillows in frustration. How many tears do they capture unselfishly, saying nothing in return, yet giving us such warmth to smother ourselves. The secrets that they hold will always be there even when we forget, but they will never tell a soul. How many times have we wished for a friend who would never tell a secret? <br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>If you think about it, sometimes we as a person, as a friend should take an example from a pillow. Yeah I know right. You're thinking. Totally I'm going to look at a pillow and tell my self that I should be more like my pillow. Yep that is totally what I'm saying. Now don't go to the extreme. But a little bit of advice. We all wish for that friend who never really says anything, but when we really need someone to tell us when we are wrong, and even more when we're right. That's kinda where a pillow falls short. They can't say anything back. But they listen like noone else will. I know this is very weird of me to be talking about how a pillow can help us in life, but the truth is they really do help us, if it weren't for pillows where would we be today? Think about it, and you might recall that one pillow still exists today. Think about it. It's in the Bible. Old Testament. Jacob. Yep that's right. A Rock. A pillow that didn't rock. How uncomfortable would it be to use a rock as a pillow. But when Jacob was sleeping that night with a rock as a pillow he had a dream. He dreamed there was a staircase rising to heaven. How many of us have had dreams like that when we're laying on our feathery pillows? No, I'm not suggesting that we should use a rock as a pillow. But sometimes when we are the most uncomfortable in life is the time when the best things happen to us. Just a thought. Yep I'm being really random. But sometimes we just need<br />
to be random.spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-5688099530659462372012-12-08T11:54:00.002-08:002012-12-08T11:54:26.807-08:00When We Think of Christmas
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When we think of Christmas, we think of a tree that we as a
family would go to the woodlot and pick the very best, cut it down and bring it
home, and set it up in the honorary corner. The tree that we lovingly adorned
with everything from a feather to a stocking. Then came the most treasured
adornment. The star, that was stored the year round in a secret place in the
attic. Each Christmas Dad would go and bring it down, and we would all cheer,
and wait impatiently for one of us to be chosen to be the one to place that
silver star on the top most spike. Then on the night before Christmas we would
lie awake, trying to hear the gliding of Santa’s sleigh through the frosty air,
or listen breathlessly to try and catch the sound of the reindeer. It was all
quite a pleasant time full of awesome memories, the special time of year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I think back on it, I think it was
the time when we were all the happiest. I even remember the time when my
brother told me that santa only brought gifts for the good little boys and
girls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He told me that because he
had helped wash the dishes every evening for a whole month that santa was going
to bring him everything he wished for. I watched him write that letter, sign it
and give it to my Dad who would with a smile on his face say that only they
knew the secret address to santa. We really believed then that santa was real,
and that the red nosed reindeer really did lead his team, and that Mrs. Santa
really did make those gingerbread cookies, or that the elves really were tiny
little dwarves who lived in little underground mansions deep in the Artic
wilderness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But now that I have
grown up from those youngster days, I now know where all those pleading letters
went. But during those times, It was actually fun believing that he was real,
and that he really did have a deep voice, and a white beard, and that he really
had those deep blue eyes, as clear as an Artic spring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The idea that santa was real was what
woke us up in the morning on Christmas day before daybreak to see what he had
left in our stockings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I think
what was the most special was how Christmas really started. It didn’t start
with the first mention of santa, it really started a long time before that.
With the birth of a little boy in a manger. That baby boy was Jesus and he
would grow up to become the Savior of the world. The story that Dad would read
to us around the fireplace on Christmas was as real to me as anything, even
realer than the thought of Santa. Santa really didn’t do anything to change the
world, he really is only an idea. On the other hand Jesus lived and died for
us. Now that really meant something to a young mind like me. The hardest question
of all was how in the world could someone send his own son down from heaven to
die on a tree for me. After what I’d done. No I wasn’t a really bad boy, but I
had done some things I wasn’t proud of. Like steal a couple nickels from my
brother’s piggy bank, or stuff all my clothes underneath my bed when my mom
told me to clean my room. No that wasn’t no great sin, but it was still a
sin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew that I was a sinner,
and that night on Christmas eve, when<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I knelt by that small window, and watched the clouds sail across that
frosty moon, the extent of what Jesus had done for me really became a
reality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t no great
lightning bolt across the sky, but it was a peace, the kind of peace that passeth
all understanding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As each
Christmas we shop for all the little trinkets that we think we need, and see
that scene with Jesus in the manger, it really doesn’t do justice to the real
meaning of Christmas, not even a tiny bit. If we forget what Christmas really
represents, then we’ve really put a disgrace on the one person who we really
should be celebrating. Anyways, Happy holidays, and a blessed New Year!</div>
<!--EndFragment-->spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-966444668983163792012-10-09T21:35:00.000-07:002012-10-10T07:41:34.104-07:00A Change of Plans<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;">
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</span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: 13pt;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #262626;">Ok guys, just do you
know I didn't write this, so all credit goes to the anynomous author. I thought
this was a very good description of me, for all of you wondering what it's like
being me!
</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit;">
</span></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit;"> A
Change Of Plans <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit;">I had not really planned on
taking a trip this time of year, and yet I found myself packing rather
hurriedly. This trip was going to be unpleasant and I knew in advance that no
real good would come of it. I'm talking about my annual "Guilt Trip. " I
got tickets to fly there on "WISHIHAD" airlines. It was an extremely
short flight. I got my baggage, which I could not check. I chose to carry it
myself all the way. It was weighted down with a thousand memories of what might
have been. No one greeted me as I entered the terminal to the Regret City
International Airport. I say international because people from all over the
world come to this dismal town. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit;">As I checked into the Last Resort Hotel, I
noticed that they would be hosting the year's most important event, the Annual
Pity Party. I wasn't going to miss that great social occasion. Many of the
towns leading citizens would be there. First, there would be the Done family,
you know, Should Have, Would Have and Could Have. Then came the I Had family.
You probably know ol' Wish and his clan. Of course, the Opportunities would
be present, Missed and Lost. he biggest family would be the Yesterday's.
There are far too many of them to count, but each one would have a very sad
story to share. Then Shattered Dreams would surely make and appearance. And
It's Their Fault would regale us with stories (excuses) about how things had
failed in his life, and each story would be loudly applauded by Don't Blame Me
and I Couldn't Help It.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit;"> Well, to make a long story short, I went to this
depressing party knowing that there would be no real benefit in doing so. And,
as usual, I became very depressed. But as I thought about all of the stories
of failures brought back from the past, it occurred to me that all of this trip
and subsequent "pity party" could be cancelled by ME! I started to
truly realize that I did not have to be there. I didn't have to be depressed. One
thing kept going through my mind, I can't change yesterday, but I do have the
power to make today a wonderful day. I can be happy, joyous, fulfilled,
encouraged, as well as encouraging. Knowing this, I left the City of Regret
immediately and left no forwarding address. Am I sorry for mistakes I've made
in the past? YES! But there is no physical way to undo them. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit;"> So, if you're
planning a trip back to the City of Regret, please cancel all your reservations
now. Instead, take a trip to a place called, Starting Again. I liked it so
much that I have now taken up permanent residence there. My neighbors, the I
Forgive Myselfs and the New Starts are so very helpful. By the way, you don't
have to carry around heavy baggage, because the load is lifted from your
shoulders upon arrival. God bless you in finding this great town. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: inherit;">If you can
find it — it's in your own heart — please look me up. I live on
ICANDOALLTHROUGHJESUS street. “I can't change yesterday, but I do have the
power to make today a wonderful day.” -- Live. Love. Laugh. Learn Trust Hope
Faith Forgiveness</span></div>
<!--EndFragment--></span>spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-44143376597967389142012-09-08T16:51:00.000-07:002012-09-08T16:52:52.455-07:00The Coming Future<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">What do we say when you see our country going in
what you believe is the wrong direction?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What do we do when we see our president passing laws that limit our
freedoms in every direction? More importantly what do you see in our future as
a nation?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some see it as the
coming apocalyptic end to the world as we know it, others see a future of
change, still others see it as a chance for the people to rise up and take back
the country which once was free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
think one of the important things that we must decide is what is our role in
all of this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What really would be
the right thing to do?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Recently
a Texas Judge by the name of Tom Head was interveiwed on Fox News for his
comments regarding this next election. This sums up what he said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">“</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">One
of the things is he’s going to try to give the sovereignty of the United States
away to the United Nations. What do you think the public is going to do when
that happens? We are talking civil unrest, civil disobedience, possibly,
possibly civil war.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now what is
going to happen then?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
President will in U.N troops to end the civil disobedience” Lubbock County
Judge Tom Head said Tuesday on <a href="http://www.myfoxlubbock.com/news/local/story/taxes-county-lubbock-judge-head-obama/Gm9J-kS5pEKRyrEiOWXvew.cspx"><b><span style="color: #113460; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">FOX 34</span></b></a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He also said. "Will this kind of thing
happen? Probably not”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">Read more: <a href="http://www.politico.com/news/stories/0812/80037.html#ixzz25vOViKg3"><b><span style="color: #062b82; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">http://www.politico.com/news/stories/0812/80037.html#ixzz25vOViKg3</span></b></a></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"> Tom <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>also said that if such a thing were to
happen he would want experienced battle trained proffesional soldiers to back
him up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He also warned that the
state of Texas will remove itself from the union, and no longer be one of
the<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>'States of America'.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is not a threat that was made
lightly, in so much as some have already came out and called him a<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>lunatic for saying what he did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Democrats all across the board are
calling for him to be kicked out of office, but the reality of the matter is is
that he is so well loved by the people of his jurisdiction that there is no way
that they will not vote for him again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And I think that this is very well said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If we believe in what someone in office says and stands for
then we should by all manner stand beside him/or her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now some of you might already be thinking about<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the certain sherriff of said certain
town who was said by the judge that he the sherriff said out of his own mouth
he would stand beside him if any of the said predictions should come to fruit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now this said sherriff came out on the
same news channel and said that no such thing was discussed between him and the
judge! Now what in the world, that is a total contradiction from what the jude
said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Could it be that the jude or
the sherriff is lying about what went on behind closed doors .<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I won't even try to tell you what i
think is the truth because truthfully i don't know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And right now I don't need to know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The important thing is, and what I am
saying right now is the fact that the two stories don't line up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If the sherriff really did say he would
back the judge up, and now when confronted by national news he won't admit
it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now that thought just really
does not set well with me or with the rest of you Southern gentlemen and ladies
who have the moral set well in our heart that if we say we're going to stand by
anothers side, we're going to do it even if it makes us a few enemies on the
other side of the fence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now was
the sherriff really telling the truth about what he said?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or is he trying to paint his public
image in a color that would make him look good?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I read the story and listened to the interveiws I
came back with the picture of the sherriff not wanting to admit that he stood
with the judge, who right at this very moment is on the recieving end of some
very bad public comments all over the internet, especially in the blogosphere.
Now you can say and think whatever you want about what I just said, but that is
my personal opinion on the matter, and if you think i'm wrong then feel free to
comment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I admit, first
impressions aren't always correct, and in the future I may change my stance,
but right now I am with the Judge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Even putting all of this aside, and looking at his place of authority as
a county judge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What do we see in
so many other judges?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are
getting messed up in scandals of all sorts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And here we have in the Great State of Texas, one judge, in
one county of Texas, threatening that the State of Texas will remove itself
from the Union if Obama is reelected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Why are the Democrats working themselves so hard over what on man says
who really is a nobody in polotics?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Could it be that Tom might have a legitimate point here? Could this country be on the verge of another civil war? If you think about it, we are really already involved in a cold civil war.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>If this country would start a civil war in the near future, or
whenever, where would you stand?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Would you publicly stand with someone who you know is right, or would
you sit home and do nothing, relying on some false notion that God is going to
do everything for you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know, and
I fully agree that this countries main problem is not with the leadership or
with the goverment, but rather it is with 'We the People', and if we want<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>change for our country then we need to
look at our own lives and at the way in which we might have screwed up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The truth is if Me, and You, and the
rest of y'all were doing what we needed to be doing,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Obama would no longer be in office. Take what I just said
any way you want too, but that is the plain simple truth. If you're on welfare,
and you are very able to work, and you're family is barely surviving, then you
need to get your hind end off the couch and go find something that will bring
in even a buck or two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, before
some of you get all in a huff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
know there is a lot of you out there who are in a bad situation with work and
you're spending every waking second working to keep your family afloat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I appluad and give you a high
five.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And remember success isn't
always about how much money you have, but rather it's about how joyful you are
in your present situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here is
another thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You're success is
not determined by how well the goverment is spending our money, or what Obama
is doing, or is wanting to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You're success and my success is determined by what you do, and what i
do on a daily basis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the
not so main reasons why our country is not going the way it shoud be is because
people like you and me are just sitting at home, praying, and saying<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>what ever happens is God's Will. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
-Willy Wonka</div>
<!--EndFragment-->spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-85804543842857528002012-09-08T16:50:00.003-07:002012-09-08T16:50:48.203-07:00Hey y'all!!
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hey y’all I just wanted to catch you up on a new feature
that I am going to be adding to my blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>First off, I have friend who goes by the name Willy Wonka!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has a good reputation I
think as being someone who is Funny, Honest, and Responsible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I invited him to write a short piece about
something that you might find interesting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He agreed, so I will be posting at least once weekly
something that he has written.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Thank you all for your continued support of my blog, and have an awesome
day!!</div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>-Spybot</div>
<!--EndFragment-->spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-52318134192650929452012-08-23T15:10:00.001-07:002012-08-23T15:10:29.510-07:00If My People Rally *Highlights*<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-87981120979615076402012-08-23T09:59:00.001-07:002012-08-23T10:02:54.543-07:00A Soldiers Love<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">It had been a year since Susan, 34, became blind. Due to a medical misdiagnosis she had been rendered sightless, and she was suddenly thrown into a world of darkness, anger, frustration and self-pity. And all she had to cling to was her husband, Mark.</span><br />
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Mark was an Air Force officer and he loved Susan with all his heart. When she first lost her sight, he watched her sink into despair and was determined to help his wife gain the strength and confidence she needed to become independent again.</div>
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Finally, Susan felt ready to return to her job, but how would she get there? She used to take the bus, but was now too frightened to get around the city by herself. Mark volunteered to drive her to work each day, even though they worked at opposite ends of the city. At first, this comforted Susan, and fulfilled Mark’s need to protect his sightless wife who was so insecure about performing the slightest task. Soon, however, Mark realized the arrangement wasn’t working. Susan is going to have to start taking the bus again, he admitted to himself. But she was still so fragile, so angry-how would she react?</div>
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Just as he predicted, Susan was horrified at the idea of taking the bus again. “I’m blind!,” she responded bitterly. “How am I supposed to know where I am going? I feel like you’re abandoning me.”</div>
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Mark’s heart broke to hear these words, but he knew what had to be done. He promised Susan that each morning and evening he would ride the bus with her, for as long as it took, until she got the hang of it. And that is exactly what happened. For two solid weeks, Mark, military uniform and all, accompanied Susan to and from work each day. He taught her how to rely on her other senses, specifically her hearing, to determine where she was and how to adapt her new environment. He helped her befriend the bus drivers who could watch out for her, and save her a seat.</div>
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Finally, Susan decided that she was ready to try the trip on her own. Monday morning arrived, and before she left, she threw her arms around Mark, her temporary bus-riding companion, her husband, and her best friend. Her eyes filled with tears of gratitude for his loyalty, his patience, and his love. She said good-bye, and for the first time, they went their separate ways. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday… Each day on her own went perfectly, and Susan had never felt better. She was doing it! She was going to work all by herself.</div>
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On Friday morning, Susan took the bus to work as usual. As she was paying the fare to exit the bus, the driver said, “Boy, I sure do envy you.” Susan wasn’t sure if the driver was speaking to her or not. After all, who on earth would ever envy a blind woman who had struggled just to find the courage to live for the past year?</div>
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Curious, she asked the driver, “Why do you say that you envy me?” The driver responded, “It must feel good to be taken care of and protected like you are.”</div>
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Susan had no idea what the driver was talking about, and again asked, “What do you mean?”</div>
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The driver answered, “You know, every morning for the past week, a fine-looking gentleman in a military uniform has been standing across the corner watching you as you get off the bus. He makes sure you cross the street safely and he watches until you enter your office building. Then he blows you a kiss, gives you a little salute and walks away. You are one lucky lady.”</div>
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Tears of happiness poured down Susan’s cheeks. For although she couldn’t physically see him, she had always felt Mark’s presence. She was lucky, so lucky, for he had given her a gift more powerful than sight, a gift she didn’t need to see to believe-the gift of love that can bring light where there is darkness.</div>
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spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-76697026325202397082012-08-16T21:54:00.000-07:002012-08-16T21:55:00.912-07:00Sports Picnic 2012<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-40318638585118791472012-08-01T17:03:00.001-07:002012-08-01T17:03:07.653-07:00The Piano Guys; What Makes You Beautiful<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-52436590274135086592012-07-26T07:45:00.000-07:002012-07-26T09:49:49.787-07:00Cooks Campsite<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k2Hyh2sxgMY/UBFUJcg6ANI/AAAAAAAAAgg/2cOIL8mWofQ/s1600/DSC_1613.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-k2Hyh2sxgMY/UBFUJcg6ANI/AAAAAAAAAgg/2cOIL8mWofQ/s400/DSC_1613.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah I think we are seeing what were seeing. Must be a marshmallow beauty treatment :/<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<br />spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-80045976834651432272012-07-16T13:13:00.002-07:002012-07-16T13:13:26.006-07:00The Breath You Take: George Strait<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-37794587505740959912012-06-25T09:24:00.000-07:002012-06-25T09:24:22.797-07:00My Tribute to My Pastor<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">When
I first started causally attending Bible Believers Baptist Church, I almost didn’t
know what to think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was so
unlike any church I have been too, that as I was sitting there listening to
Pastor Townsend preach; I was thinking he was crazy, peculiar, or just plain
weird!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It struck me so hard to
actually hear a preacher preaching the Bible that I was in a sense dumbfounded.
Any of you that have been to a Baptist church most likely do not know what I’m
talking about. I may seem partially one minded, but you can read whatever you
want into this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">A
typical Baptist church has one over all agenda. One leader who can tell you the
people what do to, what to think and what to say, build a huge church, and use
whatever means necessary to fill the pews, even if it means altering what comes
from the pulpit, so much so that you begin to wonder what Bible it came
from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Now
that I have partially degraded the Baptist system, I’ll tell you I am not the
least bit apologetic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am so
tired of the lukewarm, half hearted, pasted smiles, loud spoken pastors of traditional
Baptist churches that I almost gave up on church altogether, if it had not been
for the help of Pastor Townsends preaching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right from the start I knew that this was not some guy trying
to attract attention, but a genuine Christian who believes, and actually
practices what he preaches. It’s not the facial appearance of the church that
draws neither attention, nor the padded comfortable pews that draws. No far
from it. It’s the heart of the church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Now don’t get it in your head that I mean a group of deacons or elders,
no, the church is the people, each family, each individual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>If
you come, don’t expect to be able to relax, slouch in your pew, and fall asleep
listening to the steady drone of voices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Be prepared to have your toes stepped on, your faith strengthened, and
your beliefs tested. If you want to grow your faith then stop in at Bible Believers
Baptist Church in Mesick, you won’t regret it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is not an all suit and tie church, neither is it jeans,
and a t-shirt, though neither matters, since it really is what’s in your heart,
not what you wear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t you
agree? What should a churches purpose really be?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To fill the listener’s ears with what you want to hear, to
make you feel comfortable no matter what you’re doing. Or should the purpose of
a church be, when you hear a message, cause you to question what you
believe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is Pastor Townsend
perfect, no?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is he a person with a
heart for what’s right, yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is he
afraid to preach something that will in all probability anger some, yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is that going to stop him from
preaching the truth from the Bible, no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Why am I writing this?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Because I believe in what Pastor Townsend is living his life for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do I agree with everything he says, no?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is that going to stop me from coming to
church, no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Should it stop you?
Really?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>H.
A. Phillips</span><!--EndFragment-->spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-22247869787535241402012-05-31T22:09:00.003-07:002012-05-31T22:41:00.644-07:00The Little Boy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sally jumped up as soon as she saw the surgeon come out of the operating room. She said: “How is my little boy? Is he going to be all right? When can I see him?”</div>
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The surgeon said, “I’m sorry. We did all we could, but your boy didn’t make it.”</div>
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Sally said, “Why do little children get cancer? Doesn’t God care any more? Where were you, God, when my son needed you?”</div>
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The surgeon asked, “Would you like some time alone with your son? One of the nurses will be out in a few minutes, before he’s transported to the university.”</div>
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Sally asked the nurse to stay with her while she said good-bye to son. She ran her fingers lovingly through his thick red curly hair.</div>
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“Would you like a lock of his hair?” the nurse asked.</div>
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Sally nodded yes. The nurse cut a lock of the boy’s hair, put it in a plastic bag and handed it to Sally. The mother said, “It was Jimmy’s idea to donate his body to the university for study. He said it might help somebody else. “I said no at first, but Jimmy said, ‘Mom, I won’t be using it after I die. Maybe it will help some other little boy spend one more day with his Mom.” She went on, “My Jimmy had a heart of gold. Always thinking of someone else. Always wanting to help others if he could.”</div>
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Sally walked out of Children’s mercy Hospital for the last time, after spending most of the last six months there. She put the bag with Jimmy’s belongings on the seat beside her in the car. The drive home was difficult. It was even harder to enter the empty house. She carried Jimmy’s belongings, and the plastic bag with the lock of his hair to her son’s room. She started placing the model cars and other personal things back in his room exactly where he had always kept them. She laid down across his bed and, hugging his pillow, cried herself to sleep.</div>
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It was around midnight when Sally awoke. Laying beside her on the bed was a folded letter. The letter said:</div>
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<em style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">“Dear Mom,</em></div>
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<em style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">I know you’re going to miss me; but don’t think that I will ever forget you, or stop loving you, just ’cause I’m not around to say I LOVE YOU. I will always love you, Mom, even more with each day. Someday we will see each other again. Until then, if you want to adopt a little boy so you won’t be so lonely, that’s okay with me. He can have my room and old stuff to play with. But, if you decide to get a girl instead, she probably wouldn’t like the same things us boys do. You’ll have to buy her dolls and stuff girls like, you know. Don’t be sad thinking about me. This really is a neat place. Grandma and Grandpa met me as soon as I got here and showed me around some, but it will take a long time to see everything. The angels are so cool. I love to watch them fly. And, you know what? Jesus doesn’t look like any of his pictures. Yet, when I saw Him, I knew it was Him. Jesus himself took me to see GOD! And guess what, Mom? I got to sit on God’s knee and talk to Him, like I was somebody important. That’s when I told Him that I wanted to write you a letter, to tell you good-bye and everything. But I already knew that wasn’t allowed. Well, you know what Mom? God handed me some paper and His own personal pen to write you this letter. I think Gabriel is the name of the angel who is going to drop this letter off to you. God said for me to give you the answer to one of the questions you asked Him ‘Where was He when I needed him?’ “God said He was in the same place with me, as when His son Jesus was on the cross. He was right there, as He always is with all His children.</em></div>
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<em style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Oh, by the way, Mom, no one else can see what I’ve written except you. To everyone else this is just a blank piece of paper. Isn’t that cool? I have to give God His pen back now. He needs it to write some more names in the Book of Life. Tonight I get to sit at the table with Jesus for supper. I’m, sure the food will be great.</em></div>
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<em style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. I don’t hurt anymore. The cancer is all gone. I’m glad because I couldn’t stand that pain anymore and God couldn’t stand to see me hurt so much, either. That’s when He sent The Angel of Mercy to come get me. The Angel said I was a Special Delivery! How about that?</em></div>
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<em style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Signed with Love from: God, Jesus & Me.”</em></div>
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</div>spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-77983592989877653502012-05-31T21:41:00.001-07:002012-05-31T22:17:23.550-07:00The Last Cab Ride<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. One time I arrived in the middle of the night for a pick up at a building that was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window.</div>
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Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked.</div>
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“Just a minute,” answered a frail, elderly voice.</div>
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I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80′s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase.</div>
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The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.</div>
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“Would you carry my bag out to the car?” she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.</div>
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“It’s nothing,” I told her. “I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated.”</div>
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“Oh, you’re such a good boy,” she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, “Could you drive through downtown?”</div>
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“It’s not the shortest way,” I answered quickly.</div>
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“Oh, I don’t mind,” she said. “I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.”</div>
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I looked in the rear view mirror. Her eyes were glistening.</div>
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“I don’t have any family left,” she continued. “The doctor says I don’t have very long.”</div>
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I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. “What route would you like me to take?” I asked.</div>
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For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.</div>
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Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.</div>
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As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, “I’m tired. Let’s go now.”</div>
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We drove in silence to the address she had given me.</div>
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It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.</div>
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“How much do I owe you?” she asked, reaching into her purse.</div>
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“Nothing,” I said.</div>
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“You have to make a living,” she answered.</div>
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“There are other passengers.”</div>
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Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.</div>
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“You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,” she said. “Thank you.”</div>
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I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.</div>
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I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life. We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware—beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.</div>
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<em style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">A true story by Kent Nerburn</em></div>spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-23454992692927311732012-05-31T21:31:00.000-07:002012-05-31T21:34:01.595-07:0025 Inspiring Stories that will make you Smile<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E7TrtmxPdww/T8hEroLhtAI/AAAAAAAAAeE/rC_YZn8Sr5U/s1600/25-inspiring-stories-make-you-smile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E7TrtmxPdww/T8hEroLhtAI/AAAAAAAAAeE/rC_YZn8Sr5U/s1600/25-inspiring-stories-make-you-smile.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 23px;"></span></div>
<ol style="margin-bottom: 15px; margin-left: 40px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today, my son turned 7 and I turned 23. Yes, I had him on the day I turned 16. The choices I made when I was a teenager were foolish, and sometimes I get worried I’m bringing my son up wrong. But today I took him to the park to celebrate our birthdays. He played for hours with a girl who has burn scars that cover most of her face. When my son took a break to eat, he pointed to her and said, “She’s so pretty and cool!” Which left me thinking, “I must be doing something right as a mom.” MMT</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today at 1AM, my grandma, who is suffering from Alzheimer’s, got up, got into my dad’s car and drove off. We contacted the police. But before the police could find her, two college kids pulled into our driveway with my grandma. One was driving my dad’s car and the other was following in their car. They said they overheard her crying about being lost at an empty gas station 10 miles away. My grandma couldn’t remember our address, but gave the kids her first and last name. They looked her up online, found our address, and drove her home. MMT</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today, my 8-year-old son hugged me and said, “You are the best mom in the whole entire world!” I smiled and sarcastically replied, “How do you know that? You haven’t met every mom in the whole entire world.” My son squeezed me tighter and said, “Yes I have. You are my world.” MMT</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today, my dad turned 91. He barely has enough strength to speak. But every time my mom (she’s 84) walks into the room to check on him, he says, “Hello beautiful.” MMT</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today, when I went to pick-up my daughter from preschool she was sitting on the ground in the corner of the after-care area with 3 blind students. All of them had smiles on their faces. The after-care instructor told me my daughter has been spending time with these 3 students every afternoon this week, answering questions and explaining to them in vivid detail what different objects, people and animals look like. MMT</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today, when she woke up from a six month coma, she kissed me and said, “Thank you for being here, and telling me those beautiful stories, and never giving up on me… And yes, I will marry you.” MMT</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today, I found an old hand written note my mom wrote when she was a senior in high school. On it is a list of qualities she hoped she would someday find in a boyfriend. The list is basically an exact description of my dad, who she didn’t meet until she was 27. MMT</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today is my 18th birthday. Just over 18 years ago a woman was faced with the harsh fact that she had already had 4 miscarriages and 1 stillbirth. As she was pregnant for the 5th time, doctors informed her that her pregnancy was risky. They said there was a good chance either the baby or her wouldn’t make it. She chose to give the baby a chance anyway. My mom and I both made it and are still healthy to this day. MMT</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today, my grandpa keeps and old, candid photo on his nightstand of my grandma and him laughing together at some party in the 1960’s. My grandma passed away from cancer in 1999 when I was 7. This evening when I was at his house, my grandpa caught me staring at the photo. He walked up, hugged me from behind and said, “Remember, just because something doesn’t last forever, doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth your while.” MMT</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today, a week after I donated three bags of clothes to a local homeless shelter, I saw a homeless woman sitting on a park bench wearing a tye-dye shirt I made when I was a teenager. I walked by her and said, “I love your shirt!” She smiled and said, “Thank you! I really do too!” MMT</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today, I sat down with my two daughters, ages 4 and 6, to explain to them that we have to move out of our 4 bedroom house and into a 2 bedroom apartment for awhile until I can find another job that pays well. My daughters looked at each other for a moment and then my youngest daughter turned to me and asked, “Are we all moving into the apartment together?” “Yes,” I replied. “Oh, so no big deal then,” she said. MMT<span id="more-377" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"></span></span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today is the 14th day in a row that my nursing home patient’s grandson has come to visit her. Two weeks ago I told him that the only time I see his grandmother smile all week is when he visits her on Sunday mornings. MMT</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today, as I pulled into my apartment complex I noticed my neighbor, who’s about 8 months pregnant, struggling with her groceries. I stopped and helped her bring them up the stairs into her apartment. This evening, when I got home from the gym I found a freshly baked apple pie sealed in Tupperware sitting on my doorstep with a note that said, “I used the ingredients you helped me carry to bake this. Enjoy!” MMT</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today, a man came in to apply at my restaurant. He seemed charismatic, kind, knowledgeable, and friendly. Later, when I went to call him to extend a job offer, I noticed he had written “ask for me” under his number. The number belongs to a homeless shelter. But I’m gonna take a risk and hire him anyways. MMT</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today, I found out that my mom and dad have been working second jobs at night so they can continue to financially assist my twin sister and I who are both sophomores in college. My dad said, “You two will be the first in our family’s history to receive college diplomas. Two jobs is nothing! I’d work three if I had to to see you two graduate.” MMT</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today, my 12-year-old son, Sean, and I stopped by the nursing home together for the first time in several months. Usually I come alone see my mother who’s suffering from Alzheimer’s. When we walked into the lobby, the nurse said, “Hi, Sean!” and then buzzed us in. “How does she know your name?” I asked. “Oh, I swing by here on my walk home from school all the time to say hi to Grandma,” Sean said. I had no idea. MMT</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today, my mom has been blind for 15 years. She lost her vision in the same car accident that took my dad’s life. I am 18 years old now. She has raised me as a single mom since I was 3, without her vision. And yes, she did a heck of a job! MMT</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today, I met the prettiest woman on a plane. Assuming I wouldn’t see her again after we made our connections, I told her how pretty I thought she was. She gave me the most sincere smile and said, “Nobody has said that to me in 10 years.” It turns out we’re both in our mid-30’s, never married, no kids, and we live about 5 miles away from each other. We have a date set for next Saturday after we return home. MMT</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today, my mom received the surgery she needed to remove a malignant tumor. My family has been struggling without medical insurance since my dad lost his job last year. My sister and I have been openly discussing my mom’s medical dilemma on Facebook. Last week, a friend of a friend, who’s a veteran cancer treatment surgeon who owns his own practice, saw our comments on Facebook and volunteered to help my mother for free. MMT</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today, I’m a mother of 2 and a grandmother of 4. At 17 I got pregnant with twins. When my boyfriend and friends found out I wasn’t going to abort them, they turned a cold shoulder to me. But I pressed forward, worked full-time while attending school, graduated high school and college, and met a guy in one of my classes who has loved my children like his own for the last 50 years. MMT</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today, as I was sleeping, I woke up to my daughter calling my name. I was sleeping in a sofa chair in her hospital room. I opened my eyes to her beautiful smile. My daughter has been in a coma for 98 days. MMT</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today, on our 10th wedding anniversary, she handed me a suicide note she wrote when she was 22. It was dated the exact day we met each other. And she said, “For all these years I didn’t want you to know how foolish and unstable I was back when we met. But even though you didn’t know, you saved me. Thank you.” MMT</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today, at 8AM this morning, after four months of lifelessness in her hospital bed, we took my mom off life support. And her heart continued beating on its own. And she continued breathing on her own. Then this evening, when I squeezed her hand three times, she squeezed back three times. MMT</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today, the homeless man who used to sleep near my condo showed up at my door wearing the business suit I gave him nearly 10 years ago. He said, “I have a home, a job, and a family now. 10 years ago I wore this business suit to all my job interviews. Thank you.” MMT</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Today, when I opened my store at 5AM there was an envelope sitting on the floor by the door. In the envelope was $600 and a note that said, “Five years ago, I broke into your store at night and stole $300 worth of food. I’m sorry. I was desperate. Here’s the money with 100% interest.” Interestingly, I never reported the incident to the cops because I assumed that whoever stole the food really needed it. MMT</span></li>
</ol>spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-2814497601403758622012-05-28T11:39:00.000-07:002012-05-28T11:39:35.749-07:00Long Black Train-Josh Turner<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-88448256365563681602012-05-28T09:39:00.000-07:002012-05-28T09:39:30.100-07:00Tough Little Boys<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-79892218361413507322012-05-28T09:28:00.001-07:002012-05-28T09:28:23.903-07:00Ricky Scaggs-Drunk Driver<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-80564564000898580202012-05-08T14:25:00.000-07:002012-05-08T14:25:03.683-07:00Very First Pix<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8dTN2isMvd0/T6mO3_L0z8I/AAAAAAAAAdw/KzQmE5UdGd8/s1600/DSC_9966.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8dTN2isMvd0/T6mO3_L0z8I/AAAAAAAAAdw/KzQmE5UdGd8/s400/DSC_9966.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_4Bg9LLdnk4/T6mO5mzov9I/AAAAAAAAAd4/Holk7nwA2LE/s1600/DSC_9968.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_4Bg9LLdnk4/T6mO5mzov9I/AAAAAAAAAd4/Holk7nwA2LE/s400/DSC_9968.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-54206274214440279642012-05-08T14:22:00.004-07:002012-05-08T14:22:54.249-07:00Grand Rapids Museum<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gfIaVZFMB18/T6mOaYx115I/AAAAAAAAAdg/1fI4fAOuQ_U/s1600/100E1672.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="302" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gfIaVZFMB18/T6mOaYx115I/AAAAAAAAAdg/1fI4fAOuQ_U/s400/100E1672.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rfWq52tIF4A/T6mOfUftPUI/AAAAAAAAAdo/rdFkrwJDU3I/s1600/100_1562.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rfWq52tIF4A/T6mOfUftPUI/AAAAAAAAAdo/rdFkrwJDU3I/s400/100_1562.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-86379463619855078102012-05-02T11:14:00.000-07:002012-05-02T11:14:32.304-07:00Riding with Private Malone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/gh1m0eC1004?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-44059027181118227482012-05-01T19:24:00.002-07:002012-05-01T19:24:25.165-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<object width="320" height="266" class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://0.gvt0.com/vi/G_oRi7CSozA/0.jpg"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/G_oRi7CSozA&fs=1&source=uds" />
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Does this sound like you? It definitely sounds like me :/</div>spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-44244385875297726052012-04-30T11:04:00.004-07:002012-05-01T19:10:41.294-07:00PIX<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-V2l7VsYCdfM/T57UCGjoZXI/AAAAAAAAAdE/W-fDxmqbZrs/s1600/DSC_1382.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="368" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-V2l7VsYCdfM/T57UCGjoZXI/AAAAAAAAAdE/W-fDxmqbZrs/s400/DSC_1382.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />spybot intellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11840771518415056767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6462495625214595822.post-80395247203577022732012-04-30T10:32:00.004-07:002012-04-30T10:32:55.801-07:00Volleyball<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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