Vera's blog: "Interesting"

It was chilly in Manhattan but warm inside the Starbucks shop on 51st
Street and Broadway, just a skip up from Times Square. Early November
weather in New York City holds only the slightest hint of the bitter chill of late December and January, but it's enough to send the masses crowding indoors to vie for available space and warmth. For a musician, it's the most lucrative Starbucks location in the world, I'm told, and consequently, the tips can be substantial if you play your tunes right. Apparently, we were striking all the right chords that night, because our basket was almost overflowing. It was a fun, low-pressure gig - I was playing keyboard and singing backup for my friend who also added rhythm with an arsenal of percussion instruments. We mostly did pop songs from the '40s to the '90s with a few original tunes thrown in. During our emotional rendition of the classic, "If You Don't Know Me by Now," I noticed a lady sitting in one of the lounge chairs across from me. She was swaying to the beat and singing along.

After the tune was over, she approached me. "I apologize for singing
along on that song.  Did it bother you?" she asked.

"No," I replied. "We love it when the audience joins in. Would you
like to sing up front on the next selection?" To my delight, she accepted my invitation. "You choose," I said. "What are you in the mood to sing?"  "Well.  ....  do you know any hymns?" Hymns? This woman didn't know who she was dealing with. I cut my teeth on hymns.  Before I was even born, I was going to church. I gave our guest singer a knowing look. "Name one."  "Oh, I don't know. There are so many good ones. You pick one." "Okay," I replied. "How about 'His Eye is on the Sparrow'?"

My new friend was silent, her eyes averted. Then she fixed her eyes on
mine again and said, "Yeah. Let's do that one." She slowly nodded her
head, put down her purse, straightened her jacket and faced the center of the shop. With my two-bar setup, she began to sing, "Why should I be discouraged? Why should the shadows come?" The audience of coffee drinkers was transfixed. Even the gurgling noises of the cappuccino machine ceased as the employees stopped what they were doing to listen. The song rose to its conclusion. "I sing because I'm happy; I sing because I'm free. For His eye is on the sparrow And I know He watches me."

When the last note was sung, the applause crescendoed to a deafening
roar that would have rivaled a sold-out crowd at Carnegie Hall.
Embarrassed, the woman tried to shout over the din, "Oh, y'all go back to your coffee! I didn't come in here to do a concert! I just came in here to get somethin' to drink, just like you!" But the ovation continued. I embraced my new friend. "You, my dear, have made my whole year! That was beautiful!"

"Well, it's funny that you picked that particular hymn," she said. "Why is that?" "Well..." she hesitated again, "that was my daughter's favorite song." "Really!" I exclaimed. "Yes," she said, and then grabbed my hands. By this time, the applause had subsided and it was business as usual. "She was 16. She died of a brain tumor last week." I said the first thing that found its way through my stunned silence. "Are you going to be okay?"

She smiled through tear-filled eyes and squeezed my hands. "I'm gonna
be okay. I've just got to keep trusting the Lord and singing his songs, and everything's gonna be just fine." She picked up her bag, gave me her card, and then she was gone. Was it just a coincidence that we happened to be singing in that particular coffee shop on that particular November night? Coincidence that this wonderful lady just happened to walk into that particular shop? Coincidence that of all the hymns to choose from, I just happened to pick the very hymn that was the favorite of her daughter, who had died just the week before?  I refuse to believe it. God has been arranging encounters in human history since the beginning of time, and it's no stretch for me to imagine that he could reach into a coffee shop in midtown Manhattan and turn an ordinary gig into a revival. It was a great reminder that if we keep trusting him and singing his songs, everything's gonna be okay.

The next time you feel like GOD can't use YOU, just remember...

Noah was a drunk, Abraham was too old, Isaac was a daydreamer, Jacob
was a liar, Leah was ugly, Joseph was abused, Moses had a stuttering
problem, Gideon was afraid, Sampson had long hair and was a womanizer,
Rahab was a prostitute, Jeremiah and Timothy were too young, David
had an affair and was a murderer, Elijah was suicidal, Isaiah preached
naked, Jonah ran from God, Naomi was a widow, Job went bankrupt, John
the Baptist ate bugs, Peter denied Christ, The Disciples fell asleep
while praying, Martha worried about everything, The Samaritan woman was divorced more than once, Zaccheus was too small, Paul was too religious, Timothy had an ulcer...AND Lazarus was dead!

No more excuses now!! God can use you to your full potential. Besides
you aren't the message, you are just the messenger. If you delete this, it's okay: God's Love Is Not Dependent On E-Mail.

A great dog story
By Catherine Moore

'Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!' My father yelled at me. 'Can't you do anything right? ' Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.

'I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving.' My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.

Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil.

What could I do about him?

Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon . He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature.. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.

The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.

Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An
ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived.

But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.

My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind. But the months
wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.

The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered. In vain. Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, 'I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article.' I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.

I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a
questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of
disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each
contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons, too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed. Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.

I pointed to the dog. 'Can you tell me about him?' The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement.

'He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him, that was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow.' He gestured helplessly.

As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. 'You mean you're going to kill him?'

'Ma'am,' he said gently, 'that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog.'

I looked at the pointer again.. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision...'I'll take him,' I said.

I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch.

'Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!' I said excitedly.

Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust.. 'If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it' Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.

Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples.

'You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!' Dad ignored me. 'Did you hear me, Dad?' I screamed. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate.

We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.

Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion
replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.

It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the
pointer Cheyenne . Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.

Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne 's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bed room at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene...But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.

Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.

The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13: 2. 'Be not forgetful to entertain strangers.'

'I've often thanked God for sending that angel,' he said.

For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article.

Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. . .his calm
acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.

Life is too short for drama & petty things, Live While You Are Alive. Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity. Forgive now those who made you cry. You might not get a second time.

In simple terms...

Q. What is an Economic Stimulus Payment?
A. It is money that the federal government will send to taxpayers.

Q. Where will the government get this money?
A. From taxpayers.

Q. So the government is giving me back my own money?
A. Only a smidgen.

Q. What is the purpose of this payment?
A. The plan is that you will use the money to purchase a high-definition
TV set, thus stimulating the economy.

Q. But isn't that stimulating the economy of China?
A. Aw shut up

Twas the Night Before Christmas 2009

[With apologies to the Original Classic]

‘Twas the night before Christmas when right through the Senate

A bill was presented, few reading what’s in it;

The partisans were shouting, “It will save dough,”

Branding those who opposed it, “A Party of No.”

Landrieu and Nelson were all snug in their beds,

While visions of millions danced in their heads.

Reed and Pelosi, with their left-leaning staff,

Were totally dismissive of the citizens’ wrath.

When conservatives spoke up and raised such a clatter

The White House and Czars said, “Beck’s what’s the matter.”

Straight to the network shows in a flash,

Obama came running Fox Network to trash.

In the Primaries held in the year of  “ought seven,”

America was promised new ways from heaven.

No more of the old ways,  lobbyists or pork,

“Politics as usual is done--get the fork!”

When what to our wondering eyes should appear,

But the Chicago machine using pressure and fear.

The Stimulus and bail-outs of Detroit and banks,

Stealing America’s  future, not once saying, “thanks.”

“On Guitner, on Rangle, on Pelosi and Reed,

Push your Socialist agenda at total warp speed!”

Acorn and S. E. I U.  give their aid,

While Washington’s filled with those Czars on parade.

Use lies and false promises to have it your way,

But we who are citizens will soon have our say.

After all of those Socialist bills you may pass,

In Two-thousand- ten, you’re out on your ass.

So, knowing that right and truth will prevail

In preserving the freedoms secured through travail,

In faith we declare to our friends in this fight,

“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight!”

--Gilbert Forrest--

A mouse looked through the crack in the wall
to see the farmer and his wife open a package.

"What food might this contain?" The mouse wondered.

He was devastated to discover it was a mousetrap.






Retreating to the farmyard,

the mouse proclaimed this warning :

"There is a mousetrap in the house!

There is a mousetrap in the house!"





The chicken clucked and scratched,

raised her head and said, "Mr. Mouse,

I can tell this is a grave concern to you,

but it is of no consequence to me.

I cannot be bothered by it."

The mouse turned to the pig and told him,

"There is a mousetrap in the house!

There is a mousetrap in the house!"





The pig sympathized, but said,

"I am so very sorry, Mr. Mouse,

but there is nothing I can do about it

but pray..

Be assured you are in my prayers."



The mouse turned to the cow and said,

"There is a mousetrap in the house!

There is a mousetrap in the house!"






The cow said, "Wow, Mr. Mouse. I'm sorry for you,

but it's no skin off my nose."



So, the mouse returned to the house,

head down and dejected,

to face the farmer's mousetrap

. . . Alone.. . .



That very night

a sound was heard throughout the house

-- the sound Of a mousetrap catching its prey.



The farmer's wife rushed to see what was caught.

In the darkness, she did not see it.

It was a venomous snake

whose tail was caught in the trap.



The snake bit the farmer's wife.



The farmer rushed her to the hospital.



When she returned home she still had a fever.

Everyone knows you treat a fever

with fresh chicken soup.

So the farmer took his hatchet to the farmyard

for the soup's main ingredient:





But his wife's sickness continued.

Friends and neighbors

came to sit with her

around the clock.

To feed them,

the farmer butchered the pig.






But, alas,

the farmer's wife did not get well...

She died.






So many people came for her funeral

that the farmer had the cow slaughtered

to provide enough meat for all of them

for the funeral luncheon.



And the mouse looked upon it all

from his crack in the wall

with great sadness.




So, the next time you hear

someone is facing a problem

and you think it doesn't concern you,

remember ---






When one of us is threatened, we are all at risk.

We are all involved in this journey called life.

We must keep an eye out for one another

and make an extra effort

to encourage one another.

One day a teacher asked her students to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name.

Then she told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down.



It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed in the papers.

That Saturday, the teacher wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and listed what everyone else had said about that individual.


On Monday she gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling. 'Really?' she heard whispered. 'I never knew that I meant anything to anyone!' and, 'I didn't know others liked me so much,' were most of the comments.




No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. She never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn't matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another. That group of students moved on.

Several years later, one of the students was killed in VietNam and his teacher attended the funeral of that special student. She had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. He looked so handsome, so mature.

The church was packed with his friends. One by one those who loved him took a last walk by the coffin. The teacher was the last one to bless the coffin.

As she stood there, one of the soldiers who acted as pallbearer came up to her. 'Were you Mark's math teacher?' he asked. She nodded: 'yes.' Then he said: 'Mark talked about you a lot.'

After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates went together to a luncheon. Mark's mother and father were there, obviously waiting to speak with his teacher.




'We want to show you something,' his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket 'They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it.'


Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times. The teacher knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which she had listed all the good things each of Mark's classmates had said about him.




'Thank you so much for doing that,' Mark's mother said. 'As you can see, Mark treasured it.'


All of Mark's former classmates started to gather around. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, 'I still have my list. It's in the top drawer of my desk at home.'




Chuck's wife said, 'Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album.'


'I have mine too,' Marilyn said. 'It's in my diary'


Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group. 'I carry this with me at all times,' Vicki said and without batting an eyelash, she continued: 'I think we all saved our lists'


That's when the teacher finally sat down and cried. She cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again.




The density of people in society is so thick that we forget that life will end one day. And we don't know when that one day will be.






So please, tell the people you love and care for, that they are special and important. Tell them, before it is too late.

And One Way To Accomplish This Is: Forward this message on. If you do not send it, you will have, once again passed up the wonderful opportunity to do something nice and beautiful.




If you've received this, it is because someone cares for you and it means there is probably at least someone for whom you care.

If you're 'too busy' to take those few minutes right now to forward this message on, would this be the VERY first time you didn't do that little thing that would make a difference in your relationships?




The more people that you send this to, the better you'll be at reaching out to those you care about.




Remember, you reap what you sow. What you put into the lives of others comes back into your own.
May Your Day Be Blessed As Special As You

Author and lecturer Leo Buscaglia once Talked about a
contest he was asked to judge.  The purpose of the Contest
was to find the most caring child. The winner was:   A
four-year-old child, whose next door neighbor was an elderly gentleman,
who had recently lost his wife. Upon seeing the
man cry, the little boy went into the old Gentleman's'
yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there.   When
his mother asked him what he had said to the
neighbor, the little boy just said,
'Nothing, I just Helped him cry.'
*********************************************
Teacher Debbie Moon's first graders were discussing a
picture of a family. One little boy in the picture had a
different hair color than the other members. One of her students
suggested that he was adopted.   A little girl said, 'I
know all about Adoption, I was adopted..''What does it mean to be
adopted?', asked  another child. 'It means', said the girl,
that you grew in your Mommy's heart instead of her tummy!'

 *********************************************
 On my way home one day, I stopped to watch a Little
League base ball game that was being played in a park near my
home. As I sat down behind the bench on the first- base
line, I asked one of the boys what the score was. We're behind 14 to
nothing,' he answered With a smile.   'Really,' I  said. 'I have
to say you don't look very discouraged.'   'Discouraged?', the boy
asked with a Puzzled look on his face...  'Why should we be discouraged?
We haven't Been up to bat yet.'
*********************************************
Whenever I'm disappointed with my spot in life, I stop
and think about little Jamie Scott. Jamie  was trying out for
a part in the school play. His mother told me that he'd set
his heart on being in it, though she feared he would not be chosen.
On the day the parts were awarded, I went with her to
collect him after school. Jamie rushed up to her, eyes
shining with pride and excitement..  'Guess what, Mom,'
he shouted, and then said those words
that will remain a lesson to me....'I've been chosen to clap and
cheer.'

*********************************************
An eye witness account from New York City , on a cold
day in December,  some years ago: A little boy, about
10-years-old, was standing before a shoe store on the roadway,
barefooted, peering through the window, and shivering With cold.
A lady approached the young boy and said,  'My, but you're in such
deep thought staring in that window!'  'I was asking God to
give me a pair of shoes,'was the boy's reply. The lady took him by
the hand, went into  the store,and asked the clerk to get half a dozen
pairs ofsocks for the boy. She then asked if he could give
her a basin of water and a towel. He quickly brought them to her.
She took the little fellow to the back part of the store
and, removing her gloves, knelt down, washed his little feet,and dried them
with the towel.  By this time, the clerk had returned with the socks..
Placing a pair upon the boy's feet, she purchased
him a pair of shoes..She tied up the remaining pairs of socks and
gave them to him. She patted him on the head and said, 'No doubt, you will
be more comfortable now.'    As she turned to go, the astonished kid caught
her by the hand, and looking up into her face, with tears in his eyes,
asked her.   'Are you God's wife?'

*********************************************
SEND TO ALL WHO LOVE AND CARE FOR CHILDREN.  Hope
this  put a smile on your face!