Saturday, November 19, 2005

Giving Trees

"For it is in giving that we receive"(Saint Francis of Assisi)

Have you ever been just sitting there and all of a sudden you feel
like doing something nice for someone you care for? THAT'S GOD
talking to you through the Holy Spirit.

Have you ever been down and out and nobody seems to be around
for you to talk to? THAT'S GOD wanting you to talk to Him.

Have you ever been thinking about somebody that you haven't seen
in a long time and then next thing you know you see them or receive
a phone call from them? THAT'S GOD. There is no such thing as

Have you ever received something wonderful that you didn't even ask for, like money in the mail, a debt that had mysteriously been cleared, or a coupon to a department store where you had just seen something you needed, but couldn't afford? THAT'S GOD knowing the desires of your heart.

Have you ever been in a situation and you have had no clue how it was going to get better, how the hurting would stop, how the pain would ease, but you look back now on it and realized THAT's GOD passing you through tribulation to see a brighter day.

Do you think that this posting was accidentally brought to your
attention? NO! I was thinking of you and wishing to bring a little hope
your way today.

"For every petal you pluck from a daisy,
You're granted one measure of love.
For every rainbow you find with two ends,
I wish you two stars from above.

For every tear you brush from a cheek,
I promise you kindness will follow.
Wherever you walk, under rainbows or stars,
Over daisies, or down lonely hollows.

For every child that you play with and talk to,
I grant you one heart full of laughter,
For every smile you place on a face,
I promise you peace ever after."

Excerpt from Marlene Gerba

Saturday, November 05, 2005

The Miracle of Love

A weed is but an unloved flower (Ella Wheeler Wilcox )


The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read
Beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree.
Dissllusioned by life with good reason to frown,
For the world was intent on dragging me down.

As if that weren't enough to ruin my day,
A young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play.
He stood right before me with his head tilted down
And said with great excitement, "Look what I found!"

In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight,
With its petals all worn-not enough rain, or too little light.
Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to play,
I faked a smile and then shifted away.

But instead of retreating, he sat next to my side
And placed the flower to his nose and declared with surprise,
"It sure smells pretty and it's beautiful too."
"That's why I picked it; here, it's for you."

The weed he presented was dying or dead.
Not vibrant of colors, orange, yellow or red.
But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave.
So I reached for the flower, and replied, "Just what I need."

But instead of him placing the flower in my hand,
He held it midair without reason or plan.
Then I noticed for the very first time
That weed toting boy could not see: he was blind.

I heard my voice quiver, tears shone like the sun
As I thanked him for picking the very best one.
"You're welcome," he smiled, and ran off to play,
Unaware of the impact he'd had on my day.

I sat there and wondered how he managed to see
A self-pitying woman beneath an old willow tree.
How did he know of my self-indulged plight?
Perhaps from his heart, he'd been blessed with true sight.

Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see
The problem was not with the world; the problem was me.
And for all those times I myself had been blind,
I vowed to see the beauty in life and appreciate every second that's mine.

And as I held that wilted flower up to my nose
And breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose
I smiled as I watched that young boy, another weed in his hand
About to change the life of an unsuspecting old man.

Cheryl L. Costello-Forshey

Sunday, October 16, 2005

Black and White

Black and White (Under age 40? You won't understand.)

You could hardly see for all the snow....spread the rabbit ears as far as they could go.
Pull a chair up to the TV set, "Good Night, David. Good Night, Chet."
Depending on the channel you tuned, you got Rob and Laura - or Ward and June.

It felt so good. It felt so right. Life looked better in black and white.
I Love Lucy, The Real McCoys, Dennis the Menace, the Cleaver boys,
Rawhide, Gunsmoke, Wagon Train, Superman, Jimmy and Lois Lane.
Father Knows Best, Patty Duke, Rin Tin Tin and Lassie too, Donna Reed on Thursday night! --Life looked better in black and white.

I wanna go back to black and white. Everything always turned out right.
Simple people, simple lives...Good guys always won the fights.
Now nothing is the way it living color on the TV screen.
Too many murders, too many fights, I wanna go back to black and white.

In God they trusted, alone they slept. A promise made was a promise kept.
They never cussed or broke their vows. They'd never make the network now.
But if I could, I'd rather be in a TV town in '53. It felt so good. It felt so right.
Life looked better in black and white.

I'd trade all the channels on the satellite if I could just turn back the clock tonight
To when everybody knew wrong from right. Life was better in black and white!
Pass this to someone (over age 40, of course), and brightentheir day by helping them to remember that life's most simple pleasures are very often the best!

Saturday, October 01, 2005

The Road Less Traveled (A poem by Robert Frost)

Robert Frost (1874–1963)

The Road Not Taken

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler,
long I stood And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood,
and I— I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Sunday, August 28, 2005

PHENOMENAL WOMAN (a poem by Maya Angelou)

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a model's fashion size
But when I start to tell them
They think I'm telling lies.
I say
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips
The stride of my steps
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please
And to a man
The fellows stand
or fall down on their knees
Then they swarm around me
A hive of honey bees.
I say
It's the fire in my eyes
And the flash of my teeth
The swing of my waist
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say
It's in the arch of my back
The sun of my smile
The ride of my breasts
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say it's in the click of my heels
The bend of my hair
The palm of my hand
The need for my care.
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

Saturday, July 30, 2005

Still I Rise (a poem by Maya Angelou)

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you so beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping into my living room

Just like moons and like suns
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard?
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise?
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs.

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm like a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling, I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind the nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise