Family, Moments, And More ... :) Shangy!
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To Subscribe send a blank email to
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Group email address:
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================
"We are each of us angels with but one wing,
and can only fly by embracing each other"
-Luciano Decrescenzo
~ CALLING ALL CARING ANGELS ~
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*~* WE NEED MORE 2009 CARING And SHARING Angels *~*
>Do You Want To Be A Shangrala Angel?
If you'd like to help and be counted as a 2009
Shangrala Angel, please visit the site and click
on the donate button. A Secure PAYPAL page comes up.
Any amount is greatly appreciated and needed!
PLEASE Visit Shangrala to Help:
http://www.shangralafamilyfun.com/index.html
OR If you'd rather send us a donation,
Please MAIL it here:
Elrhea Bigham
502 S. Harrison
Van Wert, OH 45891
*~* THANK YOU! MAY GOD BLESS ALL OUR ANGELS MOST ABUNDANTLY!
================
>-->In The 'Shangy' News:
>TWO Hot Off The 'Shangy' Press :)
This comes from a forward from our friend Viv. I was
immediately taken to it. Be sure to check it out here...
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Strange Tombstones!
http://www.shangralafamilyfun.com/tombstones.html
This next one comes from a forward from our friend Jo Ann.
You gotta see this one to believe it! Check it out here...
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Human Chameleon
http://www.ShangralaFamilyFun.com/chameleon.html
---
...I loved these - Thanks Ladies!
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gpyy
Hello and God bless you!
We wanted to let you know that we are in need of donations for our
Scholarship Fund for this year's Live Out Loud Teens and Twenties
Conference.
Live Out Loud is an annual event specifically for Teens & Twenties and
it has proven to be a huge blessing to those that attend.
For many of our Teens and Twenties this is a very special time of
learning and fellowship with like-minded Christians their own age.
As always, we try to keep the registration cost down as much as
possible. This year the early registration fee will again be $185.00
(through November 27th).
We understand that you might not be able to fully sponsor a Teen /
Twenty for this event, but any amount that you would like to sow into
the Scholarship Fund will be a great blessing to someone who is unable
to afford the cost.
This year's Live Out Loud will run from December 30th to January 2nd and
will be held at Bradford Woods in Martinsville, Indiana.
To learn more about Live Out Loud visit www.STFonline.org/register
If you would like to donate online via PayPal or any major credit card,
visit www.STFonline.org/donate
Please let us know that your donation is designated for the Live Out
Loud Scholarship Fund.
We sure are thankful for you!
The Home Office Staff
Spirit & Truth Fellowship International
www.STFonline.org
==============================================================
>West Chicago Rescue Story Editor:
by Laura Sosnowski Joyce Schowalter
Illinois, USA
In 1995 I broke my left foot on a bike ride. I could still drive, so
kept up my busy life despite the cast and crutches. One Sunday I drove
to a picnic in a forest preserve an hour from home, in my comfy, but
unreliable, white Skyhawk.
The picnic was great, with good food, good friends, laughter, and good
weather. Late in the afternoon I said goodbye and began my drive home. I
took the scenic route through West Chicago, a tiny town about 25 miles
west of Chicago proper. Everything closes down on Sunday there, driving
through you wonder if anyone even lives there.
As I started up a bridge the Skyhawk started to jerk. The car's
alternator was mounted with only one bolt, which occasionally loosened,
eventually resulting in the car's battery dying. I thought, Not now, not
here!
The car died. I rolled backwards onto the gravel shoulder for safety,
and pulled the emergency brake. Of course it was starting to get dark.
If I got out to walk, where would I go? And on crutches?
How long before a car would come by, and would they stop to help? It
would be one very expensive tow to my hometown mechanic.
Then I saw a house right there at the bottom of the bridge, with a
family outside having a picnic of their own! Some of them were looking
in my direction; some were clearing away the apparently completed picnic
meal. I couldn't get down the dip off the road into their gravel
driveway with crutches, so I got out, leaned on the car and waved one
crutch over my head.
Their response was immediate. Three people ran up to the car to see what
I needed. I told them my story and they leapt into action. If finding
them outside wasn't lucky enough, this was the home of the family who
owned the in-town auto mechanic shop, just one block away. They promised
to tow the car to their shop, fix it the next morning, and call when it
was finished.
That was too good to be true, yet I still needed to get home. One woman
asked me where I lived and I told her. West Chicago is about 45 minutes
from my home, and I couldn't ask her to drive me. It turned out she
lived in the town next to mine.
I couldn't ask her to leave the party because of me, but she insisted
she was leaving now anyway. Unbelievable luck again, I had a ride and
she refused to take any gas money for her trouble. I was so grateful.
I was delivered safely home. The car was fixed the next day as promised.
The bill was reasonable, and they attached a second bolt to the
alternator so the problem was fixed forever. I was so grateful I sent a
thank you note.
I'm still amazed at how very kind and honest they all were.
=======HeroicStories=======
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>-->The Building Called America
Restoring America's Foundation By Donald E. Wildmon
Once upon a time a group of people decided to build a new building.
It would be an unusual building, the likes of which the world had never
seen. They would call their beautiful new structure America. The
builders knew the foundation must be exceptionally strong. The design
called for three mighty pillars: faith, family and freedom. Each would
undergird equally the weight of the building. So construction began on
the building called America.
The workers labored faithfully to insure the three pillars of faith,
family and freedom were strong enough to withstand wind, rain and
attacks of the enemy. For many the task consumed their whole life.
However their children, catching their father's dream, continued to
work on the building and to insure the strength of the three supporting
pillars.
Generations passed, but each did its part to maintain the glorious
building which had become the most treasured and admired structure in
all the world. They gave of themselves freely. Some even sacrificed
their very lives and fortunes to preserve its integrity. And they always
made sure that the supporting pillars of faith, family and freedom were
sound. They knew that the existence of the entire building rested upon
the strength of the three pillars.
Years later some began to question the need to maintain all three
pillars. They thought only two were necessary. So they began to ignore
the pillar of faith. Due to neglect, the pillar of faith fell into
disrepair and became weak. The weight of the building called America
shifted to the two remaining pillars of family and freedom.
Everyone noticed that the foundation underneath the building called
America was sagging. They blamed many things, but seldom gave serious
consideration to the deteriorating pillar of faith. Before long,
because of the weakening of the pillar of faith, the pillar of family
began to fail. The pillar of freedom began to crumble under the load.
Some people saw what was happening to the building and tried to
restore the pillar of faith. Other scoffed at them, calling them
old-fashioned and traditional. Many tried to prop up the building
called America using a variety of techniques. But few were interested
in strengthening the pillar of faith.
One day, to the surprise and sadness of the world, the building called
America collapsed. A voice trapped beneath the crumbling structure
was heard to cry out: "No building like America can ever stand except
on the three equal pillars of faith, family and freedom." And with that
the once magnificent building called America perished and disappeared
into the rubble of history.
A FEW QUOTES FROM AMERICA'S BEGINNINGS
"It cannot be emphasized too strongly or too often that this grea
nation was founded, not by religionists, but by Christians; not on
religions, but on the gospel of Jesus Christ."
- Patrick Henry
"We have staked the whole future of America's civilization, not upon
the power of government, far from it. We have staked the future of all
our political institutions ...upon the capacity of each and all of us
to govern ourselves according to the Ten Commandments of God."
- James Madison
"And can the liberties of a nation be thought secure when we have
removed their only firm basis - a conviction in the minds of people
that these liberties are the gift of God? That they are not to be
violated but with his wrath? Indeed I tremble for my country when
I reflect that God is just: that his justice cannot sleep forever."
- Thomas Jefferson
"He who shall introduce into the public affairs the principles of
primitive Christianity will change the face of the world."
- Benjamin Franklin
===============================================================
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>-->I Wonder...
I'm not sure when it happened,
But it was years ago.
I've never found the answer,
And I thought that you might know.
I've noticed now, each passing year,
We no longer walk with pride.
We've lost the spark that made us great,
There's something lost inside.
Uncle Sam was always near,
To help in time of need.
But now it seems that's all forgot.
Our hearts are full of greed.
I remember when, on Holidays,
The bands went marching by,
And I would see OL' GLORY,
And a tear would fill my eye.
All the bands played marching tunes,
They now play 'Solid Gold'
Please take me back to summer days,
And patriotic times of old.
I know it sounds old fashioned,
But I love my grand old flag.
And I long for days, so long ago,
When we could stand and brag.
So many men have given all
To keep this country free.
To honor what they did for us,
The answer's plain to see.
I've asked this question many times,
Most times it's answered 'NO',
Just asking if 'You own a flag?'
I'd really like to know.
Look around your neighborhood
Is Ol' GLORY' flying there?
I'll bet you see those other flags,
You'll find them everywhere.
There are fruits and cats and dogs and birds,
But our emblem can't be seen.
Mickey Mouse is waving high,
I wonder what that means.
First the Ten Commandments,
Then the Pledge unto the Flag.
We're told the 'TEN' don't matter,
And the banner's just a rag.
Let's bring back PRIDE and DIGNITY,
Wave the Red, the White and Blue.
Invite GOD back to school again,
The future's up to you!
-Author Unknown
=============================================================
>-->From SermondFodder:
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VK
A Rabbi is walking slowly down the street when a gust of wind blows
his hat from his head. The hat is being blown down the street, but
he is an old man and can't walk fast enough to catch the hat. Across
the street a Gentile sees what has happened and rushes over to grab
the hat and then returns it to the Rabbi.
"I don't think I would have been able to catch my hat," said the
Rabbi. "Thank you very much."
The Rabbi then places his hand on the man's shoulder and says, "May
God bless you."
The young man thinks to himself, "I've been blessed by the Rabbi,
this must be my lucky day!" So he goes to the Racetrack and in the
first race he sees there is a horse named Stetson at 20 to 1. He
bets $50 and sure enough the horse comes in first.
In the second race he sees a horse named Fedora at 30 to 1, so he
bets it all and this horse comes in first also.
Finally at the end of the day he returns home to his wife. When she
asks him where he's been, he explains how he caught the Rabbi's hat
and was blessed by him and then went to the track and started winning
on horses that had a hat in their names.
"So where's the money?" she asks.
"I lost it all in the ninth race. I bet on a horse named Chateau
and it lost."
"You fool, Chateau is a house, Chapeau is a hat!"
"It doesn't matter," he said, "the winner was some Japanese horse
named Yarmulka."
By way of Pastor Tim's Pearly Gates List To subscribe go to:
http://www.cybersaltlists.org
-<>-
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>It's All In The Family - But Who Counts
Do you and your spouse have different ideas about who counts as family?
Do you count as family first cousins once or twice removed (and do you
even know what these are)? Especially when it comes to the approaching
holidays, even though you said you were marrying him, not his relatives,
relatives do matter-but you may discover it's all relative. And we
haven't even mentioned the complicated relationships brought by
stepchildren and stepgrandchildren.
Your wife may grow up with the expectation that she will visit her
nearby mother every day because that's what her mother did with her
grandmother. You, on the other hand, live across the country from your
parents and see them only once a year, which is plenty for you.
Understanding the different ways we understand and relate to family
members can be very important agenda for couples, especially newly
married ones.
I think everyone understands regular cousins or "first" cousins. They
are the children of your aunts and uncles. Second cousins are the people
the next step down, children of your cousins. Where the "once removed"
or "twice removed" comes in is if you skip a generation or are talking
about different generations. A genealogy website describes it as "your
mother's first cousin is your first cousin, once removed." Twice removed
is if there is a two-generation difference. You are two generations
younger than a first cousin of your grandmother, so you and your
grandmother's first cousin are first cousins, twice removed
(www.genealogy.com)
Frances Kai-Hwa Wang is a contributing editor for Asian American Village
web site, www.imdiversity.com/villages/asian, and writes in an article
"What do you mean, they're not relatives?" about the vastly different
ways she thought about family from her Caucasian husband. She first
realized how differently they thought of family at their wedding,
attended by about 200 people. Frances comes from "a huge, boisterous,
warm family. Reunions are a big deal, gossip travels fast, and squabbles
are constant," she says fondly. At the wedding it seemed like most of
the relatives were from her side: aunts, uncles, cousins, great aunts,
grandparents and then friends of the family. Her husband's invitees were
only a few relatives: mother, brother, brother's wife, three college
pals and two of his mother's friends. Later she found out that his
mother's "friends" were actually his mother's cousin and wife.
"Why didn't you tell me they were relatives?" Frances quizzed her groom.
He replied, "They're not relatives, they're my mother's cousins."
For Ms. Wang, "Anyone with any trace of relationship counts as part of
the family unit, and the more of those the better. For my husband,
however, 'family' was exclusively immediate and nuclear."
Then she talks about the pseudo-relatives that Asian American families
are apt to have: lots of family friends who are addressed as "auntie"
and "uncle." In some Asian countries, you address everyone, even those
you don't know, as older brother and older sister as a sign of respect.
She points out how differently we view families when she says her
husband simply cannot understand the thing for big families: "Why would
you want to be related to so many people?" he asks.
In answer, she gives this illustration: "I always feel refreshed,
energized, and very sure of myself after a family reunion. I love being
doted on by my aunts because it does not matter what I do or do not do,
what career or life choices I have or have not made, they simply love me.
Regardless of where I go or what trouble I meet, there will always
be someone I can count on there. When I got lost in a terrifying
snowstorm in Niagara Falls, all I had to do was make one phone call, and
30 minutes later my 6th great aunt and 7th great uncle came trudging
through the snow to pick me up."
And this is the crux of the matter: it doesn't matter who you count as
cousins, as long as you value some sort of family relationships and
spend time nurturing them. The best of families give us identity and
love, even if they are a little dysfunctional at times.
=============================================================
>-->From InspiredBuffalo:
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>MOMENTS By: Joseph J. Mazzella
Today had been full of so many glorious moments. It started
in the morning when I was able to catch the fantastic sunrise God
painted for us. The pinks, reds, and purples made the clouds
come alive with color and beauty. The golden sun coming over the
wooded mountains hinted of even greater joys to come. The moments
continued with hugs from my children, a kiss from my wife, and nuzzles
from my many furry house mates.
They kept on coming as I sang along to joyous music in my car,
shared a laugh with friends at my children's school, and held my
youngest son's hand as we took an evening walk. They filled my soul
with joy as I took time to rejoice in the still vibrant Autumn trees
and walked on the crunchiest, most colorful carpet nature ever made.
They made my soul overflow with God's love and oneness as I saw the
man in the moon smiling at me through my window while I kissed my
family goodnight and thanked God for another day.
Life is so full of glorious, God-given moments. They brighten
our days and make our lives a wonderful adventure in love and joy.
A good life is made up of joyous moments and is lived moment by
loving moment. There is a reason why we can't remember every
second of everyday of our lives. It is because we are meant to
live in the moment, the wonderful now and not become bogged down
in our past mistakes or our future expectations.
We all have our moments and it is up to us to live them. You
may not be perfect or happy all the time. But you can choose and
share love and joy this moment and the moment after that and
perhaps even the moment after that. You can fill your heart, mind,
soul and life with beautiful, loving, and joyous moments. You can
share them with everyone you meet and show them how to do the same.
You can make the world a better place from the glorious moments
you spent in it.
-<>-
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'---..___..---'
>IN THE ARMS OF ANGELS by Kathe Campbell
On the morning of the Indy 500 I fixed my husband, Ken, a breakfast
tray and tended to his bath and medical needs. He was blissfully
recuperating at home after two prostate cancer surgeries. It felt
wonderful to be free of worries and anxieties after his lengthy
ordeal. As ranch foreman, I told him I was going out to beef up
Smart Ass' fence, for either a moose or elk had knocked it galley-
west during the night. Smart Ass was our 800 lb. jack donkey who,
along with three others on our place, had just earned the much
coveted National Donkey and Mule "Hall of Fame" award. It was just
all in a day's work atop our beloved 7,000 foot Montana acres.
Around mid-morning I drove my ATV out and loaded it with supplies,
unchained the jack's gate, shut it behind me, and tended to my
project. Smart Ass came over for a rub between his ears and then
left to savor new sprouts of grass. In an unthinkable flash, he had
me brutally covered on the ground, the only exposed parts of my body
being my head and right arm. Frenzy overtook me while attempting to
free the other arm, but his 800 pounds had me entrapped. I screamed
and hollered for what seemed an eternity, even though I knew Ken
couldn't hear anything above the roar of Indy race cars. My inside
right forearm was being horribly gnawed. The beast then took
another attack shredding my face and tearing my ear. Helpless and
nearly voiceless, I reconciled to my demise with the same thought
spinning around in my head like a broken record. "Oh Dear God, is
this how I'm about to meet you?"
At some point I worked my left arm free with much trepidation, for
the stallion could have very easily torn into that limb as well.
With all the strength I could muster, I bellowed in his ear and
wrapped a shaky left hand about the end of his nostrils in an
attempt to stifle his air. He didn't like that one bit and quickly
got up, but not before rendering severe damage to my shoulder and neck
with his hoof. And just as suddenly as it all began, this much
treasured animal walked away without a bye or leave to resume his
graze.
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There was much speculation as to why our jack went amok that day.
This animal had been raised with total loving care and training. He
had earned dozens of show and performance awards and was everyone's
favorite clown. A cattleman friend surmised he had eaten too much
loco weed. Our veterinarian said he had seen stallions bite, but
never attack in this manner. Yet, just a week later, another jack
attacked his master in a neighboring community. Fortunately he was
not hurt, but he, like us, had his animal destroyed. Was Smart Ass
a bad seed?
Adrenalin and tenacity must have been on a rampage. Somehow I got
to my feet, stumbled toward the gate, opened it, and found presence of
mind to chain it behind me. While holding the grisly remnants of my
arm close to my mid section, a feeling of utter relief swept over me
knowing there was a fence between me and "that animal" I had loved
so. Mercifully, shock overtook the fury of the morning, for I felt
no pain and began cajoling myself into thinking I could steer an
even course across our huge expanse of yard. With head reeling and
knees buckling, I staggered onto our deck and opened the storm door
where I simply ran out of blood and collapsed. Ken heard me crashing
into the glass, came to the hallway and calmly called 911 and my
neighboring nurse pal. Through blurry eyes I could see him hurrying
down the driveway to direct the ambulance. He waited twenty minutes
out on our road, unabashedly in his underwear with a catheter
dangling for all the world to see. Bless him.
Things are sketchy thereafter until a day or two later. My records
state a sixty percent blood loss. Pretty serious stuff. I faintly
recall beseeching the orthopedist on call not to take my arm off.
If my family hadn't intervened, this surgeon would have amputated at
the elbow. I didn't improve, for the doctor refused me blood stating
it was tainted. Unbelievable and, of course, untrue. What was the
matter with this man? Also about this time our oldest daughter,
Molly, requested a by-pass, that is, harvesting a healthy vein from
my leg to detour the crush. It's a common procedure, but the doctor
declined, persuading us that it wouldn't work.
On the third day my fingers were losing their color and the family
insisted on a second opinion. The doctor rejected the idea,
arrogantly maintaining that he was the best there is. The war was
on! One of the concerned nurses called Molly at home encouraging
her to have me transferred and giving her the names of several
surgeons.
Mol made arrangements to have me airlifted to Deaconess Medical
Center where there are arm and hand specialists. My angel was on
top of the crisis. Of course, there had to be one incredible last
straw. The local doctor refused the airlift, even though the
Deaconess surgeon felt every hour was crucial for a successful
outcome.
Our son, Tim, was the under sheriff in a neighboring county. He and
his wife and our other daughter, Katie, accompanied me as
paramedics. With front seat reclined and my temperature rapidly
fluctuating, the road trip in Tim's big SUV was ghastly. Not even
one aspirin was offered for the four-hour journey. The girls later
remarked they didn't think I would survive the trip, but Tim slapped
his red light atop the car and single-mindedly trimmed the time to
three hours. I only vaguely recall that my darling angels were
solemn and steadfast in their mission. Molly remained behind to
take care of the business while Ken was encouraged to go home and
rest, for I would be needing him sooner than later. My dear husband
really never had a chance to recover in comfort from his own surgery.
We arrived at Deaconess amid a gala open house for their board,
patrons, and staff, celebrating a beautiful new wing and reception
area. Stares of disbelief followed our little entourage as my
angels rolled my bedraggled remains through the lobby in a stained
hospital gown, ratty old blanket, and bare feet. If I hadn't been so
sick I would have surely died of humiliation. Nonetheless, even though
I was short of blood and my head was elsewhere, I'll never forget
emerging from the elevator into a posh receiving area adjacent to
luxurious private orthopedic suites. Just the flurry of activity
and kindness made me feel so welcome, I was reduced to tears for the
first time. "More guardian angels," I pondered quietly while the
nurses helped me don a gown more befitting my new environment.
Dr. Settergren arrived immediately, examined my arm, and ordered x-
rays and plasma. Katie asked about a by-pass and he looked
stunned. "Of course," he replied, "that's what I do for a living!"
He patted her hand reassuringly and rushed off to study x-rays. She
smiled for the first time in days. Later that evening the by-pass
was performed. We all had expectations for a miracle, even though
some of my fingers had begun to turn black.
The next weeks consisted of a dozen or so debridement surgeries,
daily therapies, visits from psychologists, prosthesis personnel,
and my blessed Salvation Army Captains. There was a persistent
thumbs-up attitude from my family, even though I was losing one
finger at a time. Each day I assessed my options feeling that
three, or even two fingers, would serve me well, but it wasn't to
be. Ken and Katie never left my side and were my strength right
up to, and after my arm was at last amputated several inches above
the wrist. I think we all knew it was inevitable. Excessive
delays caused by the narcissistic doctor on call had closed the
window of opportunity forever.
In the aftermath I spent a good deal of time grieving over my loss.
What's left is so ugly, and yet I am forever grateful to Dr.
Settergren for making the by-pass work at mid-arm. I also spent
time grieving for all the things I felt I would never do again, or
so I surmised. Keeping books and typing 120 wpm in our office for
years. My oil paintings and needlework that had garnered "best of
show." My free lance writing that had just produced my first big
check. How was I going to play bridge and pinochle with our regular
gang? Will friends be uncomfortable around me? How will my clothes
look with a big ol' hook hanging out? And what about my hair? All
these things proved so superficial, because all of a sudden the
grandkids were calling me, "Granny Hook." I dearly loved it.
Last year I took hook in hook, so to speak, and have now crocheted
several sweaters. My neighbor pals took me in tow one day and
announced, "Okay, Kath, enough is enough, we're going to play bridge
today!" And we did . . . and I did . . . and I beat their pants
off. God must look out for old broads like me, because during the
first year after all those surgeries, my hair began to come in
naturally curly and the casual look has kept me from becoming a
panty hose recluse.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
8 .d88
8 oooooooooooooooooooooooooooood8888
8 8888888888888888888888888P" 8888 oooooooooooooooo
8 8888888888888888888888P" 8888 8 8
8 8888888888888888888P" 8888 8 d8
8 8888888888888888P" 8888 8 d88
8 8888888888888P" 8888 8 d888
8 8888888888P" 8888 8 d8888
8 8888888P" 8888 8 d88888
8 8888P" 8888 8 d888888
8 8888oooooooooooooooooooooocgmm8888 8 d8888888
8 .od88888888888888888888888888888888 8 d88888888
8888888888888888888888888888888888888 8 d888888888
8 d8888888888
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo 8 d88888888888
d ...oood8b 8 d888888888888
d ...oood888888888888b 8 d8888888888888
d ...oood88888888888888888888888b 8d88888888888888
dood8888888888888888888888888888888888b
Tim built me a computer, put me on the internet, and tutored me ever
so carefully. I have renewed old friendships and laugh and scratch
with relatives we haven't seen in years. I still manage to keep a
great house, even though many of my culinary concoctions still land
on the floor. And yes, I cry. But, in-between I continue to feed
my soul on our mountain and thank God every day for my life. Ken
recovered nicely, but now, both our early seventies miseries have
emerged in the form of rheumatoid arthritis and, of course, my
wretched phantom pain.
Although the doctor was found guilty of mal-practice and thankfully
no longer practices medicine, the jury did not award us even one
thin dime. Our devastation was appealed without success. So we
take our lumps in life and go on. We continue to be active in our
business, for lawsuits and pharmacy bills are out of sight. We play
with and ride our remaining geldings, and I've learned to ride farm and
play toys with a left-hand throttle. We also talk about Smart Ass
often, recalling his great days and wishing we knew what was going on
in his head that ill-fated morning. On the brighter side, the grandkids
think I'm a terrific candidate for "show and tell" with my numerous
prostheses. Who'd have ever thunk it!
Kathe Campbell
bigskyadj@in-tch.com
Copyright 2002
Kathe Campbell
Kathe and her husband, Ken, live on a 7000 foot mountain
near Butte, Montana where they have raised national champion spotted
asses. The Campbells have three grown children and 11
grandchildren. Kathe has contributed to newspapers, as well as
national magazines on the subject of Alzheimer's disease. She has
been a prolific left-handed writer of the month at
www.2theheart.com, http://Heartwarmers, http://Petwarmers,
http://www.sevenseasmagazine.com/index.html, and various other e-
zines. She is currently featured in Chicken Soup for the
Grandparent's Soul, and her Montana artwork serves as stationery at
http://outlookstationery.com, and http://thundercloud.net/stationery/
-<>-
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unknown
>Rich Family In Church By Eddie Ogan
I'll never forget Easter 1946. I was 14, my little sister Ocy was 12,
and my older sister Darlene 16. We lived at home with our mother, and
the four of us knew what it was to do without many things. My dad had
died five years before, leaving Mom with seven school kids to raise
and no money.
By 1946 my older sisters were married and my brothers had left home.
A month before Easter the pastor of our church announced that a special
Easter offering would be taken to help a poor family. He asked
everyone to save and give sacrificially.
When we got home, we talked about what we could do. We decided to
buy 50 pounds of potatoes and live on them for a month. This would allow
us to save $20 of our grocery money for the offering. When we thought
that if we kept our electric lights turned out as much as possible and
didn't listen to the radio, we'd save money on that month's electric
bill. Darlene got as many house and yard cleaning jobs as possible, and
both of us babysat for everyone we could. For 15 cents we could buy
enough cotton loops to make three pot holders to sell for $1.
We made $20 on pot holders. That month was one of the best of our
lives.
Every day we counted the money to see how much we had saved. At night
we'd sit in the dark and talk about how the poor family was going to
enjoy having the money the church would give them. We had about 80
people in church, so figured that whatever amount of money we had to
give, the offering would surely be 20 times that much. After all,
every Sunday the pastor had reminded everyone to save for the
sacrificial offering.
The day before Easter, Ocy and I walked to the grocery store and got
the manager to give us three crisp $20 bills and one $10 bill for all
our change.
We ran all the way home to show Mom and Darlene. We had never had so
much money before.
That night we were so excited we could hardly sleep. We didn't care
that we wouldn't have new clothes for Easter; we had $70 for the
sacrificial offering.
We could hardly wait to get to church! On Sunday morning, rain was
pouring. We didn't own an umbrella, and the church was over a mile
from our home, but it didn't seem to matter how wet we got. Darlene had
cardboard in her shoes to fill the holes. The cardboard came apart,
and her feet got wet.
But we sat in church proudly. I heard some teenagers talking about
the Smith girls having on their old dresses. I looked at them in their
new clothes, and I felt rich.
When the sacrificial offering was taken, we were sitting on the
second row from the front. Mom put in the $10 bill, and each of us
kids put in a $20.
As we walked home after church, we sang all the way. At lunch Mom
had a surprise for us. She had bought a dozen eggs, and we had boiled
Easter eggs with our fried potatoes! Late that afternoon the minister
drove up in his car. Mom went to the door, talked with him for a moment,
and then came back with an envelope in her hand. We asked what it was,
but she didn't say a word. She opened the envelope and out fell a bunch
of money. There were three crisp $20 bills, one $10 and seventeen $1
bills.
Mom put the money back in the envelope. We didn't talk, just sat and
stared at the floor. We had gone from feeling like millionaires to
feeling like poor white trash. We kids had such a happy life that we
felt sorry for anyone who didn't have our Mom and Dad for parents
and a house full of brothers and sisters and other kids visiting
constantly. We thought it was fun to share silverware and see whether
we got the spoon or the fork that night.
We had two knifes that we passed around to whoever needed them. I
knew we didn't have a lot of things that other people had, but I'd
never thought we were poor.
That Easter day I found out we were. The minister had brought us the
money for the poor family, so we must be poor. I didn't like being
poor. I looked at my dress and worn-out shoes and felt so ashamed-I
didn't even want to go back to church. Everyone there probably already
knew we were poor!
I thought about school. I was in the ninth grade and at the top of my
class of over 100 students. I wondered if the kids at school knew
that we were poor. I decided that I could quit school since I had
finished the eighth grade. That was all the law required at that time.
We sat in silence for a long time. Then it got dark, and we went to bed.
All that week, we girls went to school and came home, and no one talked
much.Finally on Saturday, Mom asked us what we wanted to do with the
money. What did poor people do with money? We didn't know. We'd never
known we were poor. We didn't want to go to church on Sunday, but Mom
said we had to. Although it was a sunny day, we didn't talk on the way.
Mom started to sing, but no one joined in and she only sang one
verse. At church we had a missionary speaker. He talked about how
churches in Africa made buildings out of sun dried bricks, but they
needed money to buy roofs. He said $100 would put a roof on a church.
The minister said, "Can't we all sacrifice to help these poor people?"
We looked at each other and smiled for the first time in a week.
Mom reached into her purse and pulled out the envelope. She passed
it to Darlene. Darlene gave it to me, and I handed it to Ocy. Ocy put
it in the offering.
When the offering was counted, the minister announced that it was a
little over $100. The missionary was excited. He hadn't expected
such a large offering from our small church. He said, "You must have
some rich people in this church."
Suddenly it struck us! We had given $87 of that "little over $100."
We were the rich family in the church! Hadn't the missionary said so?
From that day on I've never been poor again. I've always remembered
how rich I am because I have Jesus!
-<>-
>Links for Your Enjoyment
Magician Act Followed By Explanation
http://www.buffaloschips.com/gsdhsjsk.htm
Malcom-Jue-Bebe
http://www.buffaloschips.com/gshsjsk.htm
Marine And Geese
http://www.buffaloschips.com/gshsjsks.htm
Mary Did You Know
http://www.buffaloschips.com/gsddsshsjsk.htm
Math 911
http://www.buffaloschips.com/gsdsdsll.htm
Weird Rainy Days
http://www.shangralafamilyfun.com/rainyday.html
Avenge NOT Yourself
http://www.ShangralaFamilyFun.com/BibleStudy/avengenotyourselves.html
Doing All The Word
http://www.ShangralaFamilyFun.com/BibleStudy/doingallword.html
God's View for Civil Government
http://tinyurl.com/yzh8zmk
How To Be Christian
http://tinyurl.com/yljmsyc
Baby Type Fun
http://www.zefrank.com/snm/index.html
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=========================================================
>-->From CupP'Cheer:
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jgs__||_/` ======= `\_||___
THE VOICE OF A CHILD
Today at church during worship, I was standing next to two
7 year old girls that were worshipping God with me. One of
the songs that was played had no instruments, so it was just
the congregation singing to God. But I noticed something:
A lot of people stopped singing right when the instruments
stopped. It was right then when I noticed the most precious
thing I've ever heard. One of the girls that I was standing
next to was singing to God. It made me realize how much
we all worry. "Oh no, the instruments stopped playing. Now
everyone will hear me sing!" You see what I'm saying? The
little girl next to me didn't care who was listening to her;
She was completely focused on God.
I want to be like this little girl. I want to sing praises to God
without the thought of "What if I mess up?". I want to be
completely focused on God during worship and not worry
about who's around me.
You know what else I realized? In our eyes, that little girl is
a child. But in God's eyes, so are we. No matter how young
or old you are, YOU are God's child, and He longs to hear
your praises. Do you think God would reject your praises to
Him just because you thought you couldn't sing? Of course
not! He created you and everything about you and it brings
Him joy to hear your beautiful voice.
as seen in Devotions
-<>-
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hjw /____________\
`97 |____________|
>ENJOYING WHAT YOU DO
Plato said that work should be play. Some airline employees
are taking him seriously. After landing, one flight attendant
announced, "Thank you for flying Delta Business Express.
We hope you enjoyed giving us the business as much as we
enjoyed taking you for a ride." (I like the honest approach.)
As a plane touched down and was slowing to a stop in
Washington, a lone voice came over the loudspeaker:
"Whoa, big fella. WHOA!" (Who says you can't have fun
with your job?)
One pilot made this weather announcement: "Weather at
our destination is 50 degrees with some broken clouds, but
they'll try to have them fixed before we arrive."
"As you exit the plane," a flight attendant said, "please make
sure to gather all of your belongings. Anything left behind
will be distributed evenly among the flight attendants. Please
do not leave children or spouses."
And passengers reported that they heard this from the crew
just as they began to exit: "Last one off the plane must
clean it."
To enjoy your work more, I think it helps to put some play in
what you do. And if you don't like your work, can you find
something to do you enjoy more?
Authors Doug Hall and David Wecker tell the story of Ken
Davis, a man who found a simple way to enjoy his work
(MAKING THE COURAGE CONNECTION; Fireside Books,
1997). Ken just couldn't find his occupational niche. He
worked at a variety of jobs and disliked them all. While Ken
was working as a door salesman, he noticed that at least
half of his customers had malfunctioning doorbells. And
suddenly, Ken's life career became clear. He opened his own
doorbell repair service.
Ken's wife laughed when she first heard his idea. When she
realized he was serious, she cried. Whoever heard of making
a living repairing doorbells? But Ken is making a comfortable
living at his unique job, and he's happier than he's ever
been. Ken didn't enjoy what he was doing, so he is now
doing what he enjoys.
"The biggest mistake that you can make is to believe that
you are working for somebody else," Earl Nightingale
asserts. "Job security is gone. The driving force of a career
must come from the individual. Remember, jobs are owned
by the company; you own your career!"
It's true that, no matter where you work, you actually work
for yourself. After all, it's your life. And with a little
creativity and imagination, maybe your work can seem less like
drudgery and more like play. Wouldn't you really rather have
it that way?
-- Steve Goodier
as seen in Life Support
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_.-.-=-. .-=.'"=.-=.
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----------------' '------------[TomeekK]-------
>-->DAYS END
In The coolness of the evening...
When the sun is going down,
The shadows of the stately trees...
Are long upon the ground.
A gentle breeze comes blowing.
Blue skies begin to gray,
Sunset's rays are glowing
All mark the end of day.
The birds have ceased their singing,
And seek their nightly place,
The stars begin appearing...
And fill the darkening space.
The toils of this day are over.
Now is the time for rest...
With comfort in the knowledge
That I have done my best.
The dawn will come tomorrow,
And bring a brighter day,
And all the disappointments
Should surely pass away.
The noon-day sun, high in the sky...
Will warm my heart and soul,
And be a source of strength...
To help me reach my goal.
When the day is finished...
And the sun sets in the west,
I can say within my heart...
"Today, I did my best!"
~ R.L."Bob" Duncan, Sr ~
>Updated FUN STUFF URLS - Oh Yeah :) Shangy!
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You guessed it - Recipes. These are Tried and True, Yummy to the Tummy,
good old fashioned home cooking recipes that are EASY to do :)
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Home Recipes
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