First, let me be clear. I am not a fan of Jade Goody. I don't disapprove or approve of her and the way she is. I don't hold grudges about her racist remarks on Big Brother (she has shown that she has changed and learnt her mistakes).
Jade Goody has made me think recently, as you may know that my own mother has died from cancer. I was thinking, is it wrong to highlight Jade's plight and troubles with cancer in the media or is it right?
First, I thought it was wrong, because, I felt that she should have privacy for the sake of her family and children. Death is the hard subject to tackle, I am NOW got used to it and understood it better. I was told that Jade is making money so she can pass it on to her children, which can be a good thing as she is showing her thoughtful nature. But, is it right?
Now, I was discussing this to a friend earlier, and she explained that the media and news CAN give a positive effect. Many women think that the cervical cancer exists when you're older. Jade is just a few years younger than I am! Perhaps the media can dispel any cancer myths and inform the public. Jade can be a good role model to those who are ignorant in the reality of potential illness and teaches us to be grateful for our life on Earth, you never know it's short or long, make the most of it (her wedding is a fine example).
Also, it can be a sad reminder to those who has lost thier loved ones due to cancer. Everytime, I see Jade, I've remembered what I had been through the ordeal. At first reaction, I felt against the media's attitude, but had other thoughts.
I know Jade will be gone pretty soon as I write this blog, and I sincerely hope that we all have learnt from Jade, right or wrong, good or bad, it doesn't matter as long we've learnt something to enrich and value our sacred lives. I wish her family all the best.
Friday 20 March 2009
Thursday 26 February 2009
If I were the Devil.
I would gain control of the most powerful nation in the world;
I would delude their minds into thinking that they had come from man's
effort, instead of God's blessings;
I would promote an attitude of loving things and using people, instead of
the other way around;
I would dupe entire states into relying on gambling for their state revenue;
I would convince people that character is not an issue when it comes to
leadership;
I would make it legal to take the life of unborn babies;
I would make it socially acceptable to take one's own life, and invent
machines to make it convenient;
I would cheapen human life as much as possible so that life of animals are
valued more than human beings;
I would take God out of the schools, where even the mention of His name was
grounds for a lawsuit;
I would come up with drugs that sedate the mind and target the young, and I
would get sports heroes to advertise them;
I would get control of the media, so that every night I could pollute the
minds of every family member for my agenda;
I would attack then family, the backbone of any nation. I would make
divorce acceptable and easy, even fashionable. If the family crumbles, so
does the nation;
I would compel people to express their most depraved fantasies on canvas and
movies screens, and I would call it art;
I would convince the world that people are born homosexuals, and that their
lifestyles should be accepted and marveled;
I would convince the people that right and wrong are determined by a few who
call themselves authorities and refer to their agendas as politically
correct;
I would persuade people that the church is irrelevant and out of date, the
Bible is for the naive:
I would dull the minds of Christians, and make them believe that prayer is
not important, and that faithfulness and obedience are optional;
I GUESS I WOULD LEAVE THINGS PRETTY MUCH THE WAY THEY ARE!
I would delude their minds into thinking that they had come from man's
effort, instead of God's blessings;
I would promote an attitude of loving things and using people, instead of
the other way around;
I would dupe entire states into relying on gambling for their state revenue;
I would convince people that character is not an issue when it comes to
leadership;
I would make it legal to take the life of unborn babies;
I would make it socially acceptable to take one's own life, and invent
machines to make it convenient;
I would cheapen human life as much as possible so that life of animals are
valued more than human beings;
I would take God out of the schools, where even the mention of His name was
grounds for a lawsuit;
I would come up with drugs that sedate the mind and target the young, and I
would get sports heroes to advertise them;
I would get control of the media, so that every night I could pollute the
minds of every family member for my agenda;
I would attack then family, the backbone of any nation. I would make
divorce acceptable and easy, even fashionable. If the family crumbles, so
does the nation;
I would compel people to express their most depraved fantasies on canvas and
movies screens, and I would call it art;
I would convince the world that people are born homosexuals, and that their
lifestyles should be accepted and marveled;
I would convince the people that right and wrong are determined by a few who
call themselves authorities and refer to their agendas as politically
correct;
I would persuade people that the church is irrelevant and out of date, the
Bible is for the naive:
I would dull the minds of Christians, and make them believe that prayer is
not important, and that faithfulness and obedience are optional;
I GUESS I WOULD LEAVE THINGS PRETTY MUCH THE WAY THEY ARE!
Chickens
A friend of mine as told me that if a chicken can't or didn't lay any eggs, they just snap their neck. Thats how we can get chickens and eggs. So.. I wonder... if a woman can't produce children, does their husbands (or boyfriends) snap her necks?
Friday 20 February 2009
Death By Midnight.
Death By Midnight.
It’s 11.50pm.
A room. The walls are blank. No wallpaper or pictures. Nothing. All cold and bare. On the wall on the left is a window with closed curtains. On the right, there is a door. The door is peeling its paints away. There’s a few rotting crumbs on the feet of the door. The door is like a corpse, all rotting away into nothingness.
The floor is bare. It’s all wooden, the cracks between the boards is so wide. Between those cracks, there are some glimmers of movement. It’s like runny ink streaming under the floor. On the floor, there are some bits of loose peelings from the ceiling.
The ceiling is also bare, the painting is peeling off slowly; some of paints are dropping onto the floor like it were a grim version of Autumn. The peelings are floating down gently from the cold hard ceiling. Some of peelings fall down to the cracks of the floor boards as if it were doomed and cast into Hell. There is a light bulb hanging from the ceiling. The bulb is covered in dust. Its light was gone years ago. The bulb is dead, hanging and swinging slightly like a hung corpse from execution. At the end of the room, there is a bed…..
11.51pm
A man is lying on the bed. The room is dark except for little orange tinge glowing from the curtains. The curtains move gently to the breezes. The curtain is trying to flirt with this man by revealing a little bit of a glass. Behind the curtain, there’s a street lamp, glowing like an orange flame frozen in time. The lamp stood on the same street for years. The lamp is a symbol of comfort. It gives light to those who need it to get home safe. The lamp stood there like a loyal guard. Tonight, the lamp seems to be indecisive. Is lamp the either giving this man a hope with its light, or is it to welcome the Grim Reaper? Will this light betray him by giving a bright signal of his whereabouts?
The man, he’s at the young age of 30, but his flesh is ageing. He looks about 80. He has wrinkles all over his face and hands. There are a few spots on his skin. The spots are brownish and scattered on the sides of his face. He is lying under the pile of sheets. The sheets tried to keep him warm, but his body temperature is slowing down to bitter coldness. The sheets get slowly damper. The sheet is like a cloth of ice with little sense of warmth.
His cracked lips are trembling; he seems to be muttering a prayer or last rites. His lips are peeling off, just like the paints on the door. Under the lips, there are very few teeth. The remaining teeth are like crooked headstones in the old disused cemetery on one wet night. He still stares to the ceiling; he seems to try to peer through the ceiling to see the night sky, perhaps a vast universe. The mind wanders into nothingness, reflecting the life and crimes he has done in the past. Pondering over what he has done. Did he bless other people’s lives or did he bring many untold curses on others? His eyes are titanium white, and the iris is light blue, fading in colour. The eyes had seen it better days, the veins in the eyes had been burst and bleed. The blood, in his eyes, seems to be frozen. It has stopped oozing. Was it something to do with the combination of coldness that Death and the room brought? His breathing is so slow and shallow. His chest rises up and down slowly, as if someone invisible is sitting on his chest and he tries to push someone off his chest by breathing out. There is a little ooze of saliva emerging from each sides of his lips. The chest might be too tight for him to breath and squeezed the saliva out of him. There is a tinges of pain each time he breathes. He is wishing that he wasn’t breathing. He has to breathe to live but it is hurting him to live.
11.52pm
Pant, pant, pant, pant…his breathing is getting harder by every breath. He felt something grabs each sides of his ribs. Is it the Grim Reaper squeezing the life out of this poor man? The grip is too tight, he struggles to be free, but he cannot resist it anymore. He feels hopeless and swings both arms outwards. He is being submissive to Death. He is trying to be free from all the pains. But, Death seems to be cruelly rejects his plea and loosen the grip. The man seems to be slumped from the defeat. His hands twitches near the floor. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. His heart is beating, getting faster at every beat. There seems to be a small demon hiding inside the heart, banging to climb out. The demon is trapped inside trying to break free from this pathetic man.
11.54pm
In his mind, he can see a child smiling, a little blonde girl with the cutest smile he had ever seen in his life. She’s giggling in the field of corn in a bright summer day. She holds a flower to him. He smiles and reaches for the flower, his eyes watered with a proud smile. That girl just suddenly screams, she has this fear in her eyes. Her scream pierces his ears. His eyes widen…whole vision vanished before his eyes… he lowered the arms. He was reaching for air trying to grab the flowers…its all air…nothing there. Its all in his mind…he frowns slightly…then a burst of shining bright light shines from the ceiling…a beautiful figure of a woman hovers above the man. She is wearing a silk blue dressing gown. There seems to be a wind blowing to her dressing gown as it is billowing with a great glory. Her hair is billowing too. She got those beautiful blue eyes, and a scarlet lips. Her arms seems to be reaching out for this man. The man smiles, is she a saviour of his forthcoming demise? His hand slowly reaches for her hand. The woman opens her eyes and she seems to begin to scream, she jerks back as if something exploded in front of her. Suddenly she screams loudly as her skin, peels away. The peeling flesh are vanishing into its light, the her muscles are peeling away, then the remains of her body peels away into its bones. The skeleton is still screaming, hovering with her arms reaching out for this man. Then skeleton exploded, the bones flies away from the man into the light. The light quickly diminished from the room. He frowned again. He looked at the corners of the walls to the ceilings, he can see many faces coming and going, the faces seems young then changed into skulls. Those corners seem to be covered in a smoke of faces. It is scaring him.
11.55pm.
He can hear the sounds of a clock. The clock seems to have appeared out of nowhere. The walls were blank, now he got this clock. Tick tock, tick tock…. The clock hangs on the wall, facing him. The pendulum swings slowly as if it is teasing him. His eyes follow each swing anxiously. The clock is old fashioned, probably timeless. It look so classic, with a roof on the top of the clock with a large swinging pendulum. The pendulum is made of brass, a very well polished brass, gleaming brightly. Counting every swing. His life ebbs away slowly. Tick tock tick tock…. The hands on the face of the clock is very well crafted. The hand is very old fashioned and it is black to oppose the white face. The hand moves slowly to 11.56pm.
11.56pm…
He knows he is dying. He knows he will die at midnight. He knows there’s a dark demise ahead of him… He knows his life will come to an end and he will be nothing but a corpse. He stares to the billowing white curtains. He can make out some faces or bodies like shapes on curtains. The bodies and faces seem to move around on the curtains as if they are taking part in orgies. They are withered around the curtains. The faces on the curtains seem to open the eyes and stare at the man. The man gasped. The eyes are piercing and intensely staring at this man. There seems to be some force coming from those eyes. He gasped again.
11.58pm
The room seems to be more darker than before…the street lamp seems to lose its glow…that frozen flame is dying. The lamp has betrayed him, or perhaps giving this man a mercy of death? Perspirations covers his face like drops of glass beads…. slowly the beads trickle down the cheeks then to the pillow. The pillow is now damp, just like the sheets. The coldness is too much for this man. He is now shivering painfully.
11.59pm.
There’s a shadow seems to be emerging from the window. Is it the Grim Reaper he is expecting? Or is it just a trick of light? Or just pure figments of his imagination produced by his pathetic mind? The shadow slowly slips to the bed…there’s something on the shadow that shaped like a hand reaching for this man’s heart. His eyes widen in fear, he starts to pant a bit more…. Pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump. SUDDENLY, the man jerks back! He lets out his last breath. His heart has been pulled, twisted and torn six times as if the Grim Reaper or the Devil himself wanted revenge.
Midnight.
The story behind the story....
I've written a small poem during during student years at Gateshead, studying Media. I wrote an original, but lost, poem called "Death By Midnight". When I had enrolled at another college for English GCSE (to boost up my grades). I was asked to write a story and I did. Death by Midnight is my personal favourite and read by many. Those who has read the story were gripped by the unusual imagination. There is no dialogues and after reading, there are unquestions left unanswered...
As the result, the story was awarded with A+ grade.
It’s 11.50pm.
A room. The walls are blank. No wallpaper or pictures. Nothing. All cold and bare. On the wall on the left is a window with closed curtains. On the right, there is a door. The door is peeling its paints away. There’s a few rotting crumbs on the feet of the door. The door is like a corpse, all rotting away into nothingness.
The floor is bare. It’s all wooden, the cracks between the boards is so wide. Between those cracks, there are some glimmers of movement. It’s like runny ink streaming under the floor. On the floor, there are some bits of loose peelings from the ceiling.
The ceiling is also bare, the painting is peeling off slowly; some of paints are dropping onto the floor like it were a grim version of Autumn. The peelings are floating down gently from the cold hard ceiling. Some of peelings fall down to the cracks of the floor boards as if it were doomed and cast into Hell. There is a light bulb hanging from the ceiling. The bulb is covered in dust. Its light was gone years ago. The bulb is dead, hanging and swinging slightly like a hung corpse from execution. At the end of the room, there is a bed…..
11.51pm
A man is lying on the bed. The room is dark except for little orange tinge glowing from the curtains. The curtains move gently to the breezes. The curtain is trying to flirt with this man by revealing a little bit of a glass. Behind the curtain, there’s a street lamp, glowing like an orange flame frozen in time. The lamp stood on the same street for years. The lamp is a symbol of comfort. It gives light to those who need it to get home safe. The lamp stood there like a loyal guard. Tonight, the lamp seems to be indecisive. Is lamp the either giving this man a hope with its light, or is it to welcome the Grim Reaper? Will this light betray him by giving a bright signal of his whereabouts?
The man, he’s at the young age of 30, but his flesh is ageing. He looks about 80. He has wrinkles all over his face and hands. There are a few spots on his skin. The spots are brownish and scattered on the sides of his face. He is lying under the pile of sheets. The sheets tried to keep him warm, but his body temperature is slowing down to bitter coldness. The sheets get slowly damper. The sheet is like a cloth of ice with little sense of warmth.
His cracked lips are trembling; he seems to be muttering a prayer or last rites. His lips are peeling off, just like the paints on the door. Under the lips, there are very few teeth. The remaining teeth are like crooked headstones in the old disused cemetery on one wet night. He still stares to the ceiling; he seems to try to peer through the ceiling to see the night sky, perhaps a vast universe. The mind wanders into nothingness, reflecting the life and crimes he has done in the past. Pondering over what he has done. Did he bless other people’s lives or did he bring many untold curses on others? His eyes are titanium white, and the iris is light blue, fading in colour. The eyes had seen it better days, the veins in the eyes had been burst and bleed. The blood, in his eyes, seems to be frozen. It has stopped oozing. Was it something to do with the combination of coldness that Death and the room brought? His breathing is so slow and shallow. His chest rises up and down slowly, as if someone invisible is sitting on his chest and he tries to push someone off his chest by breathing out. There is a little ooze of saliva emerging from each sides of his lips. The chest might be too tight for him to breath and squeezed the saliva out of him. There is a tinges of pain each time he breathes. He is wishing that he wasn’t breathing. He has to breathe to live but it is hurting him to live.
11.52pm
Pant, pant, pant, pant…his breathing is getting harder by every breath. He felt something grabs each sides of his ribs. Is it the Grim Reaper squeezing the life out of this poor man? The grip is too tight, he struggles to be free, but he cannot resist it anymore. He feels hopeless and swings both arms outwards. He is being submissive to Death. He is trying to be free from all the pains. But, Death seems to be cruelly rejects his plea and loosen the grip. The man seems to be slumped from the defeat. His hands twitches near the floor. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. His heart is beating, getting faster at every beat. There seems to be a small demon hiding inside the heart, banging to climb out. The demon is trapped inside trying to break free from this pathetic man.
11.54pm
In his mind, he can see a child smiling, a little blonde girl with the cutest smile he had ever seen in his life. She’s giggling in the field of corn in a bright summer day. She holds a flower to him. He smiles and reaches for the flower, his eyes watered with a proud smile. That girl just suddenly screams, she has this fear in her eyes. Her scream pierces his ears. His eyes widen…whole vision vanished before his eyes… he lowered the arms. He was reaching for air trying to grab the flowers…its all air…nothing there. Its all in his mind…he frowns slightly…then a burst of shining bright light shines from the ceiling…a beautiful figure of a woman hovers above the man. She is wearing a silk blue dressing gown. There seems to be a wind blowing to her dressing gown as it is billowing with a great glory. Her hair is billowing too. She got those beautiful blue eyes, and a scarlet lips. Her arms seems to be reaching out for this man. The man smiles, is she a saviour of his forthcoming demise? His hand slowly reaches for her hand. The woman opens her eyes and she seems to begin to scream, she jerks back as if something exploded in front of her. Suddenly she screams loudly as her skin, peels away. The peeling flesh are vanishing into its light, the her muscles are peeling away, then the remains of her body peels away into its bones. The skeleton is still screaming, hovering with her arms reaching out for this man. Then skeleton exploded, the bones flies away from the man into the light. The light quickly diminished from the room. He frowned again. He looked at the corners of the walls to the ceilings, he can see many faces coming and going, the faces seems young then changed into skulls. Those corners seem to be covered in a smoke of faces. It is scaring him.
11.55pm.
He can hear the sounds of a clock. The clock seems to have appeared out of nowhere. The walls were blank, now he got this clock. Tick tock, tick tock…. The clock hangs on the wall, facing him. The pendulum swings slowly as if it is teasing him. His eyes follow each swing anxiously. The clock is old fashioned, probably timeless. It look so classic, with a roof on the top of the clock with a large swinging pendulum. The pendulum is made of brass, a very well polished brass, gleaming brightly. Counting every swing. His life ebbs away slowly. Tick tock tick tock…. The hands on the face of the clock is very well crafted. The hand is very old fashioned and it is black to oppose the white face. The hand moves slowly to 11.56pm.
11.56pm…
He knows he is dying. He knows he will die at midnight. He knows there’s a dark demise ahead of him… He knows his life will come to an end and he will be nothing but a corpse. He stares to the billowing white curtains. He can make out some faces or bodies like shapes on curtains. The bodies and faces seem to move around on the curtains as if they are taking part in orgies. They are withered around the curtains. The faces on the curtains seem to open the eyes and stare at the man. The man gasped. The eyes are piercing and intensely staring at this man. There seems to be some force coming from those eyes. He gasped again.
11.58pm
The room seems to be more darker than before…the street lamp seems to lose its glow…that frozen flame is dying. The lamp has betrayed him, or perhaps giving this man a mercy of death? Perspirations covers his face like drops of glass beads…. slowly the beads trickle down the cheeks then to the pillow. The pillow is now damp, just like the sheets. The coldness is too much for this man. He is now shivering painfully.
11.59pm.
There’s a shadow seems to be emerging from the window. Is it the Grim Reaper he is expecting? Or is it just a trick of light? Or just pure figments of his imagination produced by his pathetic mind? The shadow slowly slips to the bed…there’s something on the shadow that shaped like a hand reaching for this man’s heart. His eyes widen in fear, he starts to pant a bit more…. Pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump. SUDDENLY, the man jerks back! He lets out his last breath. His heart has been pulled, twisted and torn six times as if the Grim Reaper or the Devil himself wanted revenge.
Midnight.
The story behind the story....
I've written a small poem during during student years at Gateshead, studying Media. I wrote an original, but lost, poem called "Death By Midnight". When I had enrolled at another college for English GCSE (to boost up my grades). I was asked to write a story and I did. Death by Midnight is my personal favourite and read by many. Those who has read the story were gripped by the unusual imagination. There is no dialogues and after reading, there are unquestions left unanswered...
As the result, the story was awarded with A+ grade.
Grolives.
I was chatting to this girl on MSN, and we've talked about our tastes in grapes and olives.
Can you imagine what will happen if I've combined those two together into one? Grapes and Olives = Grolives.... just think about it....isn't it wicked idea?
Get drunk on Grolive Wine and then eat salad as an heathy alternative to kebabs...and a cure for hangover...eat a feta cheese in the morning.
OR...cook your chips in Grolive Oil....it gives your fish and chips a tang of grapes.
Oh also...with those oil, it helps you to have a poo witout pain as the brown stuff slips out a lot faster since its all oily inside, and JUST before you flush the toilet...it's gone cos its soooo slippy and its vanished...then your toilet is a lot cleaner than usual.... mmm... what else can we do about the wonderful world of Grolives?? Ideas?
Can you imagine what will happen if I've combined those two together into one? Grapes and Olives = Grolives.... just think about it....isn't it wicked idea?
Get drunk on Grolive Wine and then eat salad as an heathy alternative to kebabs...and a cure for hangover...eat a feta cheese in the morning.
OR...cook your chips in Grolive Oil....it gives your fish and chips a tang of grapes.
Oh also...with those oil, it helps you to have a poo witout pain as the brown stuff slips out a lot faster since its all oily inside, and JUST before you flush the toilet...it's gone cos its soooo slippy and its vanished...then your toilet is a lot cleaner than usual.... mmm... what else can we do about the wonderful world of Grolives?? Ideas?
Free Laptops
Hi,
I've had discovered a big secret. I know how to get those following items for free:
Laptops
Home PC
Food
Washing Machine
Flatscreen TV
Basically everything. It's all free and there is a secret for that!!!!
The secret is....
swop it with cash. hehehehehehehehahahahahaha
I've had discovered a big secret. I know how to get those following items for free:
Laptops
Home PC
Food
Washing Machine
Flatscreen TV
Basically everything. It's all free and there is a secret for that!!!!
The secret is....
swop it with cash. hehehehehehehehahahahahaha
Monday 26 January 2009
Why Am I Deaf?
I was at a restaurant late one night with a friend. I was talking to him about how I've taught one woman a very important lesson in her life. I thought I could repeat a story on here.
When I was studying Sociology at a college, a woman was sitting next to me and we were discussing about religion and the society. She has asked me if I do believe in God, and I've confirmed that I do believe in God and knows that He does exists without a doubt. She then asked me how I've felt about my deafness, in a way, she was trying to say "How did you feel about God making you Deaf?". She could be assuming that I've had some hard feelings towards God or feel annoyed about the 'disability'. Imagine her surprise when I've said that I am very grateful for the blessing. Of course she was puzzled. So I went on as follows...
"If everyone on Earth wears the same clothes, if everyone are 'perfectly fine' and everyone speaks in same language, cultures and so on. Everything is perfect and fine, then God can't judge us because we all are equal and perfect. However, I am a God's lesson and a tool to judge you. God will and does measure your attitude towards me. You could either treat me kindly or with contempt because of my deafness, God will judge you for that. God will reward or punish you for any outcomes you've made. BUT, also, God is using YOU for His judgements toward me too. God will judge me on how I've treated your attitude, if I am ungrateful for your kindness, God will judge me, if I forgive you for your contempt, God will judge me. Whatever you do, and whatever I do, God will judge both of us. I am God's lesson and a tool and so are you. Everyone are somebody else's lessons. You are a lesson to everyone that surrounds you and God will judge their learnings and God will judge you for your own learnings from the others. Everyone are a child of God and everyone has a purpose. This is why I am Deaf and it's such a great blessing. You are an unique child of God and so am I."
That woman's life has changed forever from the brief lesson I gave. Whoever has read this blog, please remember you're God's blessings to everyone around you, and do bear in mind that everyone surrounds you are your lessons.
Sunday 18 January 2009
Reality Sucks
Reality sucks...have a mint.
Anyone who imagines that bliss is normal is going to waste a lot of time running around shouting that he's been robbed. The fact is that most putts don't drop, most beef is tough, most children grow up to be just people, most successful marriages require a high degree of mutual toleration, most jobs are often more dull than otherwise. Life is like an old-time rail journey --- delays, side tracks, smoke, dust cinders, and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas, and thrilling bursts of speed. The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride.
- Gordon B. Hinckley
Anyone who imagines that bliss is normal is going to waste a lot of time running around shouting that he's been robbed. The fact is that most putts don't drop, most beef is tough, most children grow up to be just people, most successful marriages require a high degree of mutual toleration, most jobs are often more dull than otherwise. Life is like an old-time rail journey --- delays, side tracks, smoke, dust cinders, and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas, and thrilling bursts of speed. The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride.
- Gordon B. Hinckley
Master's Hands
"Touch of the Master’s Hand,"
by Myra Welsh
T’was battered and scarred, and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But held it up with a smile.
"What am I bidden, good folks," he cried,
"Who’ll start the bidding for me?"
"A dollar, a dollar," then, two! Only two?
"Two dollars, and who’ll make it three?
"Three dollars, once; three dollars, twice;
Going for three . . . "But no,
From the room, far back, a grey haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then, wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening the loose strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet
As a caroling angel sings.
The music ceased, and the auctioneer,
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said: "What am I bid for the old violin?"
And he held it up with the bow.
"A thousand dollars, and who’ll make it two?
Two thousand! And who’ll make it three?
Three thousand, once; three thousand, twice;
And going and gone," said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
"We do not quite understand
What changed its worth?" Swift came the reply:
"The touch of a master’s hand."
And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd,
Much like the old violin.
A "mess of potage," a glass of wine;
A game, and he travels on.
He is "going" once, and "going" twice,
He’s "going" and almost "gone."
But the Master comes and the foolish crowd
Never can quite understand
The worth of a soul and the change that’s wrought
By the touch of the Master’s hand.
by Myra Welsh
T’was battered and scarred, and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But held it up with a smile.
"What am I bidden, good folks," he cried,
"Who’ll start the bidding for me?"
"A dollar, a dollar," then, two! Only two?
"Two dollars, and who’ll make it three?
"Three dollars, once; three dollars, twice;
Going for three . . . "But no,
From the room, far back, a grey haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then, wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening the loose strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet
As a caroling angel sings.
The music ceased, and the auctioneer,
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said: "What am I bid for the old violin?"
And he held it up with the bow.
"A thousand dollars, and who’ll make it two?
Two thousand! And who’ll make it three?
Three thousand, once; three thousand, twice;
And going and gone," said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
"We do not quite understand
What changed its worth?" Swift came the reply:
"The touch of a master’s hand."
And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd,
Much like the old violin.
A "mess of potage," a glass of wine;
A game, and he travels on.
He is "going" once, and "going" twice,
He’s "going" and almost "gone."
But the Master comes and the foolish crowd
Never can quite understand
The worth of a soul and the change that’s wrought
By the touch of the Master’s hand.
Fear
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine as children do. It's not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own lights shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.
33
33
Recently I've turned 33. So, it was strange because I was reaidng the local paper, on page 33, there is an astrology page. It has said that my lucky number is 33. So, it was strange because my door number is 33 and lived here all my life. I've decided to play with this number a bit. I was waiting for a bus, and it took me 33 mins to wait and the number of my bus is 33. Weird. When I got into town and I was walking around counting the shops. At the shop number 33. It's the bookies. I've decided to go in and bet a horse. I've spent £33 on a horse for 3.30 race. The horse's number is Lucky 33. So, I can't believe my sheer luck.So, i feel really good and I was expecting to win £33,000 and my damned horse arrived at 33rd. GAH!
Recently I've turned 33. So, it was strange because I was reaidng the local paper, on page 33, there is an astrology page. It has said that my lucky number is 33. So, it was strange because my door number is 33 and lived here all my life. I've decided to play with this number a bit. I was waiting for a bus, and it took me 33 mins to wait and the number of my bus is 33. Weird. When I got into town and I was walking around counting the shops. At the shop number 33. It's the bookies. I've decided to go in and bet a horse. I've spent £33 on a horse for 3.30 race. The horse's number is Lucky 33. So, I can't believe my sheer luck.So, i feel really good and I was expecting to win £33,000 and my damned horse arrived at 33rd. GAH!
The Bridge
Warning: This story is NOT suitable for those who are easily distressed.
There was once a big turntable bridge which spanned a large river. During most of the day the bridge set its length running up and down the river parallel with the banks, allowing ships to pass through freely on both sides of the bridge. But at a certain day, a certain train would come along, and the bridge would be turned sideways across the river allowing the train to cross.
A switchman sat in a small shack on one side of the river where he operated the controls to turn the bridge and lock it into place as the train crossed. One evening as the switchman was waiting for the last train of the day to come, he looked off to the distance through the dimming twilight, and caught sight of the train’s light. He stepped to the controls and waited until the train was into position, but to his horror, he found the control the locking control didn’t work. If the bridge was not locked securely into position, it would wobble back and forth at the ends when the train came onto itm causing the train to jump the track and go crashing into the river. This would be a passenger train with so many people aboard. He left the bridge, turned across the river, and hurried across the bridge to the other side of the river where there were a lever which he could use to operate the lock manually. He would have to hold the lever back firmly as the train passed. He kept applying the pressure to keep the mechanism locked. Many lives depended on this man’s strength.
Then, coming across the bridge from the direction of his control shack, he heard a sound that made his blood run cold. “Daddy, where are you?” His four year old son was crossing the bridge to look for him. His first impulse was to cry out to the child “Run!”, but the train was too close; the tiny legs would never make it across the bridge in time. The man almost left the lever to run and snatch up his son and carry him to safety, but he realised he could not get back to the lever. Either the people on the train or his little son must die. He took a moment to make a his decision. The train sped swiftly and safely on its way, and no one aboard was even aware of tiny broken body thrown mercilessly into the river by the rushing train. Nor were they aware of the pitiful figure of a sobbing man, still clinging tightly to the locking lever long after the train has passed. They didn’t see him walking home more slowing then he had ever walked – to tell his wife how he had sacrificed her son.
Now, if you could comprehend the emotions which went through this man’s heart, you can begin to understand the feeling of our Heavenly Father when He sacrificed His Son to the bridge the gap between us and Eternal Life. Can there be any wonder that He crossed the Earth to tremble and the skies to darken when His Son died? And how does He feel when we speed along through life without giving a thought to what was done for us through Jesus Christ? When was the last time you thanked Him for the sacrifice of His Son?
There was once a big turntable bridge which spanned a large river. During most of the day the bridge set its length running up and down the river parallel with the banks, allowing ships to pass through freely on both sides of the bridge. But at a certain day, a certain train would come along, and the bridge would be turned sideways across the river allowing the train to cross.
A switchman sat in a small shack on one side of the river where he operated the controls to turn the bridge and lock it into place as the train crossed. One evening as the switchman was waiting for the last train of the day to come, he looked off to the distance through the dimming twilight, and caught sight of the train’s light. He stepped to the controls and waited until the train was into position, but to his horror, he found the control the locking control didn’t work. If the bridge was not locked securely into position, it would wobble back and forth at the ends when the train came onto itm causing the train to jump the track and go crashing into the river. This would be a passenger train with so many people aboard. He left the bridge, turned across the river, and hurried across the bridge to the other side of the river where there were a lever which he could use to operate the lock manually. He would have to hold the lever back firmly as the train passed. He kept applying the pressure to keep the mechanism locked. Many lives depended on this man’s strength.
Then, coming across the bridge from the direction of his control shack, he heard a sound that made his blood run cold. “Daddy, where are you?” His four year old son was crossing the bridge to look for him. His first impulse was to cry out to the child “Run!”, but the train was too close; the tiny legs would never make it across the bridge in time. The man almost left the lever to run and snatch up his son and carry him to safety, but he realised he could not get back to the lever. Either the people on the train or his little son must die. He took a moment to make a his decision. The train sped swiftly and safely on its way, and no one aboard was even aware of tiny broken body thrown mercilessly into the river by the rushing train. Nor were they aware of the pitiful figure of a sobbing man, still clinging tightly to the locking lever long after the train has passed. They didn’t see him walking home more slowing then he had ever walked – to tell his wife how he had sacrificed her son.
Now, if you could comprehend the emotions which went through this man’s heart, you can begin to understand the feeling of our Heavenly Father when He sacrificed His Son to the bridge the gap between us and Eternal Life. Can there be any wonder that He crossed the Earth to tremble and the skies to darken when His Son died? And how does He feel when we speed along through life without giving a thought to what was done for us through Jesus Christ? When was the last time you thanked Him for the sacrifice of His Son?
Wines
When things in your life seem almost too much to handle, when 24 hours in a day are not enough, remember the mayonnaise jar and the 2 glasses of wine theory...
A professor stood before his philosophy class with some items on his desk in front of him. When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was. The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was. The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous 'YES.' The professor then produced two glasses of wine from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed. 'Now,' said the professor, as the laughter subsided, 'I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things; your family, your children, your health, your friends, and your favourite passions; things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full. The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house, and your car. The sand is everything else; the small stuff. If you put the sand into the jar first', he continued, 'there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the good things that are important to you. Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out to dinner. Play another 18 holes. Do one more run down the ski slope. There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal. Take care of the golf balls first; the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.'
One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the wine represented. The professor smiled. 'I'm glad you asked. It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there's always room for a couple of glasses of wine with a friend.'
A professor stood before his philosophy class with some items on his desk in front of him. When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was. The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was. The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous 'YES.' The professor then produced two glasses of wine from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed. 'Now,' said the professor, as the laughter subsided, 'I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things; your family, your children, your health, your friends, and your favourite passions; things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full. The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house, and your car. The sand is everything else; the small stuff. If you put the sand into the jar first', he continued, 'there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the good things that are important to you. Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out to dinner. Play another 18 holes. Do one more run down the ski slope. There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal. Take care of the golf balls first; the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.'
One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the wine represented. The professor smiled. 'I'm glad you asked. It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there's always room for a couple of glasses of wine with a friend.'
Dilemma
There is one thing that really does bother me.
I am sure you can help me to understand this. Let me explain my struggle here.
First, I don't believe in aliens or UFO...but I do enjoy watching ET, Star Trek, Star Wars.
Second, I don't believe in ghosts...but I do enjoy watching Ghostbusters, Ghost, Sixth Sense.
Third, I don't believe in myths...but I do enjoy fairy tales, such as...erm...oh you know.
Fourth, I don't believe in fantasy...but I do enjoy Lords of the Rings....
Now...one thing I CAN'T understand is...when people say "I don't believe in Jesus or God and all that religious stuff" and STRONGLY avoid any religious films such as Passion of the Christ, The 10 Commandments and so on? Why people AVOID those movies so strongly while can enjoy other films that they don't believe in. Can anyone shed a light? In fact, why are they so angry about it? I mean I don't believe in Santa Claus and I don't get angry about it...I'm baffled...help me?
Thanks.
I am sure you can help me to understand this. Let me explain my struggle here.
First, I don't believe in aliens or UFO...but I do enjoy watching ET, Star Trek, Star Wars.
Second, I don't believe in ghosts...but I do enjoy watching Ghostbusters, Ghost, Sixth Sense.
Third, I don't believe in myths...but I do enjoy fairy tales, such as...erm...oh you know.
Fourth, I don't believe in fantasy...but I do enjoy Lords of the Rings....
Now...one thing I CAN'T understand is...when people say "I don't believe in Jesus or God and all that religious stuff" and STRONGLY avoid any religious films such as Passion of the Christ, The 10 Commandments and so on? Why people AVOID those movies so strongly while can enjoy other films that they don't believe in. Can anyone shed a light? In fact, why are they so angry about it? I mean I don't believe in Santa Claus and I don't get angry about it...I'm baffled...help me?
Thanks.
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