Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness around the world.

April 16, 2007

Today’s Announcements

 Happy birthday Jacque, jacque56@netzon.net from all your friends at Storytime Tapestry.

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Today’s Stories

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Bend In The Road

Joan Clifton Costner

Understanding must come hard for me.  My lessons have been hard.  Come to think of it, my heart has always been what got me in trouble, but one lesson stands out in particular today.

My grand daughter at 5lbs and 2 weeks of age was quietly deposited in my arms. I thought it was for the evening, it lasted 3 years.  I will tell you that I tried desperately to remember that I was her mother -once -removed.  I was her grandmother and over and over I said,

“Remember, she is not your child”. 

But what do you do when she’s there 24/7 ? 

When you do the midnight bottle and change the diapers, sing the go- to- sleep lullaby, kiss the tiny tears?  Unless you are heartless, you fall in love, platonic love (the best kind) for this helpless little soul.  And I did.

Then came divorce.  Since she was my son’s daughter, and I was convinced we would both die, the long battle began.  A battle I never wanted, but was forced to after watching for these 3 years.  I just want to relate one incident that taught me a deep truth.

I have always revered God’s love and also wondered at it.  One particular trip for visitation, I had to go alone, and God gave me such a lesson!

We arrived at the home of her maternal grandparents.  She always fought going back so hard.  We had to run after her and catch her and hold her to get her in the car.  When we got there she began to cry and beg and hold on to me.  Her mother was present and it infuriated her. She had locked her legs around my waist and fastened her arms around my neck.  Her mother grabbed her and pulled her from my body.  I hadn’t known a child that small could hold on so tight.  Then she spanked her in front of us and carried her into the house. 

There was a large picture window and this little 3 yr. old ran straight to it.  With tears streaming down her face, and tiny arms stretched as far open as they would go she was reaching to the window, eyes fixed on me.  I can’t even tell you the pain of those moments.

I got in the car and started home.  I couldn’t see to drive.  The tears rolled down my face and I didn’t even wipe them away.  My heart was completely broken, all because of love.  We both hurt because we loved each other.  I pulled over several times and then back onto the road. 

I can still remember the stretch of road where I began to tell the Lord I just couldn’t stand it any more.  I told Him it was as if every cell in my body was in contractions like unto birth.  I just couldn’t stand it...I loved her so much and then He said, “I know.  That is the way I loved every person in the whole world, everyone that had lived and everyone that would live......and the only reason I could let My Son die the death He did.”

Of a sudden, God’s Love was understood by me.  He had to be God to hold all that Love, and all that hurt, only God could do it.  I always knew God loved us, but never before had I understood the depth and greatness - the agony of that tremendous love.

I do not understand why people don’t seek the most pleasant way when there

are divorces and disagreements, for the children are the victims of such terrible pain.  Why anyone wants to add one moment of suffering is more than I will ever be able to understand, but I do know that right in the midst of a great heartbreak, God can bring a message home that can’t be misunderstood.

Joan Clifton Costner

jody@ptsi.net

Copyright

Http://underhiswings0.tripod.com

Http://www.heavenlypoetry.com

Poetry Corner

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Hey Little Hero

Abram Friedland

Hey, Little Hero, what are you running for?

I heard you threw some rocks into someone’s store

You really think you’ve won something big and even more?

By being the little coward you always were before?

Someone should tell you about earlier wars

When millions died and soldiers marched in hoards

When whole cities were set on fire

And consequences were just as dire

The store owner whose windows you broke

Has parents who survived such wars by only a lucky stroke

And he can tell you stories that’ll leave you up all night

Until you’re too tired next day to put up a fight

Breaking a store window doesn’t win you a war

Throwing a rock at a cop’s car won’t make you anything more

Than a felon, with a stenciled number around clothes you probably tore

So don’t walk around calling yourself a hero anymore.

It really got me steamed when the Hezbollah leaders ran around claiming victory after the ceasefire took effect. A kid who throws a firecracker at a soldier has not beaten that soldier in a fight. Let’s see that little punk go through a year of Basic Training, and fight like a professional soldier. I can throw a firecracker at a military parade, but that doesn’t mean I’ve beaten the whole army, it just means, in this country, that I’ll spend some time in lock - up for committing a misdemeanor.

Abram Friedland

abramfriedland@videotron.ca

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 Pick Your Army

Abram Friedland

There’s a war going on, so choose your side

There’s a protest going on, don’t run and hide

But if you want to make your stand

It’s not good enough to raise your hand

Any fool can be in a protest march

Any bozo can burn a flag of cloth and starch

But do you have the courage

To put some action to your words of rage?

Are you going to send money to help your fighters?

Are you going to send support to make their burden seem lighter?

Or are you just going to stand there and wave your placard

While others fight and die after training so long and hard?

I heard your sister and her band

Sang a song to curse our land

Did she do anything concrete

To help the soldiers fighting in the heat?

I was on the bus and I saw the protest

Of young kids who refused to try and pass this war’s test

On my way to the way to the post office this morning

With support letters and money for soldiers still fighting

I’m just another citizen of this comfort kingdom

And I have no great and mighty wisdom

But I cannot stand to see the killing

And think that I’m just sitting there eating

But the kids in the square burning their flags

Are eating just as much or more as they brag

Of their superior faith and their mighty cause

While they stand around breaking this country’s laws.

This one comes from a few influences, including the peace protests, so partisan and charged with hate, but also from a poster of a young woman in a pop star’s outfit, singing to protest something or other (was she doing anything concrete to help her cause) and from hearing that a good way to participate in the conflict that was going on, if not in a military, was to send support, either in letters or money. That seemed to me to be a much better way to stand up for a cause than to protest and burn a flag, or to stand up in a bar and sing a song for a bunch of drunks.

Abram Friedland

abramfriedland@videotron.ca

 ~**~**~

Message in an Envelope

Abram Friedland

My life story

My testimony

Typed on paper

And delivered to my maker

Are my plea

To be remembered

Before my December

Comes creeping towards me

From behind some rotten tree

But there’s still more that I can see

Because the way to earn anyone’s memory

And dream about any sort of history

Is to reach out in the dark

To a struggling soul with an open heart

As the cold winds filter our city

But after the bombs explode

And leave the human destiny sold

To the roaches strong and bold

The only traces of what once had been

Might be the smiling skulls of wounded healers so driven

To make us in our last days less burdened.

This one is a contemplation of what might happen to the world, regardless of who presses the buttons, or launches the missiles, or orders a young kid to waltz into a government building somewhere and turn it into a powder keg. If the crises spiral out of control, there might not be many human beings left when it’s all over. The only record of what we accomplished with our 10000 years as a civilized species might be the bread that was baked, the holes that were dug, the manure that was cleaned, and the blood that was cleaned up, instead of spilt.

Abram Friedland

abramfriedland@videotron.ca

Readers Feedback

 Carol, I am so glad to finally be able to get Storytime again!  AOL has held you captive for four months!  The writers are still just as wonderful!  I especially have enjoyed the poetry by Abram Friedland--maybe because we see eye-to-eye on war.

Greetings to you all!

Barb Deming

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