Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

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

January 31, 2008

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Today?s Announcement

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Don?t forget to order your copy of Angels Watching Over Me, the story of an ordinary woman facing less than ordinary challenges.? Angels Watching Over Me is a story of family love, sacrifices, poverty and an undying faith that makes heroes out of all of us. Here is the link in case you have forgotten it: http://www.lulu.com/content/964306

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Important notice: Storytime Tapestry is a free e-zine, however donations are always needed to help with the operating expenses of running the newsletter and to keep Storytime Tapestry the quality newsletter you are so accustomed to.? ?You can make your donations to paypal at: winterose@videotron.ca, or if you would prefer to use the mail system contact the publisher at the same email address: winterose@videotron.ca

Today?s Stories

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?Strange Things People Say
Bill Walker
missourisage@yahoo.com
I wonder quite a bit about what some people say at times. I wonder if people ever think before speaking, and how it might upset the ones hearing the words. The other day I was at the home of a family who had just lost a loved one. I was told the man died very peacefully. He was a preacher, so he was right with God. God allowed him to go with no pain.
One of the good ladies of the church said she guessed people that die in pain are not right with God. This made me to think about others I have read about and their last
minutes on this earth. I guess this lady would say, they were not?right with God. I think of one we read about in the Bible. The most perfect person to ever walk on this earth. Maybe I should say the humble man, the Son of God, the one we call Jesus. His death was most horrible. Read what is written in the Bible. What was foretold in the Old Testament, and how it was carried out in the New Testament. He was beaten, he had to
carry the cross on which he would later be crucified.? He suffered, bleeding and in pain until at last death took him. The Angels wept, he was forsaken by God. His death was no joy.? He must have been in terrible pain, every joint was out of place, we are told.

Then we read in the Bible of others that died a horrible death. We know from history, of? thousands of good Christians that suffered. Those that were stoned, those that died in the jaws of Lions, ones who were beheaded, others burned alive, some? also died on crosses. Those who died?just because they were Christians. I don't know of any that really died other than horribly. Much pain, much suffering. I am sure the Angels wept, but they were welcomed home same as those that might have died at peace.
Yes, I think the good lady should think what she is saying. I have seen those die, who I thought were real good followers of the most humble man. Some?go with a smile on the face, there are also some that die painfully.
?I have seen people die with heart attacks, and strokes.? Yes, some go right now, while others die in much pain. Are the ones with pain, paying for their sins? If you read the Bible, you will find none is with out sin. We are saved by the Grace of God. There is no promise that death is going to be easy. I am sure the babies, the children that died in the death camps of Hitler, died in great pain. Were they sinners, and paying the price of their sins? No, they just happened to be the victims of a world gone mad. Is the poor soldier that dies, bleeds to death on some battlefield, paying the price for his sins? Only God can answer such question. It is written in the book of books, the Holy Bible. "Judge not least you be judged."
Maybe I am on the wrong track here, but one should keep the mouth shut, until the?brain is working, when it comes to such matters. Think in this case about the most humble man. The man we hung on the cross that day. The only perfect man. Jesus. I am sure he was not smiling as he looked down from the cross at his mother. I am sure he died in
great pain. Read your Bible.
Tinker and Poo; The Boys Write
http://www.iuniverse.com/bookstore/book_detail.asp?&isbn=0-595-35741-5

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?TOGETHERNESS AND ONENESS

Dr. Harmander Singh

"Do you want to possess me?? the sea asked the river.

"No, I do not want to lose you,? the river replied.

"When you HAVE NOT possessed me, then how you can say that you do not want to lose me?? the sea was surprised.

"You know, I saw you from the top of the world when I was on the top of the mountain. I embraced your sight and you remained in my memories. You are in me. I can not lose you and I do not want to either,? the river said.

??????????? The sea stormed in a surprise, the waves wrote the song of humanity on the sea, and the thunders sang it in tune, with the waves. Then the sea became silent.

"I can hear my presence in your flows,? the sea said to the river.

"Please do not emerge in me, I wish to admire you. You'll never lose me because I'm in you,? the sea requested.

"No, I will not emerge or possess you but I will be your waves, you will enjoy me on the shores and storms, without me you will feel alone,? she said and emerged into the sea.

"I'm pleased to be sea for you've become my wave,? the sea said to the river ignoring the so-called emerging.

??????????? Both enjoyed the flows and waves.

Daily Moral Insight for a Peaceful Night

Is not it a beauty of human life that we can possess so many great things without being possessive?

Is not it wonderful to look at the stars spotted on earth as humans along with living and non-living beauties?

Is not it a great joy to feel the melodies of our thought waves?

Is not it beauty of togetherness that we feel the value of relatedness?

Is not it joyous to have oneness and the great feelings of it?

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Dr. Harmander Singh

bhagouauty@gmail.com

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?Whirligig Man

Jennifer Oliver

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From what we get, we can make a living; from what we give, however, makes a life.--Arthur Ashe

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My husband, Stephen, drove to a bigger city about an hour away to pick up materials for our fixer-upper that could not be found locally.? He had all three boys, ages one to four, with him on the trip, and to unwind on the way home, he decided to take the scenic route on narrow, winding roads through hill country.? He hadn't been this way before and felt it would be a treat for the kids to soak up the autumn landscape.?

A host of movements caught his eye, prompting him to slow down in front of a lone house with an expansive front yard.? At the edge of the lawn was a congregation of brightly colored whirligigs that pedaled in the direction of an easterly wind.? No sign indicated they were for sale, but instinct made him think that they were.? He only had five dollars in his wallet, but he thought it wouldn't hurt to do a little browsing.?

He pulled over, set the car to idling, and heaved himself out.?

"Wait here, boys," he instructed.? "I'll be right back."?

The variety was impressive.? Among them were paddling ducks, flowers, lumberjacks sawing logs, and his personal favorite, a Native American?in a canoe, his oars spinning like mad.? On closer inspection of the handiwork, he saw that whoever constructed the lawn ornaments was a novice at painting.? Drips, smudges, and the features of the Native American's face made him think of folk art.?

If they were indeed for sale, their weathered appearance yielded that it had been a while since anyone paid mind to this display.? After all, it was off the beaten track, and no neighbors were in clear sight with harvested cotton fields kissing the horizon.?

"Hallo!"?

Stephen started.? An older gentleman was heading his way.?

"Hello!" Stephen replied, greeting him with a hearty handshake.? "Got some great whirligigs here.? Are you selling them by any chance?"?

"Yep, I sure am!" he said, grinning wide and rubbing his palms together.? "Found one you like?"?

Stephen was torn.? He didn't have the money really.?

Yet something about the eagerness in the man's eyes compelled him to respond almost instantly, "Well, that?canoe sure would look great in my garden."?

"Ah.? Wouldn't you know you picked my favorite one, sir.? I'll let you have it for five dollars."?

The exact amount left his wallet.? Stephen couldn't believe his ears.?

"Well, you got yourself a deal!" he said, handing him the bill.? "You make all these yourself?"?

"Yes, sir.? The wife passed on, and it's just me here, so I spend most of my time in the workshop.? Wait here.? I'll get a bag for you."?

"Oh, you don't have to go through the trouble."?

"No trouble at all!? Won't be a minute."?

The man whistled the long walk back to the house, practically dancing.? He placed the whirligig carefully in a plastic sack and handed it reverently to Stephen as though parting with an old friend.?

"Fine bunch you got there," he said, using his chin to point at the car.? The older boys' faces were pressed to the windows, their brows furrowed with curiosity.? "Think they're thirsty?? I've got sodas."?

With a pang in his heart, Stephen felt the underlying intent of the innocent question.? A bid to prolong the visit for a bit.? He couldn't deny the sweet man a little stretch of conversation.?

"You know, we could use some water, if you don't mind."?

Stephen detected an extra bounce in?the man's?step.? All five of them traipsed back to his home for a tour of his workshop and of his life, drinking tumblers of ice water, until the sky blushed with the setting sun.?

"Dad?" Ethan asked when they scooted back into the car for the drive home.?

"Yes?"?

"I liked that man.? He was nice."?

"Yes, he was, big boy.? A very nice man."?

It was the best five dollars he'd ever spent.?

And the whirligig, we'd come to find out, looked perfect in our herb garden.

Jennifer Oliver

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Poetry Corner

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The Beckoning Muse

Cheryl Williams

The muse beckons her

to write of love, and

she fights the urge?for

love seems to

constantly elude her.

How pitiful to write

of that which is best suited

to the likes of

Shakespeare and Browning

when she could write

of foaming tides,

golden sunsets, or the way

the water from the faucet

drips in staccato rhythm;

She could write of

bloodshed and hatred,

God and angels, a

child's melodious laughter

or the way the robin sings

to her each morning,

awakening her to

greet the day.

Days come and go,

and her soul longs

to write what is in her heart;

To write of anything

other than?that which?is

calling to her

seems to be untrue.

She takes a deep breath,

and wonders

why?she must?write of love?

Why must she write at all?

Cheryl Williams

Politicalgirl04@aol.com

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?Readers Feedback

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Beautiful!? Thank you Cheryl for your story poem about prejudice.????????????? Louise

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Well, Respected Elizabeth Evans, you seethe suffering is not what we seek, however accepting it as His Will is suffering for others, we share our sufferings as a witness that this kind of life is possible. You could have escaped and anybody can, but setting an example is beyond sacrifice, as it gives a living moral of life as your childhood gives. As the humans, we all share one thing common, the suffering, it is strength of our bond with God. The human bonds give suffering, but the bond, the personal bond with God is also full of suffering. He molds the humanity through the people, like you, who accept suffering as His Will. We all pray for you and those who select this difficult path. Thanks for sharing. Please keep sharing, it will heal the wounds of many.

With sincere regards,

Dr. H. Singh

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Here is our Storytime Tapestry Angels: Also, I would like to thank?those of you who?chose to be a silent angel and?gave an anonymous donation to keep?Storytime Tapestry up and running.

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Clara Westerfer, Mark Crider, Rosanne Catalano, Paula Booher, Kay Seefeldt, Mariane Holbrook, Mary Ellen Grisham, Louise Nomani, Sharon Bryant, Angela Walker, Hart and Helen Dowd, Keith Ready, Ginger Morgenstern, Ellie Braun-Haley, Surinder Jandu, Bob Shaw, Carol Meeks, Charlotte Hilliard, Maria Keller, Marilyn Sink, Victor Buhagiar, Clarice Hinson, Conrad Cardinal,?

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