Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

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

April 8, 2006

Today’s announcements

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Make it a blessed day.

Now onto the good stuff!

Today’s Queue Stories

~**~**~

CLOCKS

By: Joseph J. Mazzella

     I have often wondered why we still have so many old fashioned face clocks and watches being made these days. Digital clocks are both more accurate and easier to read. They can instantly give you the time to the exact second and you don’t have to estimate by glancing at the three moving hands on a face clock. Still, in the stores the face clocks far outnumber their digital counterparts. People also spend more to have their old fashioned clocks and watches repaired than they would to buy a new one. They even seek out old mantle clocks, grandfather clocks, and pocket watches at antique shops.

     Perhaps it is because these old style time pieces give all of us a better sense of what time is. It is reassuring for me to look up at my old face clock on the wall and see the second hand gently ticking away. It reminds me that each and every second of this life is a precious choice and that I should do my best to live them all in love, joy, and oneness with God. I even have a clock that is broken that I keep on my kitchen wall. It gives me the right time exactly twice each day. It also reminds me, however, that I don’t have forever in this life and that I should share that love, joy, and oneness with God with everyone everywhere every second that I can. There is one other time piece that I would like to have too: an old windup alarm clock. It would be a wonderful reminder that all the time that I have in this life is in my own hands. It would also always let me know that one day the alarm will sound, and I will awaken from this life and move on to the greater life that awaits us all.

     Before your own alarm sounds then make sure that you truly live every minute of your life. Before your own clock stops make sure that you choose and share love, joy, and oneness with God every second that you can. Your time is in your hands. Make the most of it.

Joseph J. Mazzella
joecool @ wirefire.com

Joe lives in West Virginia with his wife and three children. Various dogs and cats have adopted Joe and his family for their own. Joe enjoys his family, beauty, love and hearing from his email friends. Joe likes to take the time to smell the roses and enjoy the beauty around him as he goes about his daily life.

~**~**~

I remember

Maria Doherty

I remember the night my grandmother died. She was 79 years old and she was the only grandparent I had ever known. All of the others were dead years before I was born. She was my connection to the past, the family history that I was and am still so fascinated by.

She was a quiet and dignified woman, reserved, yet possessing a sense of humour that would see her apple cheeks and little round belly vibrate with laughter. I would spend every weekend I could with her, escaping from  my large, unruly family to the sanctity and silence of her home, a few miles from my own. She would let me sit curled up by the fire reading or writing or simply dreamily watching the flames, spinning stories around them. She gave me the peace and stillness that I needed to be fully me.

She had the softest, smoothest skin, with no visible lines and her long silver hair was worn up in a tidy bun. She would brush it out around her shoulders before she went to bed and it fascinated a little girl who was never allowed to grow her lush thick jungle of hair longer than a little below the ears. She was a tiny woman, less than five feet tall and she lived long enough for me to tower over her by exactly two inches. I loved her and there was never a moment in my life when I doubted that she loved me.

I was fifteen when I realised that my grandmother was dying. No one told me. I think I knew even before she did. They say that animals can smell death and I believe that that unfettered part of my animal brain, caught the scent of death from her long before her inoperable bladder cancer was diagnosed. I visited her more often. I brought her little gifts, sometimes some pretty ornament or scarf, sometimes her favourite strawberry tart. In those last few months, she could eat very little and eventually even those favourites were inedible. She was my first experience of the way people you love begin to fade in front of you, like cartoon figures being gradually erased, layer after layer obliterated, until there is only a shadow caught half way between this world and the next. She was my first experience of death.

On the night of her death there was a gathering of almost all of her adult children in her home as she lay in her bed barely conscious. We took it in turns to sit with her. My aunts and my mother were weeping in the kitchen as they kept the kettle boiling for the endless cups of tea that seem indispensable in times of trial in any Scottish or Irish household. I had volunteered to sit with granny and as a fifteen year old, sensible way beyond my years, I was trusted to be her guardian while the others grieved downstairs.

As I sat beside her bed, she was moaning softly, in excruciating pain. I wiped the beads of sweat from her already deathly pale face and moistened her lips with small drops of water which seemed to help. She was barely aware of my presence. This courageous little woman who had single handedly raised eleven children after the death of her husband, deserved better than this. A devout Catholic, she walked to Mass, every morning at 6.30a.m. regardless of hail, wind or snow. She was the most faithful of faithful servants and I was so angry that this is how she had been rewarded by the God in whom she placed such trust. I sat and I prayed as I had never prayed before. I told God about my anger. I told God that she deserved better treatment than this. I stormed heaven with the intensity of my pleas that she be released from her pain, that she be allowed right now to enter the heaven that she so fervently believed in.

As I prayed, something quite extraordinary happened, something I had no conception of, something beyond my experience. It started with a feeling of the deepest most serene peace engulfing me. Then the whole room seemed to take on this gentle golden glow, as if I had been transported to another dimension. I knew with absolute certainty that my prayer had been answered and that my grandmother would make her transition that night. I was filled with such quiet joy. I knew at the deepest level of my being that there is no death. I knew that the body she was leaving behind was not my grandmother. I knew that the essence of who she is, her soul, was eternal and that I could never lose her. I simply knew and in that knowing, was the most amazing sensation of love. I was complete, whole, at one with the divine and there was no separation. There never could be.

For the rest of the evening, until we went home, I comforted my family and the serenity of the experience remained with me, cloaking me in this transcendent joy that I will never forget. At two in the morning, as I lay sleeping, I woke to find my grandmother sitting at the bottom of my bed. I knew she had passed and she had come to let me know. I smiled at her and as she disappeared, I thanked the Light for her freedom and slept without a tear. The following morning, my mother told me that granny had slipped away at 2a.m.. I cried once after her funeral and I cried no more. She was at peace and I knew beyond doubt that life truly is eternal. I did not grieve for her passing. I rejoiced in her liberation from a body that no longer served her bright, shining spirit.

I remember my grandmother. I remember our love. I remember a door opening to another world.

Maria

Maria Stepek Doherty

For a transformational change in mind

www.chrysalistransformations.com

www.magicalmaria.blogspot.com

~**~**~

All the Same

Joyce C. Lock

     When a friend shared how her counselor had said that God’s chosen people were His favorite, that there are some He loves more, you can bet I came up for air.

     I can only imagine how horrible that would be if I even thought that God couldn’t love me as much as He does others.  Were that true, we could never find our rightful place with Him.

     I see the same mentality in others.  Some think saving souls is everything.  Several give their all to ministering to Christians.  More think loving the Jew is what is going to bring them acceptance, favor, and reward from God.

     But, God said, "Sow beside all waters," Is. 32:20.  His vengeance is promised for the Jew and Christian, alike.  His blessings are promised for all areas of service given by the heart.  Each and every calling is equally important.  God didn’t pick a favorite.

     If you look carefully, at scripture, you’ll find that those God chooses are humans; with flaws, fears, and weaknesses.  They’re chosen for special areas of service wherein God gets the glory, instead of man.

     Perhaps, God knows that, if man gets the glory, it will only go to their head ... taking his eyes off God, where they can no longer be used.  So, what God does choose is ‘the least likely candidate’.  But, He loves us all the same. 

© by Joyce C. Lock
http://our.homewithgod.com/heavenlyinspirations/

~**~**~

Poetry Section

~**~**~

YOU OFTEN TOLD THE STORY

 Sharon Bryant

You often told the story

Of the day you met your wife

You laughed and told me many times

She was so pretty and so nice

You often told the story

Of the day I came into this world

You told me how happy it made you

That a little girl was born

You sometimes told me stories

About the years you were at war

You said you had sad memories

Of how many families lives were torn

You used to tell me often

About things I did that you were pleased

You taught me so many things

And how to take life with ease

You often told me I had a temper

With my red hair and green eyes

You said it was the Irish in me

Yet I had part of your Polish ways inside

I marveled at how you handled

The things life stood in your way

You always told me to take it calmly

Life was too short to stay mad all day

I don't know if you knew

How much I listened to what you'd say

You taught me a lifetime of knowledge

In your simple wonderful ways

I told you so often

How much you really meant to me

I told you I always loved you

Through this life and eternity

You recently told me

That you couldn't live forever

I thank God I visited you a month ago

When the four of us all got together

I look at the photos

I took that last day with you

I cry inside dad

Because it hurts so much without you

I'm not afraid of dying

I know one day we'll be together again

Until I get there with you and mom

Hug your grandchild for me once again

I'll love you forever Dad

And it breaks my heart you had to go

I'll continue to live life

The way you taught me so long ago

Sharon Bryant

1946@bellsouth.net

~**~**~

I believe Jonathon is Paula’s son and Andy is Sharon Bryant’s son

"From Paddle To Paddle"

Paula Booher

(A Tribute to Andy & Jonathan)

--for Parents in the Same Boat--

who've lost a child

early in life.

The day could be like any other

Or it could be just like today,

His eyes could be blue or brown

Or hazel, green, or grey.

He could have been a she

He could have been a they,

But God chose to make a boy

On that particular day.

Created quite specifically

With the care only God could give,

We may never know just why

Only a short time he would live.

Though his days were few in number

His light did brightly shine,

Each moment is a treasure

Of Glorys' sweet divine.

I'd say I really miss him

Yet that would not be quite true,

For I speak to him each moment

Just as I speak to you.

My life is full of memories

Each one I hold quite dear,

And when I think of my sweet babe

His heart beats ever clear.

His body may not be present

His life may not be seen with eyes,

Yet his spirit is always with me

Life once conceived Never dies.

Many have their notions about it

I'm just a plain ol' Mummy,

My boy was just a few weeks inside

And hers five years out of her tummy.

Either way they are loved and in heaven

Eternally secure and adored always,

Andy & Jonathan never forgotten

Are Blessings for the rest of Our days!

Paula Deann Roe Booher

wrappednword@yahoo.com

~**~**~

Senior Writers

Chief writer: Sharon Bryant

Agee, Vance; Apted, Violet; Baker, Kathy; Batt, Al; Berry, Nell; Blaine, Pamela; Boda, Ginger; Buhagiar, Victor; Cassady, B.J.; Cavalera, Robyn; Crider, Mark; Deming, Barb; Doherty, Maria; Gilbert, Robert, Jr.; Goodier, Steve; Braun-Haley, Ellie; Harris, Kathy Anne; Hunt, Sharlett; Hymes, Christina; Jacobson, Gary; Kiser, Roger Dean; Kerens, Claudia; Kevin, Tim; Jenkins, Pamela; Liles, Norma; Lily Jodi Flesberg; Lock, Joyce; Marlor, Janice Bumbalough; Mazzella, Joe; Morris, Deepak; Ojeibge, Georgewaters; Petry, Dianna Doles; Roberts, Susan; Shiveley, Debra; Shaw, Bob; Sims, Richard; Streidel, Saskia; Swarner, Ken; Vaknin, Sam; Verhoeff, Jan; Walker, Bill; Walker, Joe; Warner, Gordon, K; Walsh, Sue; Weymouth, Barbara J.; Whirity, Kathy;

Wainland, David; Westerfer, Clara; White Robert;

Storytime Tapestry Staff

Carol Roach - Founder/publisher

Thelma Hartselle - Co-Founder, Moderator

Clara Westerfer – moderator

Bob Johnston - moderator