Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

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

April 26, 2006

Today’s Queue Stories

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ValueSpeak

A Weekly Column

By Joseph Walker

Valuespeak@msn.com

CAR POOL 500

            I did it for Beth.  Honest.  I did.

            See, we were running a little late, and I didn’t want her to get a blemish on her attendance record.  So when I noticed that long line of cars backing up next to the cemetery waiting to merge onto the main road in front of us, I became . . . you know . . anxious.

            “Come on . . .” I said . . . you know . . . anxiously to the car drivers ahead of me, “get out there!  Be bold!  Be aggressive!  Take a chance!”

            “Uh, Dad,” Beth said, “I don’t think they can hear you.”

            Beth is just 16 and is a fairly new and inexperienced driver.  She still thinks I’m just talking to myself when I give instructions to all the drivers in cars around me.  Eventually she’ll learn how important this is to maintaining equilibrium on the roadway and balance in the universe.

            But on this morning it wasn’t working.  The line wasn’t moving.  And the clock was ticking on Beth’s attendance record.

            So I decided to take my own advice.  Boldly I veered off the road and onto a service road through the cemetery.  I sped aggressively through the cemetery and took a chance darting out onto the main road on the other side.  My maneuver was so impressively successful that when I glanced in the rear-view mirror I noticed someone in a light blue pickup following my lead.

            Suddenly, for the first time in my life, I understood NASCAR.  The speed.  The strategy.  The Adrenaline.  The left turns.

            Flushed with success, I turned to Beth, who had the same expression on her face that she had after she saw that movie about the babysitter who had to deal with a crazed man in her house.  A new strategy seemed in order.

            “Uh, you don’t need to mention that little detour to your mother,” I said.

            “Don’t worry,” she said as she worked to extricate her fingernails from the armrest.  “Mom already knows you drive like a maniac.”

            I smiled.  Among NASCAR drivers, this is considered a compliment.

            My drive home was sort of like a victory lap.  I could almost imagine my pit crew drizzling milk all over me as I posed for pictures with the queen of the Car Pool 500.

            “I did it all for Beth!” I would shout as light bulbs flashed all around me.

            I was still feel feeling pretty euphoric when I approached the cemetery and noticed red and blue flashing lights on the service road.  As I got closer I could see two police cars surrounding a light blue pickup – the same light blue pickup that had followed me onto the service road just a few minutes earlier.  The young driver – he looked to be about Beth’s age – was sitting on a bench, his baseball capped head in his hands, as the officers prepared the citation that was probably going to complicate the young man’s life considerably.

            I’m embarrassed to admit that my first thought was: “Whew!”  I had dodged a bullet – or at least, a traffic ticket.  Then the guilt hit.  I found myself wondering about the part I had played in the little police drama unfolding on the cemetery service road.  Did the boy take that route because he had seen me do it?  Would he have even thought of it had I not blazed such a glorious trail before him?  And what had I taught my daughter about safe, sane, responsible driving?

            One of the most meaningful things one generation can leave to the next is the power of example.  Obviously, I had failed in this significant responsibility the morning of the Car Pool 500 – NASCAR points notwithstanding.  But I hereby resolve to do better.

            And to do it for Beth.

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A Time for Every Season ~

Joyce C. Lock

There’s a time for every season,
Sorrowing when death gives its’ call;
A reality of living that
Eventually come to all.

But, unless one dies to themselves,
It’s a life never lived;
A life filled with selfishness,
A heart that never learned to give.

The things we held on to,
We thought we couldn’t live without,
Were the very lies Satan fed us
To keep us trapped in death’s cloud.

For, when we die to the flesh
And live by the MASTER’S rule,
We find we never lost anything
But Satan; vicious and cruel.

    The path to peace and victory is God’s will, God’s way, every time.  God is for you, knowing your need better than you know yourself.  Only He knows which path will meet it and defeat Satan.

    The reasons we serve God escalate the more we come to know Him: 1.) for our safety and benefit, it’s exciting to see what God wants to do next.  2.) His plan is better than ours.  3.) because we love Him.  4.) for who He is. With each step of obedience, we discover life more abundantly and a God who loves beyond measure.

    As God ministers to the soul; He replaces Satan’s lies with truth, heals, sets us free, and teaches us about who He is (a process of restoring our innermost self to its’ original creation, separate from evil).  In so doing, God gives light to the darkness within, gradually indwelling us … as, once we know the truth, we choose Him.

    Devotedly, we, then, begin to serve God (having experienced His perfection) for what He’s already done for us, for who He is, out of love alone.  He is worthy to be praised.

    By the time we’ve reached this far in our own spiritual journey, knowing the depths of Satan, we, also, know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that God’s instruction is the path to life.

If our desires don’t match God’s will, we’re not in our right mind.

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

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Poetry Section

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Grandma's Afghan

Janice Finley

Clickety, clack go my knitting needles

As I count the stitches one by one

Can that be some that I have dropped

Or some that I have gained.

Drat it, some one knocking on my door

The dog barks, the cat meows,

The parrot is squawking aloud,

My knitting dangles on the floor.

'Tis only Mrs. Kelly to borrow a few sticks

As she uses up my time, with some of her tricks

A cup of tea will hit the spot,

As her gaze wanders to the old teapot.

Now Mrs Kelly is a dear old friend

Who loves to visit, but talk's no end

Time passes swiftly, with no work done

Still my knitting dangle, as stitches drop one by one.

Too many stitches, must have gone wrong

Knit two together, 'tis bound to come right

Thinking once more of the time I have spent

With a sigh of relief, I have knitted a tent.

finleyj@otelco.net

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Rays of Hope Shined Forth!

by Paula Roe Honeycutt Booher

As his grasp was weakened on the rope

As his last breath was made sure,

All of heaven was ready to take him in

His fate seemed sealed and secure.

The monitors were silenced and shut down

Curtains drawn and sheets pulled over,

Last rights had been said, tears were cried

All was clearly done in his honor.

When all of a sudden a light did appear

Brighter it filled up the room,

As if Jesus had entered in His glory

And the stone had rolled from the tomb.

A beep was followed by another

As voices stirred from their whispers,

The impossible was happening before them

A miracle affirmed prayers from vespers.

Angels filled the room for death had not won

This day Glory came in from the north,

God came to visit the dying man

As Rays of hope shined forth!

Paula Deann Roe Honeycutt Booher

Copyright C 2006 Paula Deann Booher

~**~**~

The Homeless Wanderer’s Stairway...

Paula Deann Roe Honeycutt Booher

He traveled the world and saw its' treasure

His heart was heavy with grief each day,

At every turn was beauty to enjoy

Laying down his burden to God along the way.

Crying in silence it seemed

Would anyone really understand his pain,

The riches the world had afforded him

Any man would consider it gain.

Yet this was not the case of a lonely soul

Left cold out in the storms of life,

With an ache so deep with longing

For the arms of a loving wife.

Had a crime been committed in some time past

In a life from a time he was not made aware,

Since birth he had struggled with depression

Was there a woman for which he was to care.

So many had vanquished his dreams of comfort

He was lost as if there was no day,

His steps were weary and loathsome

The homeless wanderer’s stairway...

Paula Deann Roe Honeycutt Booher

Copyright C 2006 Paula Deann Booher

wrappednword@yahoo.com

bio:

Born and raised in Central Missouri I'm now a resident of Springfield, MO.  I'm 48, the mother of 6 children.  One in heaven, three with me, and two are my stepsons (one has provided a grandbaby girl).  I enjoy anything I can do with my hands.  God is very Good to bless my talents and I Enjoy Glorifying Him by letting my Light shine in return with whatever I Can do to Honor Him with those Talents.  I can sew, sketch, quilt, cross-stitch, fish, build things with wood, and I enjoy a good bike ride when the weather permits...I have been known to ride in the rain...

You can find me at poetry.com under Paula Roe and Paula Booher and now I'm at Storytime Tapestry, my favorite new hangout with Carol and her gang of youngin's.  It's so nice to meet all of you and I've been so blessed to meet many of you already.  Thank you for making me feel so welcomed.

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