Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

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

July 14, 2006

Today’s Queue Stories

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Dream

Susan Roberts

My birthday was yesterday, July 7th. I turned 61. I dreamed that my Mother and Father, my older sister Helen, and both my little girls came to tell me Happy Birthday. Mom and Dad had their arms full of “Brown Eyed Susans” (the flower) they always gave them to me when they were alive, for my birthdays.

I lost my daughter Annette in 1965 in a car wreck, and my baby Cindy Kay was stillborn with a birth defect July 10, 1966. 

My daughter Balinda brought her granddaughter (my great granddaughter Abigail 4 months old) and took me out for my birthday lunch. My son and his family live with my husband and me, so I got to see all of my family, except for my only living sister in Illinois. So I feel very blessed that I got to see all of them for my birthday.

May you all have a blessed weekend.

Susan M. Roberts

 twoFAMILY2@earthlink.net   

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Mothers

Bill Walker

Mothers, God bless them. It takes a special type to be a mother. Oh I know about any of the fair sex can be a mother. We call them mother, mom, mama. We have mothers in all sizes. I know some are just small, almost look like little girls them selves. Some come in bigger sizes, still mothers.

Mothers has a real strange job. A never ending job, 24 hours a day at times, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. It is a job of being a doctor, a lawyer, a judge, a teacher, a cook, dish washer, clothes washer, a clothes mender, and keeper of the lost and found department. Seems like if anything is missing, mother should know right where it is at. So she must run a lost and found department. She also served as the bus driver. A handy fixer upper also, she can fix about anything. If it is broken get your mother, never mind daddy, he gets her to fix things too.

Yes I would say a mother is something this world can not do with out. So there fore we set aside one day out of the 365 days a year, and call it Mothers Day. Does she get the day off? No way, well not very often.

When the kids are grown and gone from home. They may think to drop by to see Dear Mother. I know she will be so glad to see them. She worked all morning getting a big dinner all fixed up. Just like years before. For all that has their mother yet, give her all the love you can. Make it her day.

For all like I am. Mine is gone. I will remember the most wonderful woman of my life, my mother. It is said as a person is at deaths door, the one they call for, or think of is MOTHER. I can believe that. Happy Mothers Day, Dear Mother.

Tinker and Poo; The Boys Write

http://www.iuniverse.com/bookstore/book_detail.asp?&isbn=0-595-35741-5

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 ~ What a Gift ~
Joyce Lock

Close the door.  Write with no one looking over your shoulder.
Don’t try to figure out what other people want to hear from you.
Figure out what you have to say.  It’s the one and only thing you have to offer.

-- Barbara Kingsolver
 

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    I ran across this quote and have often thought it true ~ not only with authors, but with graphic and stationery designers, etc.: often, people pleasers; sweet, generous, and precious ~ but missing the best.
 
    God dwells in our heart.  Thus, our calling involves following the passions God has placed there; not making everyone else happy, not meeting other's demands, not fulfilling every request in the universe.
 
    If you are tired, in service, you are carrying a weight God did not place there.  Leave whatever else for the next person, as they are called.  Remember, we, also, are called to trust God to do the rest.

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    Recently, I found a really neat site that was, almost joyously, shouting the need to hurry up and write whatever God has given you to share.  Though, it brought me to question if you even realize, to what extent, God has given you the power to make a difference.
 
    Even so, many have been in your own personal, and sometimes horrendous, tribulation for quite some time.  Though, I wonder how much you realize these hard times happen to you (as they are happening to many others) so you will know where others are, what the need is, and what words need be shared.
 
    God gave writers.  That means, if you are a writer, you are a gift and it was God that decided such.  It had nothing to do with your writing skills, but the desires of your heart.
 
    There is a hurting world, out there, even more desperate than our situation may feel.  And during times you have no new words to share, your 'already written seed' is still available to help others that have not yet caught up to where you are spiritually.
 
    Do you realize, when words come to you faster than you can write them down, that those are as much God's words as the Bible?  I pray that you do.  I pray that you will, finally, truly believe that it is impossible for you to write something inferior ~ when the Spirit is moving.  God does not do anything inferior.
 
    God has given you words, to share, that meet people where they are.  You have a type of 'gift of healing' amidst a terribly wounded and cruel world.  I pray you get a glimpse of how important you, your ministry, and your seed is ~ then stand up to Satan and not let him stop you from the passions of your heart any longer.
 
    Words, inspired by God, do not belong to you ~ but Him.  Share them, wherever there is a door of opportunity, as if your message, alone, can change the entire world ~ because it can.

    Via the Internet, your writings will be multiplied so many times that only God can count the number of lives that have been touched ... and how many lives they touch ... and how many lives they touch.  In that ripple effect, you have been given a great opportunity to lead.  And know this; it is impossible to out give God.  What a gift!

In blessing I will bless thee, and in multiplying I will multiply thy seed
as the stars of the heaven, and as the sand which is upon the sea shore;
and thy seed shall possess the gate of his enemies.

Genesis 22:17

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

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Poetry Section

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Through the Blood

Joan Clifton Costner

jody@ptsi.net

Take me through the blood of Jesus.
Oh, don’t go another way!
Since He shed His blood, so precious,
I would not shun it ~ or delay!

Through the blood and on to vic’try;
Red baptism ~ making white ~
Through the blood so dear, so holy;
Bringing hope in darkest night!

Oh, the red, red, blood of Jesus;
See the healing waters flow ~
No fountain e’er so strong, so tender;
No other way that we may go!!

© 2006 by Joan Clifton Costner

Under His Wings  Heavenly Poetry 

Joan is a Heavenly Inspirations Author.

This writing may be used in its entirety, with credits in tact,
for non-profit ministering purposes.

~**~**~

Not My Word

Joan Clifton Costner 

jody@ptsi.net

Heaven and earth may pass away,

but Not My Word.
Stars may nova and burst apart,

but Not My Word.

Rivers may dry up and springs cease to flow

but, onward and ever, My Word shall go.
Islands and seas may pass from sight,

but Not My Word.

My Word is not like anything else.
My Word is alive,
Light to all who love it;
Health and happiness, too.
And you know ...

I gave My Word to you!
My Word is a Guide;
Faultless and true.
My Word will go through
Earth’s death with you!

The earth is filled with words.
My Word is found in hearts;
In the eyes of innocents,
In the hand of the servants,
In the acts of mercy.

And when all lies are uncovered,
When the Light shines in every dark corner,
When pride and selfishness disappear forever,
Nations and creeds may alter and vary,

but Not My Word!

© 2006 by Joan Clifton Costner

Under His Wings  Heavenly Poetry 

Joan is a Heavenly Inspirations Author.

This writing may be used in its entirety, with credits in tact,
for non-profit ministering purposes.

~**~

 The Last Sunset
Joan Clifton Costner
jody@ptsi.net

When the last sunset fades into darkness
And this troubled world sinks into sleep,
When the last soul is saved and the Master
Says, "Father, that's all we can reach" ...

'Twill be like on the cross ("It is finished!")
And all the rejoicing is done
That is given by angels in Heaven
For the salvation of anyone.

No more souls to be saved, 'it is finished',
No more pleading and no more debate -
So the peace, always asked for, is silenced
By men who are full of hate.

But the trusting souls gone on to glory
Will live, one eternal day,
In the presence and love of the Savior;
Prince of Peace, who led all the way.

When the last Sunset comes in the evening,
Then the morning will break bright and fair.
Jesus,  our friend and our brother,
Will greet us with His tender care.

When the morning breaks forth and
The splendor of Heaven is there, in full view,
I'll be watching, dear brother and sister.
With Jesus, we'll watch for you!

© 2006 by Joan Clifton Costner
Under His Wings  Heavenly Poetry
Joan is a Heavenly Inspirations Author.
This writing may be used in its entirety, with credits in tact,
for non-profit ministering purposes.

~**~**~

  Dear Carol,   My mother (last person on earth I would have guessed could possibly have

alzheimer's disease) struggled with it for over 7 years.  Some of these pertain to that.

Titles:  Good Night,  The City Within Our City,  Dusk,  Only Today,  The Pathway, Questions,  Small Things, Simple Call,  Turning Loose, Alzheimer's, Alzheimer Friend,  Remember The Day (Oh, Mother Please)

Good Night
(Alzheimer)
jody@ptsi.net

"I don’t want you to go," she said;
Her blue eyes rimmed in red.
I didn’t know how to answer, for
They said it was time for bed.

So, I stole away, knowing full well
Those sleepy lids would close.
Tomorrow would come and lead us on
To the place that God alone knows.

She’d forget her tears but, no, not I.
I’d carry them to my grave,
Forever wishing for something to do ~
To show I was also brave ...

Without a compass or memory,
With no guides ~ none at all,
To help her maneuver this toughest course
Until the Master’s call!

She didn’t know me as a daughter, now.
But, there was a space for me
To be mother, cousin, or anything
That might fill her simple need.

But, for me, I always knew Mother.
I could see the pain I saved.
So, the hours I spent were well worth it.
Though, she never knew what I gave.

To explain to the world my reasons
Is as futile as fighting the wind.
Like water poured out upon the dry ground,
I disappeared; hoping to lend ...

Just a smile or a tiny ray of light,
Just the hint of Springtime green.
And, I thank the Lord, in Heaven above,
For the miracle that was seen.

Her last day on earth ~ she knew me!
She called me by my name!
And though I was slow and dull of wit,
It happened all the same!

The room must have held many angels,
For the air was charged and alive!
The bluest eyes, in all glory,
Will be shining ~ when I arrive!

© 2005 by Joan Clifton Costner

http://www.heavenlypoetry.com

http://underhiswings0.tripod.com

This writing may be used in its entirety, with credits in tact,

for non-profit ministering purposes.

Readers Feedback

The Lady is 100% right on War Stinks.  The ones that
pay the price of war is the ones that has been there,
seen it, and done it. The family of a service person
also pays the price. The ones that care for the
wounded know of the price. Many others know of the
price of war. The price is not the dollars, it is the
loss of life, limbs, eye sight.  The waste called war.
 War is caused by stupid acts of mankind. If the
makers and leaders had to spend days on end not
knowing if this is the last day, the last meal, the
last walk into hell. Those would find a better way to
get a problem taken care of. I grant you there has
been wars that maybe one side could not help but get
into.  But there is many it was a case of a nut from
each side, that made the war.
Bill Walker

Senior Writers

Chief writer: Sharon Bryant

                                     Chief researcher/historian: Hartson Dowd

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