Friday, June 27, 2008

BROWNIES WITH ICING

BROWNIES WITH ICING

©Kathleene S. Baker 2007

On Father's Day I'll wander down memory lane and I'll smile knowing my dad, at 90 years of age, is doing likewise.

With many miles between us, I'm seldom with Dad on Father's Day and this year will be no different. Sure, we'll have a cheerful chat on the phone and he will thank me for his card and gift. Nonetheless, we won't feel cheated by the status of a calendar-for we have oodles of memories to sustain us.

For us, Father's Day is whenever we are fortunate enough to be together. It's not as often as I'd like, but when it happens we have extended visits-not just a few days. Recently I went home and spent an entire month with Dad; each and every day was a joyful celebration! That equals 30 years worth of Father's Days rolled into one get-together-it doesn't get any better than that.

Our month of memory making took us down pathways abundant with twists, turns, and even a few detours. One afternoon an unexpected storm chased us away from the lake where we were fishing, sent us back home and straight to the kitchen.

"Kathy," Dad said, "don't you think we should bake a pan of brownies?"

In translation, that meant Kathy would you bake a pan of brownies? His sweet tooth had been deprived of dessert for at least three days-mercy!

"Sure! You just relax while I mix up a batch."

I'd barely begun when I heard horse hooves, gunshots, and the voice of John Wayne. It was time for Dad's afternoon western.

I soon popped the brownies into the oven. "Dad, how long's it been since you've had icing on your brownies?"

His blue eyes twinkled at the thought. "Way too long!"

While I frosted brownies, Dad rode sidekick with John Wayne through the Montana high country. At the next commercial, he dismounted and sauntered into the kitchen to clean out the icing bowl, while I expected to hear the clatter of spurs against the kitchen floor.

"What kind of icing is this? I know it's chocolate but it tastes a little different than usual."

"Dad, it's chocolate mocha. I know Mom made it from time to time."

"Well, if she did, I sure don't remember it!" He left not one smidgen of icing and nearly scraped the finish right off the bowl.

Still smacking his lips, he yanked a recipe card out of a drawer and scribbled down detailed instructions for making chocolate mocha icing.

Baking brownies and icing them for John Wayne's sidekick will most definitely dance through my mind on Father's Day. Still, if I were able to spend the actual occasion with Dad, I know exactly how we'd observe his special day. I'd pack a picnic basket brimming over with decadent treats and we'd share a feast while fishing. And, for dessert? Well, brownies with icing-what else!!!

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

ACRES OF DIAMONDS

ACRES OF DIAMONDS

There was a farmer in Africa who was happy and content. He was happy because he was content. He was content because he was happy. One day a wise man came to him and told him about the glory of diamonds and the power that goes along with them. The wise man said, "If you had a diamond the size of your thumb, you could have your own city. If you had a diamond the size of your fist, you could probably own your own country." And then he went away. That night the farmer couldn't sleep. He was unhappy and he was discontent. He was unhappy because he was discontent and discontent because he was unhappy. The next morning he made arrangements to sell off his farm, took care of his family and went in search of diamonds. He looked all over Africa and couldn't find any. He looked all through Europe and couldn't find any. When he got to Spain, he was emotionally, physically and financially broke. He got so disheartened that he threw himself into the Barcelona River and committed suicide. Back home, the person who had bought his farm was watering the camels at a stream that ran through the farm. Across the stream, the rays of the morning sun hit a stone and made it sparkle like a rainbow. He thought it would look good on the mantle piece. He picked up the stone and put it in the living room. That afternoon the wise man came and saw the stone sparkling. He asked, "Is Hafiz back?" The new owner said, "No, why do you ask?" The wise man said, "Because that is a diamond. I recognize one when I see one." The man said, no, that's just a stone I picked up from the stream. Come, I'll show you. There are many more." They went and picked some samples and sent them for analysis. Sure enough, the stones were diamonds. They found that the farm was indeed covered with acres and acres of diamonds.*

What is the moral of this story?

There are five morals:

When our attitude is right, we realize that we are all walking on acres and acres of diamonds.

Opportunity is always under our feet. We don't have to go anywhere. All we need to do is recognize it.

The grass on the other side always looks greener.

While we are dyeing the grass on the other side, there are others who are dyeing the
grass on our side. They would be happy to trade places with us.

When people don't know how to recognize opportunity, they complain of noise when it
knocks.

The same opportunity never knocks twice. The next one may be better or worse, but it
is never the same one.

Courtesy: Kiran

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Have-A-Heart/

The Violin

Photobucket THE VIOLIN

Man by nature is a hoarder. Most of us tend to accumulate odds and ends over the years. Books, shoes, pullovers, furniture, crockery etc. Oddities being such as are never ever likely to be used.

A rich couple while getting their house painted, had emptied out the store room that held their accumulations over the years. They decided that they would auction off all the stuff that had been lying unused for years. They would utilize the amount raised for a good cause.

So they put an advertisement in the newspaper. Everything was put up for sale on the following Sunday in the community hall. There was furniture, old paintings, porcelain vases, crystal pieces, sculptures, musical instruments, bone-china and many other things. One by one the auctioneer put up the things and started disposing them off. The auctioneer picked up an antique violin and held it up for all to see. "Any takers?" he asked. Apparently there was no one who wanted the old, dusty and dirty looking violin. A man made a bid for Rs.50/-. "My son would like to play with it," he thought to himself. The auctioneer waited. Another man said, "I'll give you Rs.100/-" As the auctioneer was about to strike the hammer to conclude the deal, an authoritative voice from the end of the room said, "Wait!" A well groomed old man came up to the auctioneer, took the violin from his hands and proceeded to wipe the dust off it. Next he tightened the keys. One by one he played the strings. They were totally out of tune. But the man worked his nimble fingers deftly over them, till he was able to tune them to perfection. The man played the violin to a completely enthralled audience. He then handed it back to the auctioneer and said; "Now my friend, you can auction it."

The bids started rising. "Rs.10,000!"

"I'll take it for Rs.25,000."

"Rs.40,000."

The stakes were rising higher. Eventually the hammer was struck down at Rupees One lakh. What a hefty sum indeed for an old and forgotten violin! It was now a collector's item! But, wasn't it the same old violin that no one seemed to want? What was it that added value to it?

It was the touch of a Master!

This makes me think, that if only we would allow the Master to touch us. If only we would allow Him to wipe the dust off us and tighten our keys; play and tune our rusted strings; perhaps we would also be worth a lot more. Perhaps we too could put our lives to the making of music rather than just making noise!

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

When We Fall, It's to a Place of Grace

When We Fall, It's to a Place of Grace

A young boy miraculously survives a fall

& restores his rescuer's faith, too

By: David Waters

Used by permission. (C) 2000 The Commercial Appeal Memphis, TN via Bell&Howell Information and Learning Company. All Rights Reserved.

It was the day after Thanksgiving. The Stigler family of Memphis was taking a holiday break at Fall Creek Falls State Park. Susan Stigler was standing on the observation deck overlooking the falls, holding a video camera. She didn't want to miss a moment.

Her husband and two teenage sons were about to jump off a cliff. Susan wasn't worried. They'd done it before. They weren't really jumping. They were rappelling down the side using special ropes and devices.

Her eldest son, Jon, 17, went first. She watched him through the viewfinder as he slid smoothly down the rope 220 feet from the top of the cliff to the rocky floor below.

Jared, 15, was next. She kept the camera on him and she waited for him to leap. He seemed to be hung up for a second or two. Then he jumped and began to slide down the rope. It seemed to Susan that he was going awfully fast. It looked like he was dropping, not sliding 22 stories. She kept waiting for him to slow down. He never did. Jared knew he was dropping too fast. He reached behind him to grab the rope and slow his descent. But he wasn't wearing the right gloves. The rope burned his hand. Instinctively, he let go.

Then he hit the ground. He bounced and flipped over. Susan gasped. Jared wasn't moving. She thought he was gone. She thought she had just filmed his death. "Thank you, Lord, for these past 15 years with Jared," she said to herself. Then he moved.

The Stiglers weren't the only family at the falls that day. Connie Walker of Murfreesboro, Tenn., was there with her family and her sister's. They had been sitting at the bottom of the falls enjoying the view. But it was cold, and the adults were ready to go back up to the inn. The kids wanted to stay. Some people were getting ready to slide down the side of the cliff next to the falls. They stayed and watched one.

"Just one more," Connie's son said.
"One more," said Connie, who was past ready to go. She still wasn't feeling well, physically or otherwise. The car wreck she'd had months before had shaken the kids but had nearly broken her. She'd hurt her neck and back. She was having trouble with the physical aspects of her job. Her doctors kept telling her she was going to have to quit.

She was discouraged about her situation, and more than a bit peeved at God about it. How could she quit? They needed the paychecks. Besides, she loved her work. God put her in that job to help people. Now she had to stop? Connie kept going over it all in her mind as she watched a distant figure prepare to jump off the cliff several hundred feet away.

The jumper seemed to have trouble getting started. Then he dropped like a stone, hit the ground, bounced and flipped. Connie and her family watched in silence and in horror as the stranger lay motionless on rocks below the falls.

"Mom!" Connie's little boy yelled. "Do something!"

Susan saw Jared move. Then she saw other people moving toward him. Glenn, Jared's dad, was rappelling down a rope from the top of the cliff. A friend who had been holding Jared's rope from the bottom was still holding on, trying to keep Jared from moving. A few other people Susan didn't know were slowly making their way around the falls, over slippery rocks, to the spot where Jared lay.

"Please, Lord," Susan said, helplessly high above the scene, "please send someone who knows what to do."

Connie and her sister knew what to do. They were nurses. When they got to Jared, they expected to find a pile of bones and organs. Instead, they found a boy who somehow was alive and in one piece.

Jared was bleeding from his mouth and nose, but not too badly. He was in much pain, but awake and relatively alert. His feet and ankles were twisted and swelling, but he didn't seem to have any broken bones. Still, there was no telling what sort of internal damage he had. He fell 22 stories onto rocks. He was lying at the bottom of a remote canyon. And the two nurses at Jared's feet had no medical equipment or supplies. They worked with Jared's father to keep Jared still, warm, and awake. They made splints for his ankles with their hands and kept his legs elevated with their arms for more than an hour.

While they held Jared in place, someone else held them in place on the slippery, sloping rocks. Connie kept checking Jared's pupils and pulse. Every time his heart would race or crawl, she would pray. "God, you can't let this happen to this boy," she'd say.

Emergency crews finally arrived and took Jared to the hospital. But surgeons never operated. There was no need. Jared was fine. He had a cracked heel bone, a dislocated ankle, torn tendons and ligaments. That was all. Emergency room doctors worked his bones back into place with their hands. His injured ankle wasn't getting enough blood for a while, but the blood soon returned.

He still uses a brace, but only when he plays sports.
"I feel fine. I feel blessed," said Jared, a junior at Cordova High.
"That boy is a walking miracle," said Connie, who now has a picture of Jared on her refrigerator and a fresh perspective.

Jared has healed. So has Connie.
"What happened that day revived my spirits," she said. "I'm not going to worry about my situation. I know God is in control. I had to quit being a recovery room nurse, but I know there are lots of ways I can help people."

Susan has watched the video of Jared's accident a hundred times.
"People have asked how
I stand to watch it," she said. "But in a strange way I find it very comforting. I know there are unseen hands in the video. I have no doubt God and his angels were intervening that day. I can't see them but I know they are there."

Jared's family will celebrate his 17th birthday today. They celebrate Thanksgiving every day.

Courtesy: Beliefnet.com