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I watched the couple
slowly walking down the street,
gently holding each others hand,
there was such a quiet peace about them,
you wanted to walk with them .
Most of those they passed smiled at them,
involuntarily, without even knowing .
Those with someone would reach out
for the others hand, put their arm around them .
What was the wonderful magic at work here
in these two people walking ?
It wasn't some deep dark mystery to be learned.
It was simply the power of touch .
Remember, those times of you life,
when just a touch meant so very much .
Your baby reaching out,
touching your fingers, your nose,
with wonderment .
How peaceful and full of love you were
just holding your sleeping child in your arms .
How the touch of the hand
of the person you fell in love
with excited you so .
To hug that long lost friend
you thought you would never see again
with such joy .
To be there, to hold the hand
of an aged loved one and see their eyes smile.
The desire, the need to be touched, held,
never goes away no matter how old .
It might be hidden, or sadly suppressed,
afraid it shows weakness, but it's there .
And to satisfy the need in another
might also satisfy the same need in yourself .
Try it, the results may take a short while
until others realize what is happening
within themselves as you touch them.
But this is a wonderful, positive circle .
Start with gentle touch
and a smile just to let them know you care .
A quick light hug for no reason,
from behind, arms around gently, not sexually .
The lips pressed slowly into the others neck,
brushing the hair with a light sigh .
Just giving your love, expressing it,
because you do care, happy they are there .
Not asking to be hugged back,
just giving,
says more than words ever could .
Remember when you loved walking hand in hand,
feeling their hand in yours .
How with that simple touch
you felt so safe and secure,
you felt wanted, needed .
Never worrying about onlookers,
not caring what people would say,
just content .
When was the last time you touched your mate,
just to let them know you cared ?
Such a simple thing, with such great rewards.
Not only to them, but to yourself .
Brushed your loved ones head
gently and smiled at them
for no reason other than love .
Don't forget the old people.
Many have no one left to hug them,
and they yearn just like all the rest of us.
Touch me, Hug me. Please let me know you care .
Here, let me hug you,
let me feel the warmth in your arms
and you in mine .
Come take my hand and walk with me,
for I am not ashamed.
I am proud to care .
Remember, sometimes, when you reach for a hand,
you wind up touching a heart .
I'm invisible. It all began to make sense - the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?' Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone or cooking or sweeping the floor or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30, please.' I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going, she's going, she's gone! One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England . Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.' It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe . I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: 'To Paula , with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.' In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: -No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names. -These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. -They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. -The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything. A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.' And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.' I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you, Paula. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become .' At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree. When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, 'You're gonna love it there.' As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible
Being twisted about love that has lost isn't a grave mistake,because love has brought so muchinto one's life and that person can't help but fell as if she's losteverything once love ha died.But one should put in mind that love never dies, it is always there with us,there's no such thing as falling out of love,the reason why one feel's such is becuase that person has expected to much from love. Setting someone free might fell so unfair specially when both of you knew that it wasnt the others fault of neither one. Moments like these should neve be taken as defeat, but as a challenge to fight for love that you belive in so much.But what will you do if your man tells you that he has given up the fight? Probally one would still pursue,but that is not any more an option because it's all out of your hands.One should not be selfish for love is giving not taking. Love is sacrific not compromise, one can't do anything if the other wishes to be free,we should all put in mind that we are powerless over another's thoughts and feelings and we can never compel a person to act the way we want them to be.We are all given the right to try but we should never expect so much from it, because in the end it's all up to the person to make the final call.Once every effort has been given one should not fell sad if would lose the fight, in fact she should be proud for she has accomplished so many things that she thought was impossible. Letting someone go doesn't mean that we are losing everything, in fact we are gaining so many things,the only problemn is that we are to blind and insensitive to appreciate the value of these things, moving on is a process that all of us must take in life,we should never be afraide of letting go because sometimes thats the only way we have left.Love is the essence of life,and one should remember that love is always in ones heart,love is not shared by two,love is shared by evryone, losing someone doesn't mean losing the other half of of you,because that empty space that you fell can be filled wit so much love,always remember that love has many forms so therefore we should never set any limitations on how deep or how shallow should it grow in to us. Love is abundant and anyone can give yoou the love that you need.Love is free, and you can never ask for it to stay once it chosses to leave,remember that love is free sprit and it continues to womder endlessly though time. Instead of feeling the agony of defeat, weshould be thankful that once in our lives love knocked into our hearts,put into mind that only a chosen few can see real beauty that love brings. We might think that love is infair, but no it isn't,we are just asking too much from it.Learn to be content with what you have and cherish them for you may never have the chance to do so once they are gone.You're at a loss, but life goes on,as most people would say there would always be a silver lining in every cloud in the sky.You are your own hope,and it is only you who can save your self from all the pains that life may bring.So stand up tall,set your sights high, spread your wings and fly,for you are free and no one will ever have the right to take that freedom away from you.Fly towards eternity, let your soul wonder, let your sprit fell all the blissful things life has to offer, let your heart heal all it's wounds, let your mind refresh its thoughts, and let your essence shine.For you are free and for ever will be.
A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE... enough money within her control to move out and rent a place of her own, even if she never wants to or needs to... A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ... something perfect to wear if the employer, or date of her dreams wants to see her in an hour... A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .. a youth she's content to leave behind.... A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ... a past juicy enough that she's looking forward to retelling it in her old age.... A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ..... a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black lace bra... A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ... one friend who always makes her laugh... and one who lets her cry... A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .... a good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone else in her family... A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ... eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems, and a recipe for a meal, that will make her guests feel honored... A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ... a feeling of control over her destiny... EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... how to fall in love without losing herself.. EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... how to quit a job, break up with a lover, and confront a friend without; ruining the friendship... EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... when to try harder... and WHEN TO WALK AWAY... EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... that she can't change the length of her calves, the width of her hips, or the nature of her parents.. EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... that her childhood may not have been perfect...but its over... EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... what she would and wouldn't do for love or more... EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... how to live alone... even if she doesn't like it... EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW.. whom she can trust, whom she can't, and why she shouldn't take it personally... EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... where to go... be it to her best friend's kitchen table... or a charming inn in the woods... when her soul needs soothing... EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW... what she can and can't accomplish in a day... a month...and a year... SEND THIS TO HOWEVER MANY WOMEN YOU WANT.... or, if not... you know that you are truly loved and thought of by the friend, who sent this to you... and that she only wishes the best for you and your life... Thank you for the blessings, knowing you have given to my life...
I think I’m almost ready to mark this as done. I’ve noticed an extraordinary increase in my confidence lately and I’m coming to believe that confidence, happiness and self love are all really facets of the same thing. Seems obvious, I know, but it’s one thing to know something and another to really feel it. I’m feeling it now. Igrew up in a time where, being alone wasnt ok. I know many who are not comfortable being alone. I am comfortable with being alone. I have friends , I socialize, I am active. I make my own decisions and I dont have to worry what any one thinks. I loved being married and having that someone special sleeping next to me. That changed , and I have found, the stress level I had been under had left with him. Why do we as women think we cant do it alone (life). We can we dont have to settle, because we are afraide of being alone.We dont have to compermize our values, we dont have to worry what the world will say about us. we just need to relize we have have value and learn to be comfortable in our own skin. I am not putting men down at all, I enjoy their company, love talking to them. they make us fell good, make us laugh,they make very good friends.Some make awesome husbands and or lovers. However there are some that just want us to take care of them and their needs, with out ever taking care of our needs. As women we learn to be caretakers & we give becuase we want to, but that doesnt work if your partner isnt giving back.Me I want the fairy tale, mean while I am ok being alone I wont settle, I want it all.
I received a wake-up call in June 2006. I had traveled to a retreat for a much-needed four-day getaway. While there, I participated in some workshops during which I was asked what I feared most. That was easy: snakes, ocean liners, sharks, and the like. Then the facilitator asked the question a second time, "Take a moment and really search your heart - what do you fear most?" I literally shrank and sank in my chair. My next answer did not come quite so quickly, nor was it quite so simple. It had been buried deep inside of me for years, protected from any possible unearthing that might occur. In truth, my biggest fear, something that I was not prepared to say out loud, was that in finding my true, authentic self, I risked losing that which I loved and held dear to my heart - my kids and my husband. In other words, at fifty something years old, I finally realized that my angst in life had less to do with creating the perfect life for me and my family and more to do with filling the void in my heart - a product of old, familial wounds. During that moment of realization, I came face-to-face with the possibility that I was truly unhappy with my life - certainly not as a result of an unloving husband or any problem with my kids, but as a result of unrecognized, unfinished business. My lifelong history of taking care of and/or listening to others, rather than nurturing and healing myself, had taken its toll. Moreover, my ability to "fill the void" of my aching heart by creating successes in other areas of my life, rather than listening and paying attention to my inner voice, paved the way to this day of reckoning I had not prepared for. Oh the irony! And thus began my personal and painful journey of "excavating my authentic self" in hopes of healing old wounds, and in order that I may one day enjoy richer, more loving and intimate relationships, not because the players have changed, but because I have found worthiness in my very existence. These last nine months, while unconventional and inconceivable to most, have been some of the most excruciatingly painful yet therapeutic for me, my family, and friends. My journey is far from over, but I know I am better for having confronted it no matter what lays ahead, even at age fifty something. Better late than never, I always say. No regrets. No regrets.
I thought this was beautiful -- hope you enjoy it also..... "Watch out! You nearly broad-sided that car!" My father yelled at me. "Can't you do anything right?" Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle. "I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving." My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt. Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him? Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon. He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess. The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man. Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while the ambulance paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing. At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky he survived. But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctors orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone. My husband, Rick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Rick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Rick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind. But the months wore on and God was silent. A raindrop struck my cheek. I looked up into the gray sky. Somewhere up there was "God." Although I believe a Supreme Being had created the universe, I had difficulty believing that God cared about the tiny human beings on this earth. I was tired of waiting for a God who did not answer. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it. The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem in vain to each of the sympathetic voices that answered. Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article." I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog. I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs, all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons, too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed. Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly. I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?" The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. "He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly. As the words sank in. I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?" "Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog." I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said. I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch. "Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly. Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it." Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house. Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples. "You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!" Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed, in anger. At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw. Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal. It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne. Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet. Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come intoour bedroom at night. I woke Rick, put on my robe and ran into my dads room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene; but his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night. Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Rick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind. The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers...""I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said. For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article ~ Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter ~ His calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father ~ and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all. ~by Catherine Moore~ Life is too short for drama & petty things,so kiss slowly, laugh insanely, Love truly and forgive quickly
The primary tornado season in Texas is from March through June, but tornados can occur in any month of the year. Tornados often form in the southwest part of thunderstorms - next to the part of the storm where heavy rain or hail is falling. Opening windows will NOT equalize pressure and prevent an explosion of the house if hit by a tornado. Tornados are not the only weather killers in Texas: Lightning, tornados and high winds take an average of 15 lives each year in Texas alone. 51 people died as a direct result of tornados in the US in 2003. The latest 4 large killer tornados in Texas: May 27, 1997: A twister hits Jarrell in Central Texas, killing 30. Two other deaths from other storms are confirmed in nearby Travis County. May 22, 1987: A tornado hits the small West Texas town of Saragosa during a kindergarten graduation ceremony, flattening the community center and church, killing 30 people and injuring more than 100. April 10, 1979: Forty-two people are killed and more than 1,700 injured by a tornado in Wichita Falls. More than 3,000 homes are destroyed and 20,000 people left homeless. May 11, 1953: A tornado hits Waco, killing 114 people and injuring 597. An estimated 150 homes and 185 other buildings are destroyed. The word tornado comes from two Spanish words: tronado meaning thunderstorm and tornar meaning to turn. On the average, a tornado's path is 4 miles long and 400 yards wide but can be as long as 100 miles long and a mile wide The average tornado travels at a speed of 25-40 miles per hour, but tornadoes have been known to reach speeds up to 70 mph. Winds inside a tornado can swirl at close to 300 mph. They stay on the ground for an average of 4-5 minutes, but they can touch down several times. Most tornados: move from southwest to northeast rotate in a counterclockwise direction in the Northern Hemisphere and clockwise in the Southern Hemisphere occur between 3 and 7 P.M. are reported to occur most often in the United States In 1977 I lost my brother in a tornado that went thur four states killing just one.
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