Happy New Year 2019

BEING THERE

 

Being there can be lending a hand, lifting a heavy load.

Being there can be a smile on a cloudy day.

Being there can be a crust of bread to the poor, giving shelter from the storm.

Being there can be a thought, a blessing, a prayer.

Being there can be showing support, and enthusiasm.

Being there can be listening quietly while someone else
has something important they'd like you to hear.

Being there can be a friendly hug, or a warm embrace.

Being there can be expressions, penned on a page.

Being there can be the transferring of a certain glance.

Being there can be offering your time.

Being there can be sitting silently beside someone
to watch the sun slide behind a silver sea.

Being there can be wiping a tear.

Being there can be chasing the moon at midnight.

Being there can be a whisper, a word, a soft touch at the right moment.

Being there can be riding the ferris wheel together without ever leaving the ground.

Being there can be a telephone call, closing the miles.

Being there can be a kiss on a fevered brow.

Being there can be the gift of a flower.

Being there can be teaching with kindness.

Being there can be sharing the depth of a powerful silence.

Being there can be wishing you were somewhere
when you must be someplace else.

Being there can be taking someone's place
when they must be somewhere else.

Being there can be driving through the blazing brilliance of autumn.

Being there can be just holding hands.

Being there can be waiting out the tough times.

Being there can be touching God through the heart,
and letting His will be done.

Author Unknown

"Nutrition for the Soul" Christmas Greetings to you all

O Holy Night

O Holy Night!
The stars are brightly shining
It is the night of the dear Savior's birth!
Long lay the world in sin and error pining
Till he appear'd and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary soul rejoices
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!

Fall on your knees
Oh hear the angel voices
Oh night divine
Oh night when Christ was born
Oh night divine
Oh night divine

Led by the light of Faith serenely beaming
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand
So led by light of a star sweetly gleaming
Here come the wise men from Orient land
The King of Kings lay thus in lowly manger
In all our trials born to be our friend

Truly He taught us to love one another
His law is love and His gospel is peace
Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother
And in His name all oppression shall cease
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
Let all within us praise His holy name

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g4fvMgNfN0I

Remembering Loved Ones at Christmas

What to Give Grieving Loved Ones This Christmas

 I lost my mother six weeks ago. Too close to Christmas for me to really care about fairy lights and gift wrapping, though brandy and rum balls have certainly increased their appeal. Her name was Joy -- she was made for Christmas. Which is why a simple piped Christmas carol can have me sobbing without warning in aisle six at the local supermarket.

In the first few weeks of shock post her death I foolishly thought I could control when or where the tears would hit. But that's like thinking you can control the tides or send the earth in the opposite direction round the sun. I have since resigned myself to a quiet tear in a bank queue, a misty eye in the dog park or one full cathartic break down behind the wheel of my car, stereo blasting.

The trouble is we live in a Western homogenized world that doesn't acknowledge grief past the funeral. We are not taught when we are young that dying is a part of life, your life and everyone else's life. It is as natural as the first and last breathe we take and appears in every life force around us. There is a beginning, middle and end to everything.

Instead we seek eternal youth. We buy hope in a jar to turn back the years with cosmetic creams, spend hours at the gym in the quest for smooth undimpled thighs and dye the grey out of our hair lest anyone suspect for a moment that we are human and experiencing the limit of time given to each of us.

If we live in a world of denial around aging, how can we possibly know what to say to those impacted by what aging represents -- death?

In the weeks during my mother's deterioration and then her inevitable demise I witnessed the discomfort of those who struggle in the face of other's vulnerability and loss. I have seen people, for the first time post-death, who know she has died but say nothing.

Yet they chitter chatter with white noise and over disclosure in a bid to keep the fear of vulnerability at bay. Anything but acknowledge the truth before them.

Here's a tip: I don't have leprosy, and death is not contagious, though it will eventually come for you too. Not mentioning the death of my mother, the person who gave me life, who birthed me, bathed me and was forever present in my world, only makes it easier for you, or so you think.

I will not break down into a flood of a thousand tears, howling at the sky if you acknowledge the significant event that has created a new world for me. And if I do, then so what?

Those in grief are acutely sensitive to loss. Friends that go missing in action, and they do, without a word of explanation during this crucial time only accentuate that loss. One of the best things you can say is "I don't know what to say" or "it is too confronting for me," for the acknowledgement itself opens up a dialogue.

Not inviting a grieving person to holiday events may be well-meaning, but again it represents the deafening silence the grieving person already deals with daily. Inviting them doesn't mean they will come and drop inconsiderate salty tears into your eggnog and be found in the foetal position under the Christmas tree but again, so what if they do, because you can be guaranteed someone with flashing felt antlers and a reindeer sweater will do it anyway.

People in grief are akin to those in the early stages of love. They suffer from mention-itis, the ability to drop that person's name into every conversation no matter how random. Let them.

Don't shut them down or change the topic because they dared to mention the name of someone who dared to inconsiderately die in the three hundred and fifty odd days prior to Christmas. To do so is to say the deceased never existed when all they have left is memories.

Gestures do count, even declined invitations. Gestures mean someone is thinking about you and gestures reveal to the grieving that they are being thought about.

On one of the six final nights my mum spent in hospital I stood in the lift unable to contain the tears breaking the wells in my eyes. A stranger who shared the lift reached out and rubbed my back. Bless that stranger and their gesture forever.

I have since arrived at my local café to find a friend who had been at the café before me had paid for my breakfast the next time I came in. I have come home to a photo book of puppies on my front door, to flowers sent five weeks after with a note about "understanding the silence," to a bag of groceries and a soulful recipe for the heart that explained the ingredients within.

I haven't seen any of these people. I didn't need to -- the gestures have meant it all.

Loss leaves us vulnerable but there is truth, authenticity and courage in vulnerability when you remain present to all that the grief process reveals. I am as grateful for my mother's life as my mother's death for both have brought new life to me in different ways.

If you truly want to give something to someone who is grieving this Christmas, then give your presence for even a moment. Wrap your vulnerability up with a red ribbon and hand it over: You'll be surprised what a true present that is and where that connection can lead.

" A Christmas Day Auction"

A Christmas Day Auction

Remember that a gift should be treasured; not only the ones that are wrapped but ones that are bestowed upon you.

Years ago, there was a very wealthy man who, with his devoted young son, shared a passion for art collecting. Together, they travelled around the world, adding only the finest art treasures to their collection. Priceless works by Picasso, Van Gogh, Monet and many others adorned the walls of the family estate.

The widowed elder man looked on with satisfaction as his only child became an experienced art collector. The son's trained eye and sharp business mind caused his father to beam with pride as they dealt with art collectors around the world.

One year, as winter approached, war engulfed the nation, and the young man left to serve his country. After only a few short weeks, his father received a telegram. His beloved son was missing in action. The art collector anxiously awaited more news, fearing he would never see his son again. Within days, his fears were confirmed. The young man had died while rushing a fellow soldier to a medic.

Distraught and lonely, the old man faced the upcoming Christmas holidays with anguish and sadness. The joy of the season that he and his son had looked forward to would visit his house no longer.

On Christmas morning, a knock on the door awakened the depressed old man. As he walked to the door, the masterpieces of art on the walls only reminded him that his son was not coming home. As he opened the door, he was greeted by a soldier with a large package in his hands.

He introduced himself to the old man by saying, "I was a friend of your son. I was the one he was rescuing when he died. May I come in for a few moments? I have something to show you."

As the two began to talk, the soldier told of how the man's son had told everyone of his, not to mention his father's, love of fine art. "I am no artist," said the soldier, "but I want to give you this."

As the old man unwrapped the package, the paper gave way to reveal a portrait of the man's son. Though the world would never consider it the work of a genius, the painting featured the young man's face in striking detail.

Overcome with emotion, the man thanked the soldier, promising to hang the picture above the fireplace. A few hours later, after the soldier had departed, the old man set about his task. True to his word, the painting went above the fireplace, pushing aside thousands of dollars worth of art. His task completed, the old man sat in his chair and spent Christmas gazing at the gift he had been given.

During the days and weeks that followed, the man realized that, even though is son was no longer with him, the boy would live on because of those he had touched. He would soon learn that his son had rescued dozens of wounded soldiers before a bullet stifled his caring heart.

As the stories of his son's gallantry continued to reach him, fatherly pride and satisfaction began to ease his grief. The painting of his son soon became his most prized possession, far eclipsing any interest in the pieces for which museums around the world clamoured. He told his neighbours it was the greatest gift he had ever received.

The following spring, the old man became ill and passed away. The art world was in anticipation that the collector's passing and his only son dead, those paintings would be sold at auction. According to the will of the old man, all art works would be auctioned on Christmas Day, the day he had received the greatest gift.

The day soon arrived and art collectors from around the world gathered to bid on some of the world's most spectacular paintings. Dreams would be fulfilled this day; greatness would be achieved as many would claim, "I have the greatest collection."

The auction began with a painting that was not on any museum's list. It was the painting of the man's son. The auctioneer asked for an opening bid, but the room was silent. "Who will open the bidding with $100?" he asked. Minutes passed, and no one spoke. From the back of the room came a voice, "Who cares about that painting? It's just a picture of his son." "Let's forget about it and move on to the good stuff," more voices echoed in agreement.

"No, we have to sell this one first," replied the auctioneer. "Now, who will take the son?" Finally, a neighbour of the old man spoke. "Will you take ten dollars for the painting? That's all I have. I knew the boy; so I would like to have it.

"I have ten dollars. Will anyone go higher?" asked the auctioneer. After more silence, the auctioneer said, "Going once, going twice, gone." The gavel fell.

Cheers filled the room and someone exclaimed, "Now we can get on with it and we can bid on the real treasures!" The auctioneer looked at the audience and announced that the auction was over.

Stunned disbelief quieted the room. Someone spoke up and asked, "What do you mean, it's over? We didn't come here for a picture of some old guy's son. What about all these paintings? There are millions of dollars worth of art here! I demand that you explain what is going on!"

The auctioneer replied, "It's very simple. According to the will of the father, whoever takes the son...gets it all."

Puts things into perspective, doesn't it? Just as those art collectors discovered on Christmas Day, the message is still the same: the love of a father, whose greatest joy came from his son who went away and gave his life rescuing others; and because of that father's love, whoever takes the Son gets it all.

In life, many things will catch your eye, but only a few will catch your heart.

Author Unknown 

"Just do your Best that's all that matters "

Food For The Soul

An elderly carpenter was ready to retire. He told his employer, a building contractor, of his plans to leave the house building business and live a more leisurely life with his wife enjoying his extended family. He would miss the pay check, but he needed to retire. They could get by.

His employer was sorry to see his good worker go and asked if he could build just one more house as a personal favour. The carpenter said yes, but it was easy to see that his heart was no longer in his work. He had lost his enthusiasm and had resorted to shoddy workmanship and used inferior materials. It was an unfortunate way to end his career.

When the carpenter finished his work and his boss came to inspect the new house, the contractor handed the front-door key to the carpenter. "This is your house," he said, "my gift to you."

What a shock! What a shame! If he had only known he was building his own house, he would have done it all so differently. Now he had to live in the home he had built none too well.

So it is with us. We build our lives in a distracted way, reacting rather than acting, willing to put up less than the best. At important points we do not give the job our best effort. Then with a shock we look at the situation we have created and find that we are now living in the house we have built for ourselves. If we had realized, we would have done it differently.

Think of yourself as the carpenter. Think about your house. Each day you hammer a nail, place a board, or erect a wall. Build wisely. It is the only life you will ever build. Even if you live it for only one day more, that day deserves to be lived graciously and with dignity.

The plaque on the wall says, "Life is a do-it-yourself project." Who could say it more clearly? Your life today is the result of your attitudes and choices in the past. Your life tomorrow will be the result.

Author Unknown 

Post your Comments below or to  murfsp@gmail.com   thank you  Patm.

Cherish the Special Moments with your Children and Grandchildren.

The Last Time

From the moment you hold your baby in your arms,
you will never be the same.
You might long for the person you were before, 
When you had freedom and time,
And nothing in particular to worry about.

You will know tiredness like you never knew it before,
And days will run into days that are exactly the same,
Full of feedings and burping,
Nappy changes and crying,
Whining and fighting,
Naps or a lack of naps,
It might seem like a never-ending cycle.

But don’t forget …
There is a last time for everything.
There will come a time when you will feed
your baby for the very last time.
They will fall asleep on you after a long day
And it will be the last time you ever hold your sleeping child.

One day you will carry them on your hip then set them down,
And never pick them up that way again.
You will scrub their hair in the bath one night
And from that day on they will want to bathe alone.
They will hold your hand to cross the road,
Then never reach for it again.
They will creep into your room at midnight for cuddles,
And it will be the last night you ever wake to this.

One afternoon you will sing “the wheels on the bus”
and do all the actions,
Then never sing them that song again.
They will kiss you goodbye at the school gate,
The next day they will ask to walk to the gate alone.
You will read a final bedtime story and wipe your last dirty face.
They will run to you with arms raised for the very last time.

The thing is, you won’t even know it’s the last time
Until there are no more times.
And even then, it will take you a while to realize.

So while you are living in these times,
remember there are only so many of them
and when they are gone, you will yearn for just one more day of them.
For one last time.

-Author Unknown-

Give the Children back their Childhood.

Give the children back their childhood
Let the children run and play.
Don’t make them fight your battles
They’re the ones who always seem to pay.

Don’t make battlefields of their playgrounds
Don’t barricade their streets
Or they’ll grow up to soon
And they won’t grow up complete.

You can raise them on your hatred;
Revel in it, that’s your right
But if you do just remember
It’ll haunt their sleep at night.

A little mommy feeds her baby
Giving all the love she knows.
A tiny builder’s building bridges
to a world in which he’s going to grow.

Give the children back their childhood
Let the children run and play
And skip away on wings of fantasy
And dream of what they’ll be some day.

Don’t feed their minds with your bitter lines
And the prejudice that is yours
And they just may forget some day to carry on our wars.
And they just may forget some day to carry on our wars.

Remembering a Loved One

Jealous of the Angels    Donna Taggart

I didn't know today would be our last
Or that I'd have to say goodbye to you so fast
I'm so numb, I can't feel anymore
Prayin' you'd just walk back through that door
And tell me that I was only dreamin'
You're not really gone as long as I believe

There will be another angel
Around the throne tonight
Your love lives on inside of me,
And I will hold on tight
It's not my place to question,
Only God knows why
I'm just jealous of the angels
Around the throne tonight

You always made my troubles feel so small
And you were always there to catch me when I'd fall
In a world where heroes come and go
Well God just took the only one I know
So I'll hold you as close as I can
Longing for the day, when I see your face again
But until then

God must need another angel
Around the throne tonight
Your love lives on inside of me
And I will hold on tight
It's not my place to question
Only God knows why
I'm just jealous of the angels
Around the throne tonight

Singing Halleluia, Halleluia, Halleluia.                                                                                     I’m just jealous of the Angels                                                                                                              Around the throne tonight.

"Respectful Memory for 11th of the 11th."

The Green Fields of France

Well how do you do young Willie McBride?
Do you mind if I sit down here by your graveside ?
And rest for a while 'neath the warm summer sun 
I've been walkin' all day and I'm nearly done
I see by your gravestone you were only nineteen 
When you joined the great fallen in 1916
 I hope you died well and I hope you died clean 
Or young Willie McBride was it slow and obscene ?

Did they beat the drums slowly ?                                                                                             Did they play the fife lowly ? 
Did they sound the death march as they lowered you down ?
Did the band play the last post and chorus ?
Did the pipes play the "Flowers of the Forest" ?
 
Did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind ? 
In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined ?
Although you died back in 1916 
In that faithful heart are you forever nineteen?
Or are you a stranger without even a name  ?                                                                        
Enclosed down forever behind a glass pane
In an ould photograph torn tattered and stained,                                                                                           And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame?


The sun now it shines on the green fields of France 
There’s a warm summer breeze,it makes the red poppies dance
And look how the sun shines from under the clouds, 
There's no gas no barbed wire, there's no gun firing now
But here in this graveyard it's still No Man's land, 
The countless white crosses stand mute in the sand
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man, 
To a whole generation that was butchered and damned

Now Willie McBride I can't help wonder why
Do those who lie here  know why they died ?
And did they believe when they answered the call ?
Did they really believe that this war would end wars ?
Well the sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the shame 
The killing and dying were all done in vain
For young Willie McBride it's all happened again, 
And again, and again, and again and again.

Live your Journey

Live your Journey

I stood by your bed last night; I came to have a peep. 
I could see that you were crying you found it hard to sleep. 
I spoke to you softly as you brushed away a tear, 
"It's me, I haven't left you, I'm well, I'm fine, I'm here." 
I was close to you at breakfast, I watched you pour the tea, 
You were thinking of the many things and memories of me. 
I was with you at the shops today; your arms were getting sore. 
I longed to take your parcels, I wish I could do more. 
I was with you at my grave today; you tend it with such care. 
I want to re-assure you, that I'm not lying there. 
I walked with you towards the house, as you fumbled for your key. 
I gently put my hand on you; I smiled and said, "it's me." 
You looked so very tired, and sank into a chair. 
I tried so hard to let you know, that I was standing there. 
It's possible for me, to be so near you every day. 
To say to you with certainty, "I never went away." 
You sat there very quietly, then smiled, I think you knew... 
in the stillness of that evening, I was very close to you. 
The day is over... I smile and watch you yawning 
and say "good-night, God bless, I'll see you in the morning." 
And when the time is right for you to cross the brief divide, 
I'll rush across to greet you and we'll stand, side by side. 
I have so many things to show you, there is so much for you to see. 
Be patient, live your journey out...then come home to me.

Author Unknown

Karma - " What Goes Around Comes Around "

What Goes Around, Comes Around... 

A true story, happened in 1892 at Stanford University:

An 18-year-old student was struggling to pay his fees.  He was an orphan, and not knowing where to turn for money,  he came up with a bright idea. 

He and a friend decided to host a musical concert on campus to raise money for their education. They reached out to the great pianist Ignacy J. Paderewski.  His manager demanded a guaranteed fee of $2000 for the piano recital.  A deal was struck and the boys began to work to make the concert a success.

The big day arrived. But unfortunately, they had not managed to sell enough tickets. The total collection was only $1600. 

Disappointed, they went to Paderewski and explained their plight. They gave him the entire $1600, plus a cheque for the balance $400. They promised to honour the cheque at the soonest possible.

“No,” said Paderewski. “This is not acceptable.” He tore up the cheque, returned the $1600 and told the two boys: 

“Here’s the $1600. 

Please deduct whatever expenses you have incurred. Keep the money you need for your fees. And just give me whatever is left”. The boys were surprised, and thanked him profusely.

It was a small act of kindness. But it clearly marked out Paderewski as a great human being.

Why should he help two people he did not even know?  We all come across situations like these in our lives.  And most of us only think “If I help them, what would happen to me?”

The truly great people think, “If I don’t help them, what will happen to them?”  They don’t do it expecting something in return.  They do it because they feel it’s the right thing to do.

Paderewski later went on to become the Prime Minister of Poland. He was a great leader, but unfortunately when the World War began, Poland was ravaged.  There were more than 1.5 million people starving in his country, and no money to feed them.  Paderewski did not know where to turn for help.  He reached out to the US Food and Relief Administration for help. The head there was a man called Herbert Hoover — who later went on to become the US President.  Hoover agreed to help and quickly shipped tons of food grains to feed the starving Polish people. A calamity was averted. Paderewski was relieved. 

He decided to go across to meet Hoover and personally thank him. When Paderewski began to thank Hoover for his noble gesture, Hoover quickly interjected and said,  “You shouldn’t be thanking me Mr. Prime Minister.  You may not remember this, but several years ago, you helped two young students go through college. I was one of them.”

The world is a wonderful place. What goes around comes around!

Anger ... the Nail in the Fence

Anger can harm yourself more than any other

A carpenter went home after shutting down his workshop, a black poisonous cobra entered his workshop.
The cobra was hungry and hoped to find its supper lurking somewhere within. It slithered from one end to another and accidentally bumped into a double-edged metal axe and got very slightly injured.
In anger and seeking revenge, the snake bit the axe with full force. What could a bite do to a metallic axe? Instead the cobra’s mouth started bleeding.
Out of fury and arrogance, the cobra tried its best to strangle and kill the object that was causing it pain by wrapping itself very tightly around the blades.
The next day when the carpenter opened the workshop, he found a seriously cut, dead cobra wrapped around the axe blades.
The cobra died not because of someone else’s fault but faced these consequences merely because of its own anger and wrath.
· Sometimes when angry, we try to cause harm to others but as time passes by, we realise that we have caused more harm to ourselves.
· For a happy life, it’s best we should learn to ignore and overlook some things, people, incidents, affairs and matters.
· It is not necessary that we show a reaction to everything. Step back and ask yourself if the matter is really worth responding or reacting to.
· Let Treat people with kindness even if they hurt you.
· People that show no inclination to change, are best handled with silence and prayer.
 If I hurt someone, grant me the humility courage to ask for forgiveness.

Now read the story…..
  

The Nail in the Fence.

There once was a little boy who had a bad temper. His father gave him a bag of nails and told him that every time he lost his temper, he must hammer a nail into the back of the fence. The first day the boy had driven 37 nails into the fence. Over the next few weeks, as he learned to control his anger, the number of nails hammered daily gradually dwindled down. He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails into the fence.

Finally the day came when the boy didn’t lose his temper at all. He told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his temper. The days passed and the young boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were gone.

The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. He said, “You have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one. You can put a knife in a man and draw it out. It won’t matter how many times you say I’m sorry, the wound is still there.”

A verbal wound is as bad as a physical one. Friends are a very rare jewel, indeed. They make you smile and encourage you to succeed. They lend an ear, they share a word of praise, and they always want to open their hearts to us.