Christmas Day was a lot of fun- Family, present, food, games, movies.... it was great!
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Christmas Eve
Christmas Eve was such a nice evening. Dinner was at our house and we had Denise's family traditional Christmas Eve dinner- Ravioli soup. Matt's parents and some friends of our- Thomas, Jenni and their little guy Aiden joined us for the evening. After dinner we went to Tularosa to check our the beautiful luminarias, went and looked at some of the more famous spots around town for Christmas lights, then came back for cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate, and of course read the Christmas story.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Funny Commercial
It has nothing to do with Christmas, but we ran across this commercial this morning and thought we would share... :)
Friday, December 18, 2009
Story #6
The Gift of the Magi
By O. Henry
ONE DOLLAR AND EIGHTY SEVEN CENTS. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bull-dozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one’s cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.
There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.
In the vestibule below was a letterbox into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young."
The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week.
Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, the letters of "Dillingham" looked blurred, as though they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D.
But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above, he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.
Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result.
Twenty dollars a week doesn’t go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.
There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.
Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.
Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim’s gold watch that had been his father’s and his grandfather’s. The other was Della’s hair. Had the Queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty’s jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.
So now Della’s beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.
On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street. Where she stopped, the sign read: “Mme. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds.”
One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the “Sofronie.”
"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.
"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take ye hat off and let’s have a sight at the looks of it." Down rippled the brown cascade.
"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practiced hand.
"Give it to me quick," said Della.
Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim’s present.
She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do.
It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim’s. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.
When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.
Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.
"If Jim doesn’t kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he’ll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty-seven cents?"
At 7 o’clock the coffee was made and the frying pan was on the back of the stove and ready to cook the chops.
Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment.
Della had a habit of saying little silent prayers about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.
Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.
Della wriggled off the table and went for him.
"Jim, darling," she cried, "don’t look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold it because I couldn’t have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It’ll grow out again--you won’t mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say Merry Christmas!, Jim, and let’s be happy. You don’t know what a nice--what a beautiful, nice gift I’ve got for you."
"You’ve cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.
"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don’t you like me just as well, anyhow? I’m me without my hair, ain’t I?"
Jim looked around the room curiously.
You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.
"You needn’t look for it," said Della. "It’s sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It’s Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with a sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"
Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.
Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it on the table.
"Don’t make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don’t think there’s anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you’ll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."
White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.
For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped for so long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jeweled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair.
They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.
But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"
And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.
"Isn’t it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You’ll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."
Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.
"Dell," said he, "let’s put our Christmas presents away and keep ‘em a while. They’re too nice to use just at present--I sold the watch, to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."
The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days, let it be said that of all who give gifts, these two were the wisest.
Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are the wisest.
Everywhere they are the wisest.
They are the magi.
By O. Henry
ONE DOLLAR AND EIGHTY SEVEN CENTS. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bull-dozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one’s cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.
There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.
In the vestibule below was a letterbox into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young."
The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week.
Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, the letters of "Dillingham" looked blurred, as though they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D.
But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above, he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.
Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result.
Twenty dollars a week doesn’t go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.
There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.
Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.
Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim’s gold watch that had been his father’s and his grandfather’s. The other was Della’s hair. Had the Queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty’s jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.
So now Della’s beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.
On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street. Where she stopped, the sign read: “Mme. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds.”
One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the “Sofronie.”
"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.
"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take ye hat off and let’s have a sight at the looks of it." Down rippled the brown cascade.
"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practiced hand.
"Give it to me quick," said Della.
Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim’s present.
She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do.
It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim’s. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.
When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.
Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.
"If Jim doesn’t kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he’ll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty-seven cents?"
At 7 o’clock the coffee was made and the frying pan was on the back of the stove and ready to cook the chops.
Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment.
Della had a habit of saying little silent prayers about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.
Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.
Della wriggled off the table and went for him.
"Jim, darling," she cried, "don’t look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold it because I couldn’t have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It’ll grow out again--you won’t mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say Merry Christmas!, Jim, and let’s be happy. You don’t know what a nice--what a beautiful, nice gift I’ve got for you."
"You’ve cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.
"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don’t you like me just as well, anyhow? I’m me without my hair, ain’t I?"
Jim looked around the room curiously.
You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.
"You needn’t look for it," said Della. "It’s sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It’s Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with a sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"
Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.
Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it on the table.
"Don’t make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don’t think there’s anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you’ll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."
White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.
For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped for so long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jeweled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair.
They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.
But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"
And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.
"Isn’t it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You’ll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."
Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.
"Dell," said he, "let’s put our Christmas presents away and keep ‘em a while. They’re too nice to use just at present--I sold the watch, to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."
The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days, let it be said that of all who give gifts, these two were the wisest.
Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are the wisest.
Everywhere they are the wisest.
They are the magi.
Story #5
A SOLDIER'S CHRISTMAS
'Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,in a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone.
I had come down the chimney with presents to give,and to see just who in this little house lived.
As I looked all about, a strange sight I did see,No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No Stockings by mantle, just boots filled with sand,On the wall hung pictures of far distant lands.
With medals and badges, awards of all kinds,A sobering thought came through my mind.
For this house was different, it was dark and dreary, The home of a soldier, I could now see clearly.
The soldier lay sleeping, silent, alone,Curled up on the floor in this one bedroom home.
The face was so gentle, the room in such disorder,Not how I picture a United States Soldier.
Was this the hero of whom I'd just read?Curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed?
I realized the families that I saw this night,owed their lives to these soldiers who were willing to fight.
Soon round the world, the children would play,and grownups would celebrate a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom each month of the year,because of the soldiers, like the one lying here.
I couldn't help wondering how many lay alone,on a cold Christmas Eve in a land far from home.
The very thought brought a tear to my eye,I dropped to one knee and started to cry.
The soldier awakened and I heard a rough voice,"Santa don't cry, for this life is my choice".
I fight for freedom, I don't ask for more,My life is my God, my country, my corps."
The soldier rolled over and drifted to sleep,I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.
I kept watch for hours, so silent and still,as we both shivered from the cold night's chill.
I didn't want to leave, on that cold, dark night,this guardian of honor, so willing to fight.
Then the soldier rolled over, with a voice soft and pure,whispered, "Carry on Santa...., It's Christmas Day...., All is secure.
One look at my watch, and I knew he was right,Merry Christmas my friend.... and to all a Good Night.
'Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,in a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone.
I had come down the chimney with presents to give,and to see just who in this little house lived.
As I looked all about, a strange sight I did see,No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No Stockings by mantle, just boots filled with sand,On the wall hung pictures of far distant lands.
With medals and badges, awards of all kinds,A sobering thought came through my mind.
For this house was different, it was dark and dreary, The home of a soldier, I could now see clearly.
The soldier lay sleeping, silent, alone,Curled up on the floor in this one bedroom home.
The face was so gentle, the room in such disorder,Not how I picture a United States Soldier.
Was this the hero of whom I'd just read?Curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed?
I realized the families that I saw this night,owed their lives to these soldiers who were willing to fight.
Soon round the world, the children would play,and grownups would celebrate a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom each month of the year,because of the soldiers, like the one lying here.
I couldn't help wondering how many lay alone,on a cold Christmas Eve in a land far from home.
The very thought brought a tear to my eye,I dropped to one knee and started to cry.
The soldier awakened and I heard a rough voice,"Santa don't cry, for this life is my choice".
I fight for freedom, I don't ask for more,My life is my God, my country, my corps."
The soldier rolled over and drifted to sleep,I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.
I kept watch for hours, so silent and still,as we both shivered from the cold night's chill.
I didn't want to leave, on that cold, dark night,this guardian of honor, so willing to fight.
Then the soldier rolled over, with a voice soft and pure,whispered, "Carry on Santa...., It's Christmas Day...., All is secure.
One look at my watch, and I knew he was right,Merry Christmas my friend.... and to all a Good Night.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Story #4
THE GOLD WRAPPING PAPER
Once upon a time, a man punished his five-year-old daughter for using up the family’s only roll of expensive gold wrapping paper before Christmas.
Money was tight, so he became even more upset when on Christmas Eve, he saw that the child had used the expensive gold paper to decorate a large shoebox she had put under the Christmas tree.
Nevertheless, the next morning the little girl, filled with excitement, brought the gift box to her father and said, "This is for you, Daddy!"
As he opened the box, the father was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, now regretting how he had punished her.
But when he opened the shoebox, he found it was empty and again his anger flared. "Don't you know, young lady,” he said harshly, “when you give someone a present there's supposed to be something inside the package!"
The little girl looked up at him with sad tears rolling from her eyes and whispered: "Daddy, it's not empty. I blew kisses into it until it was all full."
The father was crushed. He fell on his knees and put his arms around his precious little girl. He begged her to forgive him for his unnecessary anger.
An accident took the life of the child only a short time later. It is told that the father kept this little gold box by his bed for all the years of his life. Whenever he was discouraged or faced difficult problems, he would open the box, take out an imaginary kiss, and remember the love of this beautiful child who had put it there.
In a very real sense, each of us as human beings have been given an invisible golden box filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children, family, friends and God.There is no more precious possession anyone could hold.
Once upon a time, a man punished his five-year-old daughter for using up the family’s only roll of expensive gold wrapping paper before Christmas.
Money was tight, so he became even more upset when on Christmas Eve, he saw that the child had used the expensive gold paper to decorate a large shoebox she had put under the Christmas tree.
Nevertheless, the next morning the little girl, filled with excitement, brought the gift box to her father and said, "This is for you, Daddy!"
As he opened the box, the father was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, now regretting how he had punished her.
But when he opened the shoebox, he found it was empty and again his anger flared. "Don't you know, young lady,” he said harshly, “when you give someone a present there's supposed to be something inside the package!"
The little girl looked up at him with sad tears rolling from her eyes and whispered: "Daddy, it's not empty. I blew kisses into it until it was all full."
The father was crushed. He fell on his knees and put his arms around his precious little girl. He begged her to forgive him for his unnecessary anger.
An accident took the life of the child only a short time later. It is told that the father kept this little gold box by his bed for all the years of his life. Whenever he was discouraged or faced difficult problems, he would open the box, take out an imaginary kiss, and remember the love of this beautiful child who had put it there.
In a very real sense, each of us as human beings have been given an invisible golden box filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children, family, friends and God.There is no more precious possession anyone could hold.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Christmas Story #3
Years ago, Jack Smith told of a poignant story of two young boys at Christmastime.
“I didn’t question Timmy, age nine, or his seven-year-old brother, Billy, about the brown wrapping paper they passed back and forth between them as we visited each store.
“Every year at Christmastime, our Service Club takes the children from poor families in our town on a personally conducted shopping tour. I was assigned Timmy and Billy, whose father was out of work. After giving them the allotted [U.S.] $4.00 each, we began our trip. At different stores I made suggestions, but always their answer was a solemn shake of the head, no. Finally, I asked, ‘Where would you suggest we look?’
“ ‘Could we go to a shoe store, Sir?’ answered Timmy. ‘We’d like a pair of shoes for our Daddy so he can go to work.’
“In the shoe store the clerk asked what the boys wanted. Out came the brown paper. ‘We want a pair of work shoes to fit this foot,’ they said. Billy explained that it was a pattern of their Daddy’s foot. They had drawn it while he was asleep in a chair.
“The clerk held the paper against a measuring stick, then walked away. Soon, he came with an open box. ‘Will these do?’ he asked. Timmy and Billy handled the shoes with great eagerness. ‘How much do they cost?’ asked Billy. Then Timmy saw the price on the box. ‘They’re $16.95,’ he said in dismay. ‘We only have $8.00.’
“I looked at the clerk and he cleared his throat. ‘That’s the regular price,’ he said, ‘but they’re on sale; $3.98, today only.’ Then, with shoes happily in hand the boys bought gifts for their mother and two little sisters. Not once did they think of themselves.
“The day after Christmas the boys’ father stopped me on the street. The new shoes were on his feet, gratitude was in his eyes. ‘I just thank Jesus for people who care,’ he said. ‘And I thank Jesus for your two sons,’ I replied. ‘They really taught me more about Christmas in one evening than I had learned in a lifetime.’ ” 1
“I didn’t question Timmy, age nine, or his seven-year-old brother, Billy, about the brown wrapping paper they passed back and forth between them as we visited each store.
“Every year at Christmastime, our Service Club takes the children from poor families in our town on a personally conducted shopping tour. I was assigned Timmy and Billy, whose father was out of work. After giving them the allotted [U.S.] $4.00 each, we began our trip. At different stores I made suggestions, but always their answer was a solemn shake of the head, no. Finally, I asked, ‘Where would you suggest we look?’
“ ‘Could we go to a shoe store, Sir?’ answered Timmy. ‘We’d like a pair of shoes for our Daddy so he can go to work.’
“In the shoe store the clerk asked what the boys wanted. Out came the brown paper. ‘We want a pair of work shoes to fit this foot,’ they said. Billy explained that it was a pattern of their Daddy’s foot. They had drawn it while he was asleep in a chair.
“The clerk held the paper against a measuring stick, then walked away. Soon, he came with an open box. ‘Will these do?’ he asked. Timmy and Billy handled the shoes with great eagerness. ‘How much do they cost?’ asked Billy. Then Timmy saw the price on the box. ‘They’re $16.95,’ he said in dismay. ‘We only have $8.00.’
“I looked at the clerk and he cleared his throat. ‘That’s the regular price,’ he said, ‘but they’re on sale; $3.98, today only.’ Then, with shoes happily in hand the boys bought gifts for their mother and two little sisters. Not once did they think of themselves.
“The day after Christmas the boys’ father stopped me on the street. The new shoes were on his feet, gratitude was in his eyes. ‘I just thank Jesus for people who care,’ he said. ‘And I thank Jesus for your two sons,’ I replied. ‘They really taught me more about Christmas in one evening than I had learned in a lifetime.’ ” 1
Monday, December 14, 2009
"Baby in a Manger"
The Primary kids sang this song in Sacrament meeting yesterday, it is such a cute song!
here's the link so that you can hear it and/or print off the music http://www.defordmusic.com/babyinamanger.htm
Lyrics:
Baby in a manger 'ere the break of day
Baby in a manger sleeping on the hay
Hear the angels singing, joyful at thy birth
"Gloria! Gloria! Peace on earth."
Baby in a manger, legions gather nigh
Heaven's song re-echoes 'neath the starry sky
Hear the angels singing, joyful at thy birth
"Gloria! Gloria! Peace on earth."
Baby in a manger, heaven's host proclaims,
"This is the Messiah! Jesus is His name.
"Hear the angels singing, joyful at thy birth
"Gloria! Gloria! Peace on earth."
here's the link so that you can hear it and/or print off the music http://www.defordmusic.com/babyinamanger.htm
Lyrics:
Baby in a manger 'ere the break of day
Baby in a manger sleeping on the hay
Hear the angels singing, joyful at thy birth
"Gloria! Gloria! Peace on earth."
Baby in a manger, legions gather nigh
Heaven's song re-echoes 'neath the starry sky
Hear the angels singing, joyful at thy birth
"Gloria! Gloria! Peace on earth."
Baby in a manger, heaven's host proclaims,
"This is the Messiah! Jesus is His name.
"Hear the angels singing, joyful at thy birth
"Gloria! Gloria! Peace on earth."
Story #2
Christmas Day in the Morning
By Pearl S. Buck
By Pearl S. Buck
He woke suddenly and completely. It was four o'clock, the hour at which his father had always called him to get up and help with the milking. Strange how the habits of his youth clung to him still! Fifty years ago, and his father had been dead for thirty years, and yet he waked at four o'clock in the morning. He had trained himself to turn over and go to sleep, but this morning it was Christmas, he did not try to sleep.
Why did he feel so awake tonight? He slipped back in time, as he did so easily nowadays. He was fifteen years old and still on his father's farm. He loved his father. He had not known it until one day a few days before Christmas, when he had overheard what his father was saying to his mother.
"Mary, I hate to call Rob in the mornings. He's growing so fast and he needs his sleep. If you could see how he sleeps when I go in to wake him up! I wish I could manage alone."
"Well, you can't, Adam." His mother's voice was brisk. "Besides, he isn't a child anymore. It's time he tok his turn."
"Yes," his father said slowly. "But I sure do hate to wake him."
When he heard these words, something in him spoke: his father loved him! He had never thought of that before, taking for granted the tie of their blood. Neither his father nor his mother talked about loving their children--they had no time for such things. There was always so much to do on the farm.
Now that he knew his father loved him, there would be no loitering in the mornings and having to be called again. He got up after that, stumbling blindly in his sleep, and pulled on his clothes, his eyes shut, but he got up.
And then on the night before Christmas, that year when he was fifteen, he lay for a few minutes thinking about the next day. They were poor, and most of the excitement was in the turkey they had raised themselves and mince pies his mother made. His sisters sewed presents and his mother and father always bought him something he needed, not only a warm jacket, maybe, but something more, such as a book. And he saved and bought them each something, too.
He wished, that Christmas when he was fifteen, he had a better present for his father. As usual he had gone to the ten-cent store and bought a tie. It had semed nice enough until he lay thinking the night before Christmas. He looked out of his attic window, the stars were bright.
"Dad," he had once asked when he was a little boy, "What is a stable?"
"It's just a barn," his father had replied, "like ours."Then Jesus had been born in a barn, and to a barn the shepherds had come...
The thought struck him like a silver dagger. Why should he not give his father a special gift too, out there in the barn? He could get up early, earlier than four o'clock, and he could creep into the barn and get all the milking done. He'd do it alone, milk and clean up, and then when his father went in to start the milking he'd see it all done. And he would know who had done it. He laughed to himself as he gazed at the stars. It was what he would do, and he musn't sleep too sound.
He must have waked twenty times, scratching a match to look each time to look at his old watch -- midnight, and half past one, and then two o'clock.
At a quarter to three he got up and put on his clothes. He crept downstairs, careful of the creaky boards, and let himself out. The cows looked at him, sleepy and surprised. It was early for them, too.
He had never milked all alone before, but it seemed almost easy. He kept thinking about his father's surprise. His father would come in and get him, saying that he would get things started while Rob was getting dressed. He'd go to the barn, open the door, and then he'd go get the two big empty milk cans. But they wouldn't be waiting or empty, they'd be standing in the milk-house, filled.
"What the--," he could hear his father exclaiming.
He smiled and milked steadily, two strong streams rushing into the pail, frothing and fragrant.
The task went more easily than he had ever known it to go before. Milking for once was not a chore. It was something else, a gift to his father who loved him. He finished, the two milk cans were full, and he covered them and closed the milk-house door carefully, making sure of the latch.
Back in his room he had only a minute to pull off his clothes in the darkness and jump into bed, for he heard his father up. He put the covers over his head to silence his quick breathing. The door opened.
"Rob!" His father called. "We have to get up, son, even if it is Christmas."
"Aw-right," he said sleepily.
The door closed and he lay still, laughing to himself. In just a few minutes his father would know. His dancing heart was ready to jump from his body.
The minutes were endless -- ten, fifteen, he did not know how many -- and he heard his father's footsteps again. The door opened and he lay still.
"Rob!"
"Yes, Dad--"
His father was laughing, a queer sobbing sort of laugh."Thought you'd fool me, did you?" His father was standing by his bed, feeling for him, pulling away the cover.
"It's for Christmas, Dad!"He found his father and clutched him in a great hug. He felt his father's arms go around him. It was dark and they could not see each other's faces.
"Son, I thank you. Nobody ever did a nicer thing--"
"Oh, Dad, I want you to know -- I do want to be god!" The words broke from him of their own will. He did not know what to say. His heart was bursting with love.
He got up and pulled on his clothes again and they went down to the Christmas tree. Oh what a Christmas, and how his heart had nearly burst again with shyness and pride as his father told his mother and made the younger children listen about how he, Rob, had got up all by himself.
"The best Christmas gift I ever had, and I'll remember it, son every year on Christmas morning, so long as I live."
They had both remembered it, and now that his father was dead, he remembered it alone: that blessed Christmas dawn when, alone with the cows in the barn, he had made his first gift of true love.
This Christmas he wanted to write a card to his wife and tell her how much he loved her, it had been a long time since he had really told her, although he loved her in a very special way, much more than he ever had when they were young. He had been fortunate that she had loved him. Ah, that was the true joy of life, the ability to love. Love was still alive in him, it still was.
It occured to him suddenly that it was alive because long ago it had been born in him when he knew his father loved him. That was it: Love alone could awaken lovve. And he ccould give the gift again and again.This morning, this blessed Christmas morning, he would give it to his beloved wife. He could write it down in a letter for her to read and keep forever. He went to his desk and began his love letter to his wife: My dearest love...
Such a happy, happy Christmas!
THE END
THE END
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Christmas Stories
We decided to share a Christmas story everyday now until Christmas. So here's the first one!
The Tablecloth
The brand new pastor and his wife, newly assigned to their first ministry, to reopen a church in suburban Brooklyn, arrived in early October excited about their opportunities. When they saw their church,it was very run down and needed much work. They set a goal to have everything done in time to have their first service on Christmas Eve. They worked hard, repairing pews, plastering walls, painting, etc. and on Dec 18 were ahead of schedule and just about finished. On Dec 19 a terrible tempest - a driving rainstorm hit the area and lasted for two days. On the 21st, the pastor went over to the church. His heart sank when he saw that the roof had leaked, causing a large area of plaster about 20 feet by 8 feet to fall off the front wall of the sanctuary just behind the pulpit, beginning about head high. The pastor cleaned up the mess on the floor, and not knowing what else to do but postpone the Christmas Eve service, headed home. On the way he noticed that a local business was having a flea market type sale for charity so he stopped in. One of the items was a beautiful, handmade, ivory colored, crocheted tablecloth with exquisite work, fine colors and a Cross embroidered right in the center. It was just the right size to cover up the hole in the front wall. He bought it and headed back to the church. By this time it had started to snow. An older woman running from the opposite direction was trying to catch the bus. She missed it.The pastor invited her to wait in the warm church for the next bus 45 minutes later. She sat in a pew and paid no attention to the pastor while he got a ladder, hangers, etc., to put up the tablecloth as a wall tapestry. The pastor could hardly believe how beautiful it looked and it covered up the entire problem area. Then he noticed the woman walking down the center aisle. Her face was like a sheet. "Pastor," she asked, "where did you get that tablecloth?" The pastor explained. The woman asked him to check the lower right corner to see if the initials, EBG were crocheted into it there. They were. These were the initials of the woman, and she had made this tablecloth 35 years before, in Austria. The woman could hardly believe it as the pastor told how he had just gotten the Tablecloth. The woman explained that before the war she and her husband were well-to-do people in Austria. When the Nazis came, she was forced to leave. Her husband was going to follow her the next week. She was captured, sent to prison and never saw her husband or her home again. The pastor wanted to give her the tablecloth; but she made the pastor keep it for the church. The pastor insisted on driving her home, that was the least he could do. She lived on the other side of Staten Island and was only in Brooklyn for the day for a housecleaning job.
What a wonderful service they had on Christmas Eve. The church was almost full. The music and the spirit were great. At the end of the service, the pastor and his wife greeted everyone at the door and many said that they would return. One older man, whom the pastor recognized from the neighborhood, continued to sit in one of the pews and stare, and the pastor wondered why he wasn't leaving. The man asked him where he got the tablecloth on the front wall because it was identical to one that his wife had made years ago when they lived in Austria before the war and how could there be two tablecloths so much alike? He told the pastor how the Nazis came, how he forced his wife to flee for her safety, and he was supposed to follow her, but he was arrested and put in a prison. He never saw his wife or his home again all the 35 years in between.
The pastor asked him if he would allow him to take him for little ride. They drove to Staten Island and to the same house where the pastor had taken the woman three days earlier. He helped the man climb the three flights of stairs to the woman's apartment, knocked on the door and he saw the greatest Christmas reunion he could ever imagine.
Story - submitted by Pastor Rob Reid
NOTE:The true origin of the christmas story "The Tablecloth" may very easily have been "adapted" from one called "The Gold and Ivory Tablecloth" http://www.snopes.com/glurge/tablecloth.asp.
The Tablecloth
The brand new pastor and his wife, newly assigned to their first ministry, to reopen a church in suburban Brooklyn, arrived in early October excited about their opportunities. When they saw their church,it was very run down and needed much work. They set a goal to have everything done in time to have their first service on Christmas Eve. They worked hard, repairing pews, plastering walls, painting, etc. and on Dec 18 were ahead of schedule and just about finished. On Dec 19 a terrible tempest - a driving rainstorm hit the area and lasted for two days. On the 21st, the pastor went over to the church. His heart sank when he saw that the roof had leaked, causing a large area of plaster about 20 feet by 8 feet to fall off the front wall of the sanctuary just behind the pulpit, beginning about head high. The pastor cleaned up the mess on the floor, and not knowing what else to do but postpone the Christmas Eve service, headed home. On the way he noticed that a local business was having a flea market type sale for charity so he stopped in. One of the items was a beautiful, handmade, ivory colored, crocheted tablecloth with exquisite work, fine colors and a Cross embroidered right in the center. It was just the right size to cover up the hole in the front wall. He bought it and headed back to the church. By this time it had started to snow. An older woman running from the opposite direction was trying to catch the bus. She missed it.The pastor invited her to wait in the warm church for the next bus 45 minutes later. She sat in a pew and paid no attention to the pastor while he got a ladder, hangers, etc., to put up the tablecloth as a wall tapestry. The pastor could hardly believe how beautiful it looked and it covered up the entire problem area. Then he noticed the woman walking down the center aisle. Her face was like a sheet. "Pastor," she asked, "where did you get that tablecloth?" The pastor explained. The woman asked him to check the lower right corner to see if the initials, EBG were crocheted into it there. They were. These were the initials of the woman, and she had made this tablecloth 35 years before, in Austria. The woman could hardly believe it as the pastor told how he had just gotten the Tablecloth. The woman explained that before the war she and her husband were well-to-do people in Austria. When the Nazis came, she was forced to leave. Her husband was going to follow her the next week. She was captured, sent to prison and never saw her husband or her home again. The pastor wanted to give her the tablecloth; but she made the pastor keep it for the church. The pastor insisted on driving her home, that was the least he could do. She lived on the other side of Staten Island and was only in Brooklyn for the day for a housecleaning job.
What a wonderful service they had on Christmas Eve. The church was almost full. The music and the spirit were great. At the end of the service, the pastor and his wife greeted everyone at the door and many said that they would return. One older man, whom the pastor recognized from the neighborhood, continued to sit in one of the pews and stare, and the pastor wondered why he wasn't leaving. The man asked him where he got the tablecloth on the front wall because it was identical to one that his wife had made years ago when they lived in Austria before the war and how could there be two tablecloths so much alike? He told the pastor how the Nazis came, how he forced his wife to flee for her safety, and he was supposed to follow her, but he was arrested and put in a prison. He never saw his wife or his home again all the 35 years in between.
The pastor asked him if he would allow him to take him for little ride. They drove to Staten Island and to the same house where the pastor had taken the woman three days earlier. He helped the man climb the three flights of stairs to the woman's apartment, knocked on the door and he saw the greatest Christmas reunion he could ever imagine.
Story - submitted by Pastor Rob Reid
NOTE:The true origin of the christmas story "The Tablecloth" may very easily have been "adapted" from one called "The Gold and Ivory Tablecloth" http://www.snopes.com/glurge/tablecloth.asp.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Let's Say Thanks
Found this website... It's a great way to say "Thanks" and "Merry Christmas' to soldiers :)
http://www.letssaythanks.com/Home1280.html
http://www.letssaythanks.com/Home1280.html
Friday, December 11, 2009
Merry Christmas... Buon Natale
I ran across this fun list of how to say "Merry Christmas" around the world on this site http://www.infostarbase.com/holidays/christmas/merry_christmas.php Have fun!!
Afrikaner [Afrikaans]
"Geseënde Kersfees"
Albanian
"Urime Krishtlindjet"
Amharic
"Enkwan laberhana ledat abaqqawot" OR "Melkam amat ba`al yehunellachihu"
Arabic
"Milad Majid" OR "Milad Saeed"
Argentine
"Feliz Navidad"
Armenian
"Shenoraavor Nor Dari yev Pari Gaghand"
Bohemian
"Vesele Vanoce"
Brazilian Portuguese
"Feliz Natal"
Briton
"Nedeleg laouen na bloavezh mat"
Bulgarian
"Tchestita Koleda" OR "Tchestito Rojdestvo Hristovo"
Cambodian
"Soursdey Noel"
Chinese [Mandarin]
"Sheng Dankuai Le"
Chinese [Cantonese]
"Sing Daan Faai Lok"
Cornish
"Nadelik Lowen"
Croatian
"Sretan Bozic"
Czech
"Velike Vanoce"
Danish
"Glædelig Jul"
Dutch
"Vrolijk Kerstfeest"
English [American]
"Merry Christmas"
English [Australian]
"'Ave a bonza Chrissy, Mate"
English [UK]
"Happy Christmas"
Esperanto
"Gojan Kristnaskon"
Estonian
"Roomsaid Joulu Puhi"
Farsi
"Christmas-e-shoma mobarak bashad"
Faroese
"Gleðilig Jól"
Filipino
"Maligayang Pasko"
Finnish
"Hauskaa Joulua"
French
"Joyeux Noël"
Frisian
"Noflike Krystdagen en in protte Lok en Seine yn it Nije Jier"
Gaelic
"Nollaig Shona Dhuit"
German
"Froehliche Weihnachten"
Greek
"Kala Christouyenna"
Hawaiian
"Mele Kalikimaka"
Hebrew
"Mo'adim Lesimkha. Chena tova"
Hindi
"Shub Badadin"
Hungarian
"Boldog Karácsonyt"
Icelandic
"Gledileg Jol"
India
"Tamil Nadu - Christmas Vaazthukkal "
Indonesian
"Selamat Hari Natal"
Iraqi
"Idah Saidan Wa Sanah Jadidah"
Irish
"Nollaig Shona Duit"
Italian
"Buon Natale"
Japanese
"Meri Kurisumasu"
Klingon
"QISmaS Quch Daghajjaj"
Korean
"Sung Tan Jul Chuk Ha"
Latvian
"Prieci'gus Ziemsve'tkus un Laimi'gu Jauno Gadu"
Lithuanian
"Linksmu Kaledu"
Malay
"Selamat Hari Natal dan Tahun Baru"
Maltese
"Il-Milied it-tajjeb"
Maori
"Meri Kirihimete"
Navajo
"Ya'at'eeh Keshmish"
New Guinea Pidgin
"Meri Christmas"
New Zealand
"Happy Christmas"
Norwegian
"Gledelig Jul"
Pennsylvania German
"En frehlicher Grischtdaag"
Peru
"Felices Fiestas" OR "Feliz Navidad"
Polish
"Wesolych Swiat Bozego Narodzenia"
Portuguese
"Feliz Natal"
Punjabi
"Hacahi Ke Eide"
Rumanian
"Sarbatori Fericite"
Russian
"S Rozhdestvom Kristovym"
Serbian
"Hristos se rodi"
Slovakian
"Sretan Bozic" OR "Vesele vianoce"
Samoan
"Manuea le Karisimasi"
Scots Gaelic
"Nollaig chridheil huibh"
Slovak
"Vesele Vianoce. A stastlivy Novy Rok"
Slovene
"Srecen Bozic"
Spanish
"Feliz Navidad"
Swahili
"Heri ya Krismasi"
Swedish
"God Jul"
Tagalog [Philippines]
"Maligayang Pasko"
Tahitian
"Ia ora'na no te noere"
Telugu
"Santhasa Krismas"
Thai
"Suksan Christmas"
Turkish
"Noeliniz Ve Yeni Yiliniz Kutlu Olsun"
Ukrainian
"Z Rizdvom Krystovym" OR "Veselogo Rizdva"
Urdu [Pakistan]
"Shadae Christmas"
Uzbek
"Yangi Yiligiz Mubarak Bolsun"
Vietnamese
"Chuc Mung Giang Sinh"
Welsh
"Nadolig Llawen"
Friday, December 4, 2009
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!!!
Well, when a prediction of snow comes, we often don't see any. However, this time we had a ton of snow, well, at least for Alamogordo. On Tuesday it snowed A LOT. Matt went and measured in our backyard and there was 5 inches, though I'm not sure what the "official" measurement was. It was great! I was sooo excited when Matt told me it was snowing that I couldn't go back to sleep! There was so much snow that a bunch of trees lost limbs- including one by our house that caused a power outage for 6 hours. We even heard the crackle, pop and crash because we just happened to be outside right then! I think that will help us fine tune some of our self reliance preparations :) We almost lost our Aloe plant- it was outside, but I think we rescued it just in time. All the schools were closed. Matt couldn't get to work as he works out at that pass. So we had a fun day. Oh, and it snowed again last night (Thursday night). Did I mention that I love the snow!?!?!
One of our plants covered in snow!
Our house all pretty and white- just right for December!
The view from our front door. I thought the tree looked so cool. After not being around snow too much in the last few years I forgot how beautiful it is!
Desert, meet snow. Snow, meet desert.
Matt with his tape measure showing that we got 5 inches!
The snowman we made- he's all organic- haha :) Leaves for hair, eyes, mouth and nose (hey, that almost sounds like the 2nd verse of "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes"), and fallen branches for the arms and wings :)
One of our plants covered in snow!
Our house all pretty and white- just right for December!
The view from our front door. I thought the tree looked so cool. After not being around snow too much in the last few years I forgot how beautiful it is!
Desert, meet snow. Snow, meet desert.
Matt with his tape measure showing that we got 5 inches!
The snowman we made- he's all organic- haha :) Leaves for hair, eyes, mouth and nose (hey, that almost sounds like the 2nd verse of "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes"), and fallen branches for the arms and wings :)Thursday, December 3, 2009
San Pedro River
The day after Thanksgiving we went down to the San Pedro River. We had a fun time playing on the HUGE tree, had a pic-nick lunch, and then went down to the river where the girls played in the leaves and got very dirty. It was great fun!
So you think you can dance
The girls dancing to "Battlefield" by Jordin Sparks. Many of the moves were copied from "So You Think You Can Dance". It's so cute to watch them dance!
Thanksgiving
For Thanksgiving we went to Kenny & Melissa's house.We had a blast!!! We had so much fun hanging out, cooking, eat, playing, etc. We are so blessed with great family members, those who we spent Thanksgiving with, & all others who are scattered around the world.
The girls dancing to a song being performed during the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.
Matt coloring with Skyler and McKenzie, a plentiful activity!
Kenny & Melissa displaying the tiered dessert tray that they MADE while we were there.
McKenzie and Denise eating yummy pickles.Saturday, November 14, 2009
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Everyday Children of God
As I was preparing a talk this last week I came across a really neat quote from Elder Holland. I love it. I think we confuse perfectionism with becoming perfected through the atonement of Christ. Sometimes we think we have to be absolutely perfect right this instant, and therefore are often critical of ourselves, and we end up berating and belittling ourselves. We are children of God, we have a divine potential, and we are capable of so much more. That so much more comes from our everyday living of the gospel, daily making choices that draw us closer to God. We have so much to give, so much to offer, and so much to enjoy- we have the ability to live an extraordinary life by simply choosing each day to consistently living the gospel. While this quote is directed to sisters it applies to all.
“Sisters, we all need to believe in ourselves as God's agents much, much more than we do; activating the gifts and the powers he has given us as if He Himself were here. On the outside we may seem to be little people with everyday little souls with everyday problems, but we are the everyday instruments God has always used to do His work and perform His miracles from the beginning of time. This is that power of the atonement to which we pay much too little attention. Not only did Christ save us from our sins, but he saved us from ourselves, our horrible warped opinions and our negative little views of ourselves. That is the miracle of being reborn and spiritually begotten of the Savior as King Benjamin said, of saying that we are changed through faith on His name. If we say we are changed through faith on His name, then let's act like such a change has occurred.” Elder Jeffery R. and Sister Patricia Holland May 4, 2007 Women's Conference “What Time is It?”
“Sisters, we all need to believe in ourselves as God's agents much, much more than we do; activating the gifts and the powers he has given us as if He Himself were here. On the outside we may seem to be little people with everyday little souls with everyday problems, but we are the everyday instruments God has always used to do His work and perform His miracles from the beginning of time. This is that power of the atonement to which we pay much too little attention. Not only did Christ save us from our sins, but he saved us from ourselves, our horrible warped opinions and our negative little views of ourselves. That is the miracle of being reborn and spiritually begotten of the Savior as King Benjamin said, of saying that we are changed through faith on His name. If we say we are changed through faith on His name, then let's act like such a change has occurred.” Elder Jeffery R. and Sister Patricia Holland May 4, 2007 Women's Conference “What Time is It?”
Monday, October 26, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
ACORN and human trafficking
I am so incredibly ticked off right now, and quite frankly disgusted with most of the media and the government. Everyone is making such a huge deal out of the fact that they were teaching a supposed prostitution ring how to cheat the IRS, and while that is bad, that act pales in comparison to the act of ACORN helping with human trafficking (a.k.a. sexual-slavery). The ACORN representative did not bat and eye and even gave suggestions on how to help this couple in bringing and using under-age El Salvadorians into their prostitution ring and how to make more money off of them. Most of the news reports (aside from FOX) either barely mention this aspect or don't acknowledge it at all (I have been reading quite a few articles and listing to the news feed on the radio). The focus that the government and media has chosen just shows that they are more worried about money than people. Now, I realize that that this scenario was fake, but human trafficking is very real and very alive. I have contacted my state representative about this, please, each of you do the same. If you have not seen the video here is one of the videos you can watch http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LtTnizEnC1U .
Human trafficking is a much bigger problem than many people think. You can read a little more about it here http://www.ovc.gov/ncvrw/2005/pg5l.html and many other sites. While it is very difficult to get accurate numbers due to the secretive nature of the problem here are some figures. It is estimated that between 14,00-18,000 men women and children are trafficked into the US each year alone, within the country it is estimated to around 200,000, and many US citizens are trafficked out of the US each year as well. World wide trafficking is estimated to be between 600,000-800,000 per year. This is a horrific act. While not all human trafficking is sex related (with the next highest reason being for labor), a good majority of it is. Please speak out on this important issue.
Human trafficking is a much bigger problem than many people think. You can read a little more about it here http://www.ovc.gov/ncvrw/2005/pg5l.html and many other sites. While it is very difficult to get accurate numbers due to the secretive nature of the problem here are some figures. It is estimated that between 14,00-18,000 men women and children are trafficked into the US each year alone, within the country it is estimated to around 200,000, and many US citizens are trafficked out of the US each year as well. World wide trafficking is estimated to be between 600,000-800,000 per year. This is a horrific act. While not all human trafficking is sex related (with the next highest reason being for labor), a good majority of it is. Please speak out on this important issue.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Labor Day Weekend
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Bryce Canyon NP
You can see all of the hoodoos or stacked rock formations in the background of many of the pictures. There is an old legend that about these formations... "An elderly Piute named Indian Dick describes how Bryce Canyon was formed: Before there were any Indians, the Legend People lived in this place. There were many kinds- birds, animals, lizards, and such things- but they had the power to make themselves look like people. For some reason the Legend People were bad, so Coyote turned them all into rocks. You can see them in that place now, all turned into rocks; some standing in rows, some sitting down, some holding onto others. You can see their faces with paint on them just as they were before they became rocks." (As seen on a display at BCNP).
The chipmunks, ravens, and other birds were abundant, and we were able to see Utah Prairie Dogs, Blue Grouse, and Pronghorns during our visit too. In one of the pictures above part of the rock formation looks as though there was a lizard on top- can you see it? We saw hoodoos and arches (both in the rocks and in the clouds) and many other formations. The colors were incredible! It was a fun stop- wish we could have been there a little longer and been able to do the hiking down in the amphitheater, but it was still a great visit.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Zion NP
We had so much fun at Zion National Park. This was our 2nd stop along the way. It was quite a bit warmer here than at the North Rim. The first day we didn't do much as we arrived in the early evening and ended up having to share a group site with 3 other out of place groups. They were all quite nice. On our second day we did the water walk in which you can see from the posted pictures we got quite wet- but it was a blast and felt great on a 100 degree plus day. We went up through the canyon a little way but did not, unfortunately go into the narrows- again the whole foot thing :( Oh well, the icy cold water actually helped a great deal- but poor Matt just about froze his toes off. We also went to Weeping Rock and then enjoyed a "nap" on the Lodge lawn which was shaded and very cool. We didn't actually sleep, but others certainly did!
We were able to go to a couple of ranger programs here as well. The first one we went to was about animals in the park. Did you know that a female tarantula hawk stings a tarantula spider and sort of anesthetizes him, drags him back to his hole, then lays her eggs in the spider's body-so that when they hatch they have a great food supply until they are able to go out on their own. Oh yeah, and just as a safegaurd, mom breaks all of the spiders leg so he can't move, just in case it wakes up. Now there's a mom for you! We also went to a "night sky" program. We learned about various constellations as well as how to protect our night sky from all the light pollution. http://www.darksky.org/ is the link the ranger gave to us for more details on things we can do to help have a more beautiful light sky. Oh and did you know that there is a Monopoly Night Sky edition? It looks pretty cool- it even has a star chart in the middle, and there are rovers and telescopes as part of the playing pieces. The ranger progrmas are great- when you visit any National or State Park make a ranger program part of your visit- there are so many different topics to choose from!
As you can see from above we were able to see some pretty cool thing- like deer in our campsite every day, or the mountain sheep (which are not commonly seen- what luck!) as we were leaving the park. The flower is called a Moon lily (or Zion lily or Jimson weed). This is a beautiful but poisonous flower- so don't eat it! And there are pictures of various scenes around the park including the famous Cherckerboard Mesa. On our last day there were hiked to the 3 Emerald Pools. Thank goodness for the overcast sky! Afterwards we went and dipped our feet in the refreshing river- as with the walk in the river the previous day it helped keep the swelling and pain down and was quite relaxing. We also went to the natural history museum which had a few interesting displays as well as a short but enlightening film about Zion NP.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
