I was raised by my mother alone...and didn't meet my father until I was close to my teen years...Which to me was the best choice my mother could have ever made...for my father was not a very good man...He was a cheater and an abuser...
I did however get to spend some time with him in my younger teen years...I met all the half brother's and sisters...They always seem to try to push it all on me as being my family...my siblings...but..I never really felt as though they were...My family is the ones I was raised with..the ones who were and are there for me...
Being young I never really thought of all those things...but as I got older and really understood all that happened...I sat with him one day and asked him questions...of WHY???...and no..the answers were not sufficient...all he did was make me realize how lucky I was to be raised without him...
I don't hate nor do I love him...which brings me to my mixed emotions...I received a phone call today...He is in the hospital with congestive heart failure in ICU...they say it doesn't look good...Of course first reactions was to jump up and get ready and go see him...but..something inside of me keeps holding me back...I don't want to...maybe that sounds cruel...or even worst..but..my whole life has been directed by what others thought I should do..not what I really feel inside...and who is left with that feeling of anger for doing something I didn't want to...Me!!!...
For me to feel this way...I knew..what I had to do...and that was to follow my own heart this time...I refuse to stand by his side and tell him that I love him when I know I don't...I just refuse to do it...No more lies...no more betraying myself....He doesn't need me to forgive him...he needs God's forgivness..and I pray that he has gotten things right with the Lord before he goes..
Maybe...I will be sorry later...I don't know..but..as for now...I know what is right for me...and I am at peace knowing I made a decision from my heart and not from what others think I should do...and that alone in itself can't be bad...
The baggy yellow shirt had long sleeves, four extra-large pockets trimmed in black thread and snaps up the front. It was faded from years of wear, but still in decent shape. I found it in 1963 when I was home from college on Christmas break, rummaging through bags of clothes Mom intended to give away. "You're not taking that old thing, are you?" Mom said when she saw me packing the yellow shirt. "I wore that when I was pregnant with your brother in 1954!"
"It's just the thing to wear over my clothes during art class, Mom. Thanks!" I slipped it into my suitcase before she could object. The yellow shirt became part of my college wardrobe. I loved it. After graduation, I wore the shirt the day I moved into my new apartment and on Saturday mornings when I cleaned.
The next year, I married. When I became pregnant, I wore the yellow shirt during big-bellie days. I missed Mom and the rest of my family, since we were in Colorado and they were in Illinois. But that shirt helped. I smiled remembering that Mother had worn it when she was pregnant, 15 years earlier.
That Christmas, mindful of the warm feelings the shirt had given me, I patched one elbow, wrapped it in holiday paper and sent it to Mom. When Mom wrote to thank me for her "real" gifts, she said the yellow shirt was lovely. She never mentioned it again.
The next year my husband, daughter and I stopped at Mom and Dad's to pick up some furniture. Days later, when we uncrated the kitchen table, I noticed something yellow taped to its bottom. The shirt!
And so the pattern was set.
On our next visit home, I secretly placed the shirt under Mom and Dad's mattress. I don't know how long it took for her to find it, but almost two years passed before I discovered it under the base of our living-room floor lamp. The yellow shirt was just what I needed now while refinishing furniture. The walnut stains added character.
In 1975 my husband and I divorced. With my three children, I prepared to move back to Illinois. As I packed, a deep depression overtook me. I wondered if I could make it on my own. I wondered if I would find a job. I paged through the Bible, looking for comfort. In Ephesians, I read, "So use every piece of God's armor to resist the enemy whenever he attacks, and when it is all over, you will be standing up."
I tried to picture myself wearing God's armor, but all I saw was the stained yellow shirt. Slowly, it dawned on me. Wasn't my mother's love a piece of God's armor? My courage was renewed.
Unpacking in our new home, I knew I had to get the shirt back to Mother. The next time I visited her, I tucked it in her bottom dresser drawer.
Meanwhile, I found a good job at a radio station. A year later I discovered the yellow shirt hidden in a rag bag in my cleaning closet.
Something new had been added. Embroidered in bright green across the breast pocket were the words "I BELONG TO PAT."
Not to be outdone, I got out my own embroidery materials and added an apostrophe and seven more letters. Now the shirt proudly proclaimed, "I BELONG TO PAT'S MOTHER." But I didn't stop there. I zig-zagged all the frayed seams, then had a friend mail the shirt in a fancy box to Mom from Arlington, VA. We enclosed an official looking letter from, "The institute for the Destitute," announcing that she was the recipient of an award for good deeds. I would have given anything to see Mom's face when she opened the box. But, of course, she never mentioned it.
Two years later, in 1978, I remarried. The day of our wedding, Harold and I put our car in a friend's garage to avoid practical jokers. After the wedding, while my husband drove us to our honeymoon suite, I reached for a pillow in the car to rest my head. It felt lumpy. I unzipped the case and found, wrapped in wedding paper, the yellow shirt. Inside a pocket was a note: "Read John 14:27-29. I love you both, Mother."
That night I paged through the Bible in a hotel room and found the verses: "I am leaving you with a gift: peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give isn't fragile like the peace the world gives. So don't be troubled or afraid. Remember what I told you: I am going way, but I will come back to you again. If you really love me, you will be very happy for me, for now I can go to the Father, who is greater than I am. I have told you these things before they happen so that when they do, you will believe in me."
The shirt was Mother's final gift. She had known for three months that she had terminal Lou Gehrig's disease. Mother died the following year at age 57.
I was tempted to send the yellow shirt with her to her grave. But I'm glad I didn't, because it is a vivid reminder of the love-filled game she and I played for 16 years. Besides, my older daughter is in college now, majoring in art. And every art student needs a baggy yellow shirt with big pockets.
Boudreaux, the smoothest-talking Cajun in theLouisiana National Guard, got called up to activeduty. Boudreaux's first assignment was to a militaryinduction center, and because he was a good talker,was assigned the duty of advising new recruits aboutgovernment benefits, especially the GI insurance towhich they were entitled.
Before long, the Captain in charge of the inductioncenter began noticing that Boudreaux was getting a 99%signup rate for the more expensive supplemental formof GI insurance. This was odd, because it would costthese low-income recruits $30 per month more for thehigher coverage, compared to what the government wasalready providing at no charge.
The Captain decided that he would not ask Boudreauxdirectly about his selling techniques, but instead he would sit in the back of the room at the next briefingand observe Boudreaux's sales pitch.
Boudreaux stood up before the latest group ofinductees and said, "If you got da normal GIinshoranse an' you go to Iraq an' git yoself kilt, dagovernmen' gonna pay you benefishery $20,000. If youtake out da supplemental inshoranse, which cost youonly t'irty dolla a mont, den da governmen' gotta payyou benefishery $200,000." "Now," Boudreauxconcluded, "which bunch you tink dey gonna send taIraq first?"
Here is another that I thought was beautiful..Again..if I am reposting sorry..and I'm not sure if I got it in an email or I may have just gotten from one of you..sorry guys..just thought it was a keeper also..
The Heart
"Tomorrow morning," the surgeon began, "I'll open up your heart..."
"You'll find Jesus there," the boy interrupted.
The surgeon looked up, annoyed "I'll cut your heart open," he continued, to see how much damage has been done..."
"But when you open up my heart, you'll find Jesus in there," said the boy.
The surgeon looked to the parents, who sat quietly. "When I see how much damage has been done, I'll sew your heart and chest back up, and I'll plan what to do next."
"But you'll find Jesus in my heart. the Bible says He lives there. The hymns all say He lives there. You'll find Him in my Heart."
The surgeon had had enough. "I'll tell you what I'll find in your heart. I'll find damaged muscle, low blood supply, and weakened vessels. And I'll find out if I can make you well."
"You'll find Jesus there too. He lives there."
The surgeon left.
The surgeon sat in his office, recording his notes from the surgery. "...damaged aorta, damaged pulmonary vein, widespread muscle degeneration. No hope for transplant, no hope for cure. Therapy: painkillers and bed rest. Prognosis: here he paused, "death within one year."
He stopped the recorder, but there was more to be said. "Why?" he asked aloud. "Why did You do this? You've put him here; You've put him in this pain; and You've cursed him to an early death. Why?"
The Lord answered and said, "The boy, my lamb, was not meant for your flock for long, for he is part of My flock, and will forever be. Here, in My flock, he will feel no pain, and will be comforted as you cannot imagine.
His parents will one day join him here, and they will know peace, and My flock will continue to grow."
The surgeon's tears were hot, but his anger was hotter. "You created that boy, and You created that heart. He'll be dead in months. Why?"
The Lord answered, " The boy, My lamb, shall return to My flock, for He has done his duty; I did not put My lamb with your flock to lose him, but to retrieve another lost lamb."
The surgeon wept...
The surgeon sat beside the boy's bed; the boy's parents sat across from him. The boy awoke and whispered, "Did you cut open my heart?"
"Yes," said the surgeon.
"What did you find?" asked the boy.
"I found Jesus there," said the surgeon.
Author Unknown-Celebrate Jesus in 2007
If you aren't' ashamed to do this, please follow the directions listed below:
Jesus said, "If you are ashamed of me, I will be ashamed of you before my Father."
I AM NOT ASHAMED
"Yes, I do Love God. He is my source of existence and Savior. He keeps me functioning each and everyday. Without Him, I will be nothing. Without him, I am nothing, but with Him I can do all things through Christ that strengthens me."(Phil4:13)
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