More Cathmom poems, prayers, and stories

God is the multiplier of gifts!

CMs,
As I was scrubbing the kitchen floor getting ready for Thanksgiving, I was reminded of what happened several Thanksgivings ago...money is still tight but God has never let us down...
Back then we were a low-ranking Air Force family, and our hearts were bigger than our pocketbook- thank goodness...anyhow, it was a custom to invite single airmen over to celebrate the day with us, otherwise they would end up in the chow hall without family or home-cooked food, a thought that moved us to pity and it was always fun to see who would accept our invitation. The spread was always modest but good.
One particular year I guess we got over-zealous and invited way too many people. I panicked! I said, " Lord, now what do we do? Thanksgiving is in 3 days, our meager little 12 pound turkey will never go around. We need at least another ham, more side dishes and more dessert." We literally did not have another dollar to spend, so I left it in His hands. There was no way I could take back my offer for dinner, so, we had no choice but to trust God to provide.
Well, the next day the phone rang.
Mrs. Hudson?
Yes?
This is so-and-so from the Commissary. We just did our drawing for the $100 Thanksgiving Day shopping spree, and guess what? You won!"
" -----silence, tears.......
" You better get down here in the next hour, we are closing early for the holiday."
You can imagine how fast I found the car keys! Not only did we have
enough to go around, I was able to go to my neighbors and ask them what they were lacking for THEIR dinners too!!! The leftovers were so
abundant, the guests each took plates full home to their dorms to share
with those who had nowhere to go.
I still get choked up recalling this story.
If any of you out there are still wondering where your Thanksgiving
dinner will come from or how you will pay for it, say a prayer and wait
for a miracle.
I was wondering how we would do it this year, when my mother slipped me a
$20 bill at mass yesterday , with a note..." This is for the turkey, I
know how these things add up."
God is so good.
YSIC,

Kelly Hudson

The Boy that loved football

Bob Richards, the former pole-vault champion, shares a moving story
about a skinny young boy who loved football with all his heart:
Practice after practice, he eagerly gave everything he had. But being
half the size of the other boys, he got absolutely nowhere. At all the
games, this hopeful athlete sat on the bench and hardly ever played.
This teenager lived alone with his father, and the two of them had a
very special relationship. Even though the son was always on the bench,
his father was always in the stands cheering.

He never missed a game. This young man was still the smallest of the
class when he entered high school. But his father continued to encourage
him but also made it very clear that he did not have to play football if
he didn't want to. But the young man loved football and decided to hang
in there. He was determined to try his best at every practice, and
perhaps he'd get to play when he became a senior. All through high
school he never missed a practice nor a game, but remained a bench
warmer all four years. His faithful father was always in the stands,
always with words of encouragement for him.

When the young man went to college, he decided to try out for the
football team as a "walk-on". Everyone was sure he could never make the
cut, but he did.   The coach admitted that he kept him on the roster
because he always puts his heart and soul to every practice, and at the
same time, provided the other members with the spirit and hustle they
badly needed.

The news that he had survived the cut thrilled him so much that he
rushed to the nearest phone and called his father. His father shared his
excitement and was sent season tickets for all he college games. This
persistent young athlete never missed practice during his four years at
college, but he never got to play in the game. It was the end of his
senior football season, and as he trotted onto the practice field
shortly before the big play off game, the coach met him with a telegram.
The young man read the telegram and he became deathly silent.

Swallowing hard, he mumbled to the coach, "My father died this morning.
Is it all right if I miss practice today?" The coach put his arm gently
around his shoulder and said, "Take the rest of the week off, son. And
don't even plan to come back to the game on Saturday.

Saturday arrived, and the game was not going well. In the third quarter,
when the team was ten points behind, a silent young man quietly slipped
into the empty locker room and put on his football gear. As he ran onto
the sidelines, the coach and his players were astounded to see their
faithful teammate back so soon.

"Coach, please let me play. I've just got to play today." said the young
man. The coach pretended not to hear him. There was no way he wanted his
worst player in this close playoff game. But the young man persisted,
and finally feeling sorry for the kid, the coach gave in. "All right,"
he said. "You can go in".

Before long, the coach, the players and everyone in the stands could not
believe their eyes. This little unknown, who had never played before was
doing everything right. The opposing team could not stop him. He ran, he
passed, blocked and tackled like a star. His team began to triumph. The
score was soon tied.

In the closing seconds of the game, this kid intercepted a pass and ran
all the way for the winning touchdown. The fans broke loose. His
teammates hoisted him onto their shoulders. Such cheering you never
heard!

Finally, after the stands had emptied and the team had showered and left
the locker room, the coach noticed that the young man was sitting
quietly in the corner all alone. The coach came to him and said, "Kid, I
can't believe it. You were fantastic! Tell me what got into you?
How did you do it?"

He looked at the coach, with tears in his eyes, and said, "Well, you
knew my dad died, but did you know that my dad was blind?' The young man
swallowed hard and forced a smile, "Dad came to all my games, but today
was the first time he could see me play, and I wanted to show him I
could do it!"

An Extra Prayer

When the whole world falls down around you,
and a prayer will see you through,
Say an extra prayer for someone who
may need it more than you....
For who knows what hearts are
breaking in the silence of the Night....
Just that extra prayer you
whisper may help someone see the
Light. Every time you help a stranger
with a extra prayer or two, you are
building secret blessings that will
All come back to you...

by Helen Marino

"It Takes A Village"
by Glenn Conjurske

It take a village (so we're told), to raise a child today
It take a village (we reply), to steal his heart away
To purge old-fashioned do's and don't's, from his enlightened mind
To leave old fashioned Ma and Pa, a hundred years behind

It takes a village, verily, to teach some mother's son
To steal and gamble, smoke and swear, and vandalize for fun.
His mother didn't teach him that! His father? No, not he.
It takes a village to corrupt, a village, verily

It takes a village, this we know, to teach the maidens sweet,
To dress and act, to look and talk, like women of the street.
It takes a village, not a doubt, to teach a maiden mild,
To save the monkeys, owls, and whales, and kill her unborn child.

It takes a village public school, some subtle classroom chats,
To teach the little boys and girls to act like alley cats.
To teach them of the birds and bees, without morality,
To teach them what to do, and how, and tell them they are free.

It takes a village, yes indeed, to brainwash all the youth,
With notions and with fallacies, In place of sense and truth.
Abortion rights! The right to die! The rights of animals!
Creative spelling! Unisex! The rights of criminals!

It takes a village, well we know, to turn their minds away,
To stand for fancied "children rights", and parents rights deny.
To honor human nature less, And trees and rivers more.
To sacrifice to Mother Earth, and Father God ignore.

"It takes a village," so they say, but something more they mean.
United Nations. Washington. The liberal machine.
Society. The "Brave New World." The socialistic scheme.
The global ideology. The New World Order dream!

2 Cor. 2:11 "We are not ignorant of his devices"

"The Most Important Person...."

on earth is a mother. She cannot claim the honor
of having built Notre Dame Cathedral. She need
not. She has built something more magnificent
than any cathedral - a dwelling for an immortal
soul, the tiny perfection of her baby's body... The
angels have not been blessed with such a grace.
They cannot share in God's creative miracle to
bring new saints to Heaven. Only a human mother
can. Mothers are closer to God the Creator than
any other creature; God joins forces with mothers in
performing this act of creation.... What on God's
good earth is more glorious than this: to be a mother?

--Joseph Cardinal Mindszenty

Prayer when in a bad mood

Lord, I am in a shocking state of mind. I feel as if I ought not to be
praying at all:
I am too disgruntled for recollection and generosity and good resolutions
and all those things that are necessary to Your service. But it is better
to try to pray now than merely to give in and indulge my poisonous humor.
Lord, show me how to deal with myself when rebellion and bitterness well up
in me and make life seem far more of a burden than it is. Show me that the
remedy lies in submission to You and not in wallowing in self. Amen.

A wonderful story...and a great lesson

It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our
Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has
peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so.

It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas -- oh, not
the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it
like overspending, the frantic running around at the last minute to get
a tiefor Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma -- the gifts
given indesperation because you couldn't think of anything else.

Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual
shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for
Mike.
The inspiration came in an unusual way. Our son Kevin, who was 12 that
year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended; and
shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team
sponsored by an inner-city church, mostly black. These youngsters,
dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing
holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy
blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.
As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was
wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a
wrestler's ears. it was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well,
we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of
their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in histatters with false
bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat.

Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of them
could have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing
like this could take the heart right out of them." Mike loved kids -- all kids --
and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball and
lacrosse.

That's when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, I went to a
local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling
headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On
Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike
what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest
thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years.

For each Christmas, I followed the tradition -- one year sending a
group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year
a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the
week before Christmas, and on and on. The envelope became the highlight of
our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and
our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed
anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents.
As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but
the envelope never lost its allure.

The story doesn't end there. You see, we lost Mike last year due to
dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in
grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an
envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more.
Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope
on the tree for their dad.

The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our
grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation
watching as their fathers take down the envelope...

Parents' Prayer for Their Children

O God, the Father of mankind, who hast given unto me these my children, and committed them to my charge to bring them up for Thee, and to prepare them for eternal life: help me with Thy heavenly grace, that I may be able to fulfil this most sacred duty and stewardship. Teach me both what to give and what to withhold; when to reprove and when to forbear; make me to be gentle, yet firm; considerate and watchful; and deliver me equally from the weakness of indulgence, and the excess of severity; and grant that, both by word and example, I may be careful to lead them in the ways of wisdom and true piety, so that at last I may, with them, be admitted to the unspeakable joys of our true home in heaven, in the company of the blessed Angels and Saints. Amen.

Journey

We convince ourselves that life will be better when we are
married, have a baby, then another. Then we are frustrated that the
kids aren't old enough and we will be more content when they are.
After that we're frustrated that we have teenagers to deal with.
We will certainly be happy when they are out of that stage.
We tell ourselves that our life will be complete when our spouse
gets his or her act together, when we get a nicer car, are able to go
on a nice vacation, when we retire.

The truth is that there is no better time than now to be happy. If
not now, when? Your life will always be filled with challenges. It's
best to admit this to yourself and decide to be happy anyway.

Treasure every moment you have. And treasure it more because you
shared it with someone special, special enough to spend your time. .
. and remember that time waits for no one.

So stop waiting until you finish school, until you go back to
school, until you lose ten pounds, until you gain ten pounds, until
you have kids, until your kids leave your house, until you start
work,
until you retire, until you get married, until you get divorced,
until Friday night, until Sunday morning, until you get a new car
or home, until your new car or home is paid off, until spring, until
fall, until winter, until summer, until you are off welfare, until the
first or fifteenth, until your song comes on, until you have had a
drink,
until you have sobered up, until you die, until you are born again
to decide that there is no better time than right now to be happy. ..

Happiness is a journey, not a destination.
Work like you don't need money
Love like you have never been hurt

The Wallet

As I walked home one freezing day, I stumbled on a wallet someone had lost in the street. I picked it up and looked inside to find some identification so I could call the owner. But the wallet contained only three dollars and a crumpled letter that looked as if it had been in there for years.
The envelope was worn and the only thing that was legible on it was the return address. I started to open the letter, hoping to find some clue. Then I saw the dateline--1924. The letter had been written almost sixty years ago.

It was written in a beautiful feminine handwriting on powder blue stationery with a little flower in the left-hand corner. It was a "Dear John" letter that told the recipient, whose name appeared to be Michael, that the writer could not see him any more because her mother forbade it. Even so, she wrote that she would always love him. It was signed, Hannah.

It was a beautiful letter, but there was no way except for the name Michael, that the owner could be identified. Maybe if I called information, the operator could find a phone listing for the address on the envelope.
"Operator," I began, "this is an unusual request. I'm trying to find the owner of a wallet that I found. Is there anyway you can tell me if there is a phone number for an address that was on an envelope in the wallet?"
She suggested I speak with her supervisor, who hesitated for a moment then said, "Well, there is a phone listing at that address, but I can't give you the number." She said, as a courtesy, she would call that number, explain my story and would ask them if they wanted her to connect me. I waited a few minutes and then she was back on the line. "I have a party who will speak with you."

I asked the woman on the other end of the line if she knew anyone by the name of Hannah. She gasped, "Oh! We bought this house from a family who had a daughter named Hannah. But that was 30 years ago!"
"Would you know where that family could be located now?" I asked.
"I remember that Hannah had to place her mother in a nursing home some years ago," the woman said. "Maybe if you got in touch with them they might be able to track down the daughter."
She gave me the name of the nursing home and I called the number. They told me the old lady had passed away some years ago but they did have a phone number for where they thought the daughter might be living.
I thanked them and phoned. The woman who answered explained that Hannah herself was now living in a nursing home.

This whole thing was stupid, I thought to myself. Why was I making such a big deal over finding the owner of a wallet that had only three dollars and a letter that was almost 60 years old?
Nevertheless, I called the nursing home in which Hannah was supposed to be living and the man who answered the phone told me, "Yes, Hannah is staying with us. "
Even though it was already 10 p.m., I asked if I could come by to see her. "Well," he said hesitatingly, "if you want to take a chance, she might be in the day room watching television."
I thanked him and drove over to the nursing home. The night nurse and a guard greeted me at the door. We went up to the third floor of the large building. In the day room, the nurse introduced me to Hannah. She was a sweet, silver-haired old timer with a warm smile and a twinkle in her eye.

I told her about finding the wallet and showed her the letter. The second she saw the powder blue envelope with that little flower on the left, she took a deep breath and said, "Young man, this letter was the last contact I ever had with Michael." She looked away for a moment deep in thought and then said softly, "I loved him very much. But I was only 16 at the time and my mother felt I was too young. Oh, he was so handsome. He looked like Sean Connery, the actor." "Yes," she continued. "Michael Goldstein was a wonderful person. If you should find him, tell him I think of him often. And," she hesitated for a moment, almost biting her lip, "tell him I still love him. You know," she said smiling as tears began to well up in her eyes, "I never did marry. I guess no one ever matched up to Michael. . ." I thanked Hannah and said goodbye.

I took the elevator to the first floor and as I stood by the door, the guard there asked, "Was the old lady able to help you?"I told him she had given me a lead. "At least I have a last name. But I think I'll let it go for a while. I spent almost the whole day trying to find the owner of this wallet."
I had taken out the wallet, which was a simple brown leather case with red lacing on the side. When the guard saw it, he said, "Hey, wait a minute! That's Mr. Goldstein's wallet. I'd know it anywhere with that bright red lacing. He's always losing that wallet. I must have found it in the halls at least three times."
"Who's Mr. Goldstein?" I asked as my hand began to shake.
"He's one of the old timers on the 8th floor. That's Mike Goldstein's wallet for sure. He must have lost it on one of his walks."

I thanked the guard and quickly ran back to the nurse's office. I told her what the guard had said. We went back to the elevator and got on. I prayed that Mr. Goldstein would be up.On the eighth floor, the floor nurse said, "I think he's still in the day room. He likes to read at night. He's a darling old man."We went to the only room that had any lights on and there was a man reading a book. The nurse went over to him and asked if he had lost his wallet. Mr. Goldstein looked up with surprise, put his hand in his back pocket and said, "Oh, it is missing!"
"This kind gentleman found a wallet and we wondered if it could be yours?"
I handed Mr. Goldstein the wallet and the second he saw it, he smiled with relief and said, "Yes, that's it! It must have dropped out of my pocket this afternoon. I want to give you a reward." "No, thank you," I said. "But I have to tell you something. I read the letter in the hope of finding out who owned the wallet."The smile on his face suddenly disappeared. "You read that letter?""Not only did I read it, I think I know where Hannah is."
He suddenly grew pale. "Hannah? You know where she is? How is she? Is she still as pretty as she was? Please, please tell me," he begged. "She's fine...just as pretty as when you knew her." I said softly.
The old man smiled with anticipation and asked, "Could you tell me where she is? I want to call her tomorrow." He grabbed my hand and said, "You know something, mister, I was so in love with that girl that when that letter came, my life literally ended. I never married. I guess I've always loved her. " "Michael," I said, "Come with me."
We took the elevator down to the third floor. The hallways were darkened and only one or two little night-lights lit our way to the day room where Hannah was sitting alone watching the television. The nurse walked over to her.
"Hannah," she said softly, pointing to Michael, who was waiting with me in the doorway. "Do you know this man?" She adjusted her glasses, looked for a moment, but didn't say a word. Michael said softly, almost in a whisper, "Hannah, it's Michael. Do you remember me?" She gasped, "Michael! I don't believe it! Michael! It's you! My Michael!" He walked slowly towards her and they embraced. The nurse and I left with tears streaming down our faces. "See," I said. "See how the Good Lord works! If it's meant to be, it will be."

About three weeks later I got a call at my office from the nursing home. "Can you break away on Sunday to attend a wedding? Michael and Hannah are going to tie the knot!"

It was a beautiful wedding with all the people at the nursing home dressed up to join in the celebration. Hannah wore a light beige dress and looked beautiful. Michael wore a dark blue suit and stood tall. They made me their best man.
The hospital gave them their own room and if you ever wanted to see a 76-year-old bride and a 79-year-old groom acting like two teenagers, you had to see this couple.

A perfect ending for a love affair that had lasted nearly 60 years.

The Night Before Christmas for Moms

It was the night before Christmas, when all thru the abode
Only one creature was stirring, and she was cleaning the
commode.
The children were finally sleeping, all snug in their
beds,
While visions of Nintendo 64 and Barbie, flipped through
their heads.
The dad was snoring in front of the TV,
With a half-constructed bicycle on his knee.
So only the mom heard the reindeer hooves clatter,
Which made her sigh, "Now what's the matter?"
With toilet bowl brush still clutched in her hand,
She descended the stairs, and saw the old man.
He was covered with ashes and soot, which fell with a
shrug. "Oh great," muttered the mom, "Now I have to clean the
rug."
"Ho-ho-ho!" cried Santa, "I'm glad you're awake."
"Your gift was especially difficult to make."
"Thanks, Santa, but all I want is some time alone."
"Exactly!" he chuckled, "I've made you a clone."
"A clone?" she asked, "What good is that?
Run along, Santa, I've no time for chit-chat."
The mother's twin. Same hair, same eyes,
She'll cook, she'll dust.  She also is wise.
She'll mop every mess with a wink and a snap
You can watch the soaps & perhaps take a nap
"My dream come true! "I'll read., I'll shop!
I'll talk on the phone & never stop.
From the room above, the youngest began to fret.
"Mommy?! I'm scared, I'm cold and I 'm wet."
The clone replied, "I'm coming, sweetheart."
"Hey," the mom smiled, "She knows her part."
The clone changed the small one, and hummed a tune,
as she bundled the child, in a blanket cocoon.
"You the best mommy ever.  I really love you."
The clone smiled and sighed, "I love you, too."
The mom frowned and said, "Sorry, Santa, no deal."
That's my child's love, she's trying to steal."
Smiling wisely Santa said, "To me it is clear, "
Only one loving mother, is needed here."
The mom kissed her child, and tucked her into bed.
"Thank you, Santa,  for clearing my head.
I sometimes forget, it won't be very long,
When they'll be too old, for my cradle-song."
The clock on the mantle began to chime.
Santa whispered to the clone, "It works every time."
With the clone by his side Santa said, "Goodnight.
Merry Christmas, Mom, You'll be all right."

Another parent's prayer

O Heavenly Father, I commend my children to Thy care. Be Thou their God and Father; and mercifully supply whatever is lacking in me through frailty or negligence. Strengthen them to overcome the corruptions of the world, whether from within or without; and deliver them from the secret snares of the enemy. Pour Thy grace into their hearts, and strengthen and multiply in them the gifts of Thy Holy Spirit, that they may daily grow in grace and in knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ ; and so, faithfully serving Thee here, may come to rejoice in Thy presence hereafter. Amen.

"The Weaver"

My life is but a weaving
Between my Lord and me.
I cannot choose the colors;
He worketh steadily.

Often times he weaveth sorrow,
An I in foolish pride
Forget he sees the upper,
And I the underside.

Not 'til the loom is silent
and the shuttles cease to fly,
Shall God unroll the canvas
and explain the reason why.

The dark threads are as needful
In the Weaver's skillful hand,
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.

Barney

A four-year-old girl was at the pediatrician's office for a check-up. As the doctor looked into her ears with an otoscope, he asked, "Do you think I'll find Big Bird in here?" The little girl stayed silent.
Next, the doctor took a tongue depressor and looked down her throat. He asked, "Do you think I'll find the Cookie Monster down there?" Again, the little girl was silent.

Then the doctor put a stethoscope to her chest. As he listened to her heart beat, he asked, "Do you think I'll hear Barney in here?" "Oh, no!" the little girl replied. "Jesus is in my heart. Barney's on my underpants."

The Most Caring Child

Author and lecturer Leo Buscaglia once talked about a contest he was asked to judge. The purpose of the contest was to find the most caring child. The winner was a four-year-old child whose next-door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife. Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman's yard, climbed onto his lap and just sat there. When his mother asked him what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy said, "Nothing, I just helped him cry."

14 days of Homeschooling

TO THE TUNE OF "THE 12 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS"

On the first day of home school my neighbor said to me, "Can you home
school legally?"

On the second day of home school my neighbor said to me, "Are they
socialized, can you home school legally?"

On the third day of home school my neighbor said to me, "Do you give them
tests, are they socialized, can you home school legally?"

On the fourth day of home school my neighbor said to me, "What aboutP.E.,
do you give them tests, are they socialized, can you home school legally?"

On the fifth day of home school my neighbor said to me, "YOU ARE SO
STRANGE! What about P.E., do you give them tests, are they socialized, can you
home school legally?"

On the Sixth day of home school my neighbor said to me, "How long will
you home school, YOU ARE S0 STRANGE, what about P.E. , do you give them
tests, are they socialized, can you home school legally?"

On the seventh day of home school my neighbor said to me, "Look at what
they're missing, how long will you home school, YOU ARE SO STRANGE!, what
about P.E., do you give them tests, are they socialized, do you home
school legally?"

On the eighth day of home school my neighbor said to me, "Why do you do
this, look at what they're missing, how long will you home school, YOU ARE SO
STRANGE, what about P.E. do you give them tests, are they socialized, do
you home school legally?"

On the Ninth day of home school my neighbor said to me, "They'll miss the
prom, why do you do this, look at what they're missing, how long will you
home school, YOU ARE SO STRANGE!, what about P.E. do you give them tests, are
they socialized, do you home school legally?"

On the tenth day of home school my neighbor said to me, "What about
graduation, they'll miss the prom, why do you do this, look at what
they're missing, how long will you home school, YOU ARE SO STRANGE!, what about
P.E., do you give them tests, are they socialized, can you home school
legally?"

On the eleventh day of home school my neighbor said to me, "I could never
do that, what about graduation ,they'll miss the prom, why do you do this,
look at what they're missing, how long will you homeschool, YOU ARE SO
STRANGE, what about P.E. do you give them tests, are they socialized, can you
homeschool legally?"
college, I could never do that, what about graduation, they'll miss the
prom, why do you do this, look at what they're missing, how long will you
homeschool, YOU ARE SO STRANGE, What about PE, do you give them tests,
are they socialized, can you homeschool legally?"

On the thirteenth day of homeschool I thoughtfully replied: "They Can go
to college, yes you can do this, they can have graduation, we don't like the
prom, we do it cuz we like it, they are missing nothing, we'll homeschool
forever, WE ARE NOT STRANGE!, We give them p.e., and we give them tests,
they are socialized, AND WE HOMESCHOOL LEGALLY!

ON the 14th day of homeschool my neighbor said to me, "How can I get
Started, why didn't you tell me, where do I buy curriculum, when is the next
conference, WILL PEOPLE THINK WE'RE STRANGE? I think we can do this, if
you will help us, can we join P.E. and we'll home school legally."

Two Boys

A couple had two little boys, ages 8 and 10, who were excessively mischievous. The two were always getting into trouble and their parents could be assured that if any mischief occurred in their town their two
young sons were in some way involved. The parents were at their wits end
as to what to do about their sons' behavior.

The mother had heard that a clergyman in town had been successful in
disciplining children in the past, so she asked her husband if he thought
they should send the boys to speak with the clergyman. The husband said,
"We might as well. We need to do something before I really lose my temper!"

The clergyman agreed to speak with the boys, but asked to see them
individually. The 8-year-old went to meet with him first. The clergyman
sat the boy down and asked him sternly, "Where is God?"

The boy made no response, so the clergyman repeated the question in an
even sterner tone, "Where is God?" Again the boy made no attempt to
answer, so the clergyman raised his voice even more and shook his finger
in the boy's face, "WHERE IS GOD?"

At that the boy bolted from the room and ran directly home slamming
himself in his closet. His older brother followed him into the closet and said,
"What happened?"

The younger brother replied, "We are in BIG trouble this time. God is
missing and they think we did it!"

THE ART COLLECTOR'S SON

Years ago, there was a very wealthy man who, with his devoted young
son,shared a passion for art collecting. Together they traveled 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.

>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, a
season that he and his son had so 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 hand. He introduced
himself to the 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 solider told of how the man's son had
told everyone of his, not to mention his father's, love of fine art. "I'm an
artist," said the soldier, "and 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. A genius, the painting featured the young man's face in striking
detail.Overcome with emotion, the man thanked the solider, 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 of paintings. And then the 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 his son was no longer with him, the boy's life 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 stilled his caring heart. As the stories of
his son's gallantry continued to reach him, fatherly pride and satisfaction began
to ease the 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 clamored. He told his neighbors it was the greatest gifthe
had ever received.

The following spring, the old man became ill and passed away. The art
world was in anticipation! Unmindful of the story of the man's only son, but
in his honor, those paintings would be sold at an auction. According to the
will of the old man, all of the art works would be auctioned on Christmas day,
the day he had received his 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.
The room was silent. "Who will open the bidding with $100?" he asked.
Minutes passed. No one spoke. From the back of the room came, "Who
cares about that painting? It's just a picture of his son. Let's forget it and go
on to the good stuff." More voices echoed in agreement. "No, we have to sell
this one first," replied the autioneer. "Now, who will take the son?"
Finally, a friend of the old man spoke, "Will you take ten dollars for
the painting? That's all I have. I knew the boy, so I'd like to have it."
"I have ten dollars. Will anyone go higher?" called 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 these treasures!"

The auctioneer looked at the audience and announced 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 of these paintings? There are millions of
dollars of art here! I demand that you explain what's going on here!"

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

Just as those art collectors discovered on that Christmas day, the
message is still the same: the love of a Father, 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!

Your Mother
The Catholic church's air conditioning broke down, so they hired a
man to crawl around the ducts and try to figure out what was wrong.

As he peeked down through one of the vents in the sanctuary, he saw
little old Mrs. Murphy kneeling by the altar, apparently saying her
Rosary. Since the man was a fundamental Baptist he thought it would
be funny to try to mess with her mind. In his best authoritative
voice he said, "This is baby Jesus, your prayers will be answered."
The little old lady didn't even blink, just kept on saying her
prayers.

The man decided maybe she didn't hear so he tried again. "This is
baby Jesus, the Son or God! Your prayers will be answered!" Again she
didn't react at all.

Mustering up a big breath of air he decided to try again. "THIS IS
JESUS CHRIST, THE SON OF GOD! YOUR PRAYERS WILL BE ANSWERED!"
The lady looked up and said, "BE QUIET, I'M TALKING TO YOUR MOTHER!"

ROCK REMOVAL

A little boy was spending his Saturday
morning playing in his sandbox. He had with
him his box of cars and trucks, his plastic
pail, and a shiny, red plastic shovel. In the
process of creating roads and tunnels in the
soft sand, he discovered a large rock in the
middle of the sandbox.

The lad dug around the rock, managing to
dislodge it from the dirt. With no little bit
of struggle, he pushed and nudged the rock
across the sandbox by using his feet. (He was
a very small boy and the rock was very huge.)
When the boy got the rock to the edge of the
sandbox, however, he found that he couldn't
roll it up and over the little wall.

Determined, the little boy shoved, pushed,
and pried, but every time he thought he had made some progress, the rock
tipped and then
fell back into the sandbox.

The little boy grunted, struggled, pushed,
shoved-but his only reward was to have the
rock roll back, smashing his chubby fingers.

Finally he burst into tears of frustration.
All this time the boy's father watched from
his living room window as the drama unfolded.
At the moment the tears fell, a large shadow
fell across the boy and the sandbox.
It was the boy's father.

Gently but firmly he said,
"Son, why didn't you use all the strength
that you had available?

Defeated, the boy sobbed back,
"But I did, Daddy, I did! I used all the
strength that I had!

"No, son," corrected the father kindly.
"You didn't use all the strength you had.
You didn't ask me."

With that the father reached down,
picked up the rock,
and removed it from the sandbox.

Sound familiar???
We all have rocks to move,
we need to go directly to our Father
to get the job done!!

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