Nice Stuff Thread

[RESORT2ME]

It took off elsewhere. Who all is in favor of one starting HERE?

[RESORT2ME]

This has been posted before, somewhere, but just now, before Thanksgiving Day I thought it worthwhile to post it again.

Maybe in some small way this will make you pause and give thanks for what you have and for the loves of your life.
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Daddy's Poem


Her hair was up in a ponytail,

her favorite dress tied with a bow.

Today was Daddy's Day at school,

and she couldn't wait to go.


But her mommy tried to tell her,

that she probably should stay home.

Why the kids might not understand,

if she went to school alone.


But she was not afraid;

she knew just what to say.

What to tell her classmates

of why he wasn't there today.


But still her mother worried,

for her to face this day alone.

And that was why once again,

she tried to keep her daughter home.

But the little girl went to school

eager to tell them all.

About a dad she never sees

a dad who never calls.


There were daddies along the wall in back,

for everyone to meet.

Children squirming impatiently,

anxious in their seats


One by one the teacher called

a student from the class.

To introduce their daddy,

as seconds slowly passed.


At last the teacher called her name,

every child turned to stare.

Each of them was searching,

a man who wasn't there.


"Where's her daddy at?"

she heard a boy call out.

"She probably doesn't have one,"

another student dared to shout.


And from somewhere near the back,

she heard a daddy say,

"Looks like another deadbeat dad,

too busy to waste his day."


The words did not offend her,

as she smiled up at her Mom.

And looked back at her teacher,

who told her to go on.

And with hands behind her back,

slowly she began to speak.

And out from the mouth of a child,

came words incredibly unique.


"My Daddy couldn't be here,

because he lives so far away.

But I know he wishes he could be,

since this is such a special day.

And though you cannot meet him,

I wanted you to know.

All about my daddy,

and how much he loves me so.


He loved to tell me stories

he taught me to ride my bike.

He surprised me with pink roses,

and taught me to fly a kite.


We used to share fudge sundaes,

and ice cream in a cone.

And though you cannot see him.

I'm not standing here alone.


"Cause my daddy's always with me,

even though we are apart

I know because he told me,

he'll forever be in my heart"


With that, her little hand reached up,

and lay across her chest.

Feeling her own heartbeat,

beneath her favorite dress.


And from somewhere here in the crowd of dads,

her mother stood in tears.

Proudly watching her daughter,

who was wise beyond her years.


For she stood up for the love

of a man not in her life.

Doing what was best for her,

doing what was right.


And when she dropped her hand back down,

staring straight into the crowd.

She finished with a voice so soft,

but its message clear and loud.


"I love my daddy very much,

he's my shining star.

And if he could, he'd be here,

but heaven's just too far

You see he was a policeman

and just died in the past few years

When airplanes hit the towers

and taught Americans to fear.


But sometimes when I close my eyes,

it's like he never went away."

And then she closed her eyes,

and saw him there that day.

And to her mother’s amazement,

she witnessed with surprise.

A room full of daddies and children,

all starting to close their eyes.


Who knows what they saw before them,

who knows what they felt inside.

Perhaps for merely a second,

they saw him at her side.

"I know you're with me Daddy,"

to the silence she called out.

And what happened next made believers,

of those once filled with doubt.


Not one in that room could explain it,

for each of their eyes had been closed.

But there on the desk beside her,

was a fragrant long-stemmed pink rose.


And a child was blessed, if only for a moment,

by the love of her shining star.

And given the gift of believing,

that heaven is never too far.



Take the time...to live and love!
Until eternity. God bless

[RESORT2ME]

I walked into the grocery store not particularly interested in buying groceries. I wasn't hungry.

The pain of losing my husband of 70 years was still too raw.

And this grocery store held so many sweet memories.

He often came with me and almost every time he'd pretend to go off and look for something special. I knew what he was up to. I'd always spot him walking down the aisle with the three yellow roses in his hands. He knew I loved yellow roses.

With a heart filled with grief, I only wanted to buy my few items and leave, but even grocery shopping was different since he had passed on. Shopping for one took time, a little more thought than it had for two.

Standing by the meat, I searched for the perfect small steak and remembered how he had loved his steak.

Suddenly a woman came beside me. She was blonde, slim and lovely in a soft green pantsuit. I watched as she picked up a large pack of T-bones, dropped them in her basket, hesitated, and then put them back.. She turned to go and once again reached for the pack of steaks. She saw me watching her and she smiled. "My husband loves T-bones, but honestly, at these prices, I don't know."

I swallowed the emotion down my throat and met her pale blue eyes. "My husband passed away eight days ago," I told her. Glancing at the package in her hands, I fought to control the tremble in my voice. "Buy him the steaks. And cherish every moment you have together."

She shook her head and I saw the emotion in her eyes as she placed the package in her basket and wheeled away.

I turned and pushed my cart across the length of the store to the dairy products. There I stood, trying to decide which size milk I should buy. Quart, I finally decided and moved on to the ice cream. If nothing else, I could always fix myself an ice cream cone. I placed the ice cream in my cart and looked down the aisle toward the front.

I saw first the green suit, and then recognized the pretty lady coming towards me. In her arms she carried a package. On her face was the brightest smile I had ever seen. I would swear a soft halo encircled her blonde hair as she kept walking toward me, her eyes holding mine. As she came closer, I saw what she held and tears began misting in my eyes.

"These are for you," she said and placed three beautiful long stemmed yellow roses in my arms. "When you go through the line, they will know these are paid for..." She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek, then smiled again.

I wanted to tell her what she'd done, what the roses meant, but still unable to speak, I watched as she walked away as tears clouded my vision.

I looked down at the beautiful roses nestled in the green tissue wrapping and found it almost unreal. How did she know? Suddenly the answer seemed so clear. I wasn't alone.

Oh, you haven't forgotten me, have you? I whispered, with tears in my eyes. He was still with me, and she was his angel.

Every day be thankful for what you have and who you are!

[RESORT2ME]

Even though I clutch my blanket and growl when the alarm rings. Thank you, Lord, that I can hear. There are many who are deaf.

Even though I keep my eyes closed against the morning light as long as possible. Thank you, Lord, that I can see. Many are blind.

Even though I huddle in my bed and put off rising. Thank you, Lord, that I have the strength to rise. There are many who are bedridden.

Even though the first hour of my day is hectic, when socks are lost, toast is burned and tempers are short, my children are so loud. Thank you Lord, for my family. There are many who are lonely.

Even though our breakfast table never looks like the pictures in magazines and the menu is at times unbalanced. Thank you, Lord, for the food we have. There are many who are hungry.

Even though the routine of my job often is monotonous. Thank you Lord, for the opportunity to work. There are many who have no job.

Even though I grumble and bemoan my fate from day to day and wish my circumstances were not so modest. Thank you Lord, for life.

Pass this on to the friends you know. It might help a bit to make this world a better place to live!

Right?

[RESORT2ME]

Are you aware that if we died tomorrow, the company that we are working for could easily replace us in a matter of days. . . But the family we left behind will feel the loss for the rest of their lives. Come to think of it, we pour ourselves more into work than into our own family, an unwise investment indeed, don't you think?

[RESORT2ME]

The Sandpiper by Robert Peterson


She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to close in on me. She was building a sandcastle or something and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.

"Hello," she said.

I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.

"I'm building," she said.

"I see that. What is it?" I asked, not really caring.

"Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand."

That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper glided by.

"That's a joy," the child said.

"It's a what?"

"It's a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy."

The bird went gliding down the beach. Good-bye joy,
I muttered to myself, hello pain, and turned to walk on.
I was depressed; my life seemed completely out of balance.

"What's your name?" She wouldn't give up.

"Robert," I answered. "I'm Robert Peterson."

"Mine's Wendy... I'm six." "Hi, Wendy." She giggled. "You're funny," she said.

In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on. Her musical giggle followed me.

"Come again, Mr. P," she called. "We'll have another happy day."

After a few days of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, and an ailing mother. The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwater. I need
a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up my coat.

The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.

"Hello, Mr. P," she said. "Do you want to play?"

"What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.

"I don't know, you say."

"How about charades?" I asked sarcastically.

The tinkling laughter burst forth again. "I don't know what that is."

"Then let's just walk."

Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face. "Where do you live?" I asked.

"Over there." She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.

Strange, I thought, in winter.

"Where do you go to school?" "I don't go to school. Mommy says we're on vacation."

She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was on other things. When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day. Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.

Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I was in no mood to even greet Wendy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt like demanding she keep her child at home.

"Look, if you don't mind,” I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, "I'd rather be alone today." She seemed unusually pale and out of breath.

"Why?" she asked.

I turned to her and shouted, "Because my mother died!" and thought, My God, why was I saying this to a little child?

"Oh," she said quietly, "then this is a bad day."

"Yes," I said, "and yesterday and the day before and--oh, go away!"

"Did it hurt?" she inquired.

"Did what hurt?" I was exasperated with her, with myself.

"When she died?"

"Of course it hurt!" I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in myself. I strode off.

A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there. Feeling guilty, ashamed and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn looking young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.

"Hello," I said, "I'm Robert Peterson. I missed your little girl today and wondered where she was."

"Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy spoke of you so much. I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance, please, accept my apologies."

"Not at all -- she's a delightful child." I said, suddenly realizing that I meant what I had just said.

"Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson. She had leukemia. Maybe she didn't tell you."

Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. I had to catch my breath.

"She loved this beach so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no. She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days. But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly..." Her voice faltered, "She left something for you .. if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I look?"

I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely young woman. She handed me a smeared envelope with "MR. P" printed in bold childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues -- a yellow beach, a blue sea, and a brown bird.
Underneath was carefully printed:
A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY.

Tears welled up in my eyes and a heart that had almost forgotten to love opened wide. I took Wendy's mother in my arms. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry,"
I muttered over and over, and we wept together. The precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six words -- one for each year of her life -- that speak to me of harmony, courage, and undemanding love.

A gift from a child with sea blue eyes and hair the color of sand -- who taught me the gift of love.

NOTE: This is a true story sent out by Robert Peterson. It happened over 20 years ago and the incident changed his life forever.
It serves as a reminder to all of us that we need to take time to enjoy living and life and each other. The price of hating other human beings is loving oneself less.

Life is so complicated, the hustle and bustle of everyday traumas can make us lose focus about what is truly important or what is only a momentary setback or crisis.

This week, be sure to give those you love, friends as well as family, an extra hug, and by all means, take a moment...even if it is only ten seconds, to stop and smell the roses.

This comes from someone's heart, and is shared with many and now I share it with you.

May God bless everyone that receives this!
There are NO coincidences!
Everything that happens to us happens for a reason.
Never brush aside anyone as insignificant.
Who knows what they can teach us?

[RESORT2ME]

This is a neat story...

You are My Sunshine, My only Sunshine" (Be prepared to get watery eyes!)

Like any good mother, when Karen found out that another baby was on the way, she did what she could to help her 3-year-old son, Michael, prepare for a new sibling. They found out that the new baby was going be a girl, and day after day, night after night, Michael sang to his sister in mommy's tummy. He was building a bond of love with his little sister before he even met her. The
pregnancy progressed normally for Karen, an active member of the Panther
Creek United Methodist Church in Morristown, Tennessee.

In time, the labor pains came. Soon it was every five minutes, every three,
every minute. But serious complications arose during delivery and Karen
found herself in hours of labor. Would a C-section be required? Finally,
after a long struggle, Michael's little sister was born. But she was in very
serious condition. With a siren howling in the night, the ambulance rushed the infant to the neonatal intensive care unit at St. Mary's Hospital, Knoxville, Tennessee. The days inched by. The little girl got worse. The pediatrician had to tell the parents there is very little hope. Be prepared for the worst. Karen and her husband contacted a local cemetery about a burial plot.

They had fixed up a special room in their house for their new baby but now
they found themselves having to plan for a funeral. Michael, however, kept
begging his parents to let him see his sister. I want to sing to her, he
kept saying. Week two in intensive care looked as if a funeral would come
before the week was over.

Michael kept nagging about singing to his sister, but kids are never allowed
in Intensive Care. Karen decided to take Michael whether they liked it or
not. If he didn't see his sister right then, he may never see her alive. She
dressed him in an oversized scrub suit and marched him into ICU. I looked
like a walking laundry basket.

The head nurse recognized him as a child and bellowed, "Get that kid out of
here now. No children are allowed." The mother rose up strong in Karen, and
the usually mild-mannered lady glared steel-eyed right into the head nurse's
face, her lips a firm line. "He is not leaving until he sings to his sister" she stated. Then Karen towed Michael to his sister's bedside.

He gazed at the tiny infant losing the battle to live. After a moment, he
began to sing. In the pure-hearted voice of a 3-year-old, Michael sang: "You
are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray."
Instantly the baby girl seemed to respond. The pulse rate began to calm down and become steady. "Keep on singing, Michael," encouraged Karen with tears in her eyes. "You never know, dear, how much I love you, please don't take my sunshine away." As Michael sang to his sister, the baby's ragged,
strained breathing became as smooth as a kitten's purr "Keep on singing,
sweetheart." "The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you
in my arms". Michael's little sister began to relax as rest, healing rest,
seemed to sweep over her.

"Keep on singing, Michael." Tears had now conquered the face of the bossy
head nurse. Karen glowed. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. Please
don't take my sunshine away..."

The next day...the very next day...the little girl was well enough to go
home. Woman's Day Magazine called it The Miracle of a Brother's Song. The
medical staff just called it a miracle. Karen called it a miracle of God's love.

NEVER GIVE UP ON THE PEOPLE YOU LOVE.
LOVE IS SO INCREDIBLY POWERFUL.

Life is good

Have a Wonderful Day!
In God We Trust!

"The evidence of God's presence far outweighs the proof of His absence."

- Unknown


You cannot do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be
too late.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

[RESORT2ME]

The other day a young person asked me how I felt about being old.
I was taken aback, for I do not think of myself as old. Upon seeing
my reaction, she was immediately embarrassed, but I explained that
it was an interesting question, and I would ponder it, and let her know.

Old age, I decided, is a gift. I am now, probably for the first time in
my life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body! I sometime
despair over my body-the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, skin spots and bumps, and the sagging butt. And often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror, but I don’t agonize over those things for long.

I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly. [Hmm...maybe I should re-think that one!] As I’ve aged, I’ve become more kind to myself, and less critical of myself. I’ve become my own friend. I don’t chide myself for eating that extra cookie, or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn’t need, but looks so avant garde on my patio. I am entitled to overeat, to be messy, to be extravagant.
I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before they
understood the great freedom that comes with aging.

Whose business is it if I choose to read until 4 AM, and sleep until noon? I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60’s, and if I at the same time wish to weep over a lost love, I will. I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the bikini set. They, too, will get old.

I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten—and I eventually remember the important things.
Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when a
beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.

I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turn gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver. I can say “no,” and mean it. I can say “yes,” and mean it. As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don’t question myself anymore. I’ve even earned the right to be wrong.

So, to answer your question, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day.

Author unknown

[RESORT2ME]

As you got up this morning, I watched you, and hoped you would talk to me, even if it was just a few words, asking my opinion or thanking me for something good that happened in your life yesterday. But I noticed you were too busy, trying to find the right outfit to wear. When you ran around the house getting ready, I knew there would be a few minutes for you to stop and say hello, but you were too busy. At one point you had to wait fifteen minutes with nothing to do except sit in a chair. Then I saw you spring to your feet. I thought you wanted to talk to me but you ran to the phone and called a friend to get the latest gossip instead. I watched patiently all day long. With all your activities I guess you were too busy to say anything to me.
I noticed that before lunch you looked around, maybe you felt embarrassed to talk to me, that is why you didn't bow your head. You glanced three or four tables over and you noticed some of your friends talking to me briefly before they ate, but you didn't. That's okay. There is still more time left, and I hope that you will talk to me yet.

You went home and it seems as if you had lots of things to do. After a few of them were done, you turned on the TV. I don't know if you like TV or not, just about anything goes there and you spend a lot of time each day in front of it not thinking about anything, just enjoying the show. I waited patiently again as you watched the TV and ate your meal, but again you didn't talk to me.

Bedtime I guess you felt too tired. After you said goodnight to your family you plopped into bed and fell asleep in no time. That's okay because you may not realize that I am always there for you. I've got patience, more than you will ever know.... I even want to teach you how to be patient with others as well.

I love you so much that I wait everyday for a nod, prayer or thought, or a thankful part of your heart. It is hard to have a one-sided conversation.

Well, you are getting up once again. Once again I will wait, with nothing but love for you. Hoping that today you will give me some time. Have a nice day!

Your friend,

GOD

[RESORT2ME]

Some folks ride the train of life
Looking out the rear,
Watching miles of life roll by,
And marking every year.


They sit in sad remembrance,
Of wasted days gone by,
And curse their life for what it was,
And hang their head and cry.


But I don't concern myself with that,
I took a different vent,
I look forward to what life holds,
And not what has been spent.


So strap me to the engine,
As securely as I can be,
I want to be out in the front,
To see what I can see.


I want to feel the winds of change,
Blowing in my face,
I want to see what life unfolds,
As I move from place to place.


I want to see what's coming up,
Not looking at the past,
Life's too short for yesterdays,
It moves along too fast.


So if the ride gets bumpy,
While you are looking back,
Go up front, and you may find,
Your life has jumped the track.


It's all right to remember,
That's part of history,
But up front's where it's happening,
There's so much mystery.


The enjoyment of living,
Is not where we have been,
It's looking ever forward,

To another year and ten.

It's searching all the byways,
Never should you refrain,
For if you want to live your life,




You've gotta drive the train.

All Aboard Everybody...