I so blessed by God.. God has answer my prayer.. In my prayer list, i ask God to help me to build up good relationship with my colleagues and customer. I doesn't mean that we are not good with each other. But, i hope that we can like a friends and share more with each other not only about work. Recently i feel that everything were change. We are having joke & fun togather. Even thought work goes wrong, some may blame other or complaint. But after a while, those problem have been solve in the right time. God's work is so so powerful man!
In my heart, i believe that God will keep continue softer everyone heart. I pray that those people around me will receive the salvation soon especially my love one.
Just reading Jieyi's mail, the forward mail very touch.. This isn't just about being a mother; it's about appreciating the people in your life while you have them.... no matter who that person is... Share with u all...
After 21 years of marriage, My wife wanted me to take another woman out to dinner and a movie. She said, "I love you, but I know this other woman loves you and would love to spend some time with you."
The other woman that my wife wanted me to visit was my MOTHER, who has been a widow for 19 years, but the demands of my work and my three children had made it possible to visit her only occasionally.
That night I called to invite her to go out for dinner and a movie.
"What's wrong, are you well," she asked? My mother is the type of woman who suspects that a late night call or a surprise invitationis a sign of bad news.
"I thought that it would be pleasant to spend some time with you, "I responded. "Just the two of us." She thought about it for a moment,and then said, "I would like that very much."
That Friday after work, as I drove over to pick her up I was a bit nervous. When I arrived at her house, I noticed that she, too, seemedto be nervous about our date. She waited in the door with her coat on. She had curled her hair and was wearing the dress that she had worn to celebrate her last wedding anniversary.
She smiled from a face that was as radiant as an angel's. "I told my friends that I was going to go out with my son, and they wereimpressed," she said, as she got into the car. "They can't wait to hear about our meeting."
We went to a restaurant that, although not elegant, was very nice and cozy. My mother took my arm as if she were the First Lady.
After we sat down, I had to read the menu. Her eyes could only read large print. Half way through the entries, I lifted my eyes and sawMom sitting there staring at me. A nostalgic smile was on her lips."It was I who used to have to read the menu when you were small, "she said. "Then it's time that you relax and let me return thefavor," I responded.
During the dinner, we had an agreeable conversation nothing extraordinary but catching up on recent events of each other's life.We talked so much that we missed the movie.
As we arrived at her house later, she said, "I'll go out with you again, but only if you let me invite you." I agreed.
"How was your dinner date?" asked my wife when I got home. "Very nice, much more so than I could have imagined," I answered.
A few days later, my mother died of a massive heart attack. It happened so suddenly that I didn't have a chance to do anything forher. Some time later I received an envelope with a copy of a restaurant receipt from the same place mother and I had dined. An attached note said: "I paid this bill in advance. I wasn't sure that I could be there; but nevertheless, I paid for two plates - one foryou and the other for your wife. You will never know what that night meant for me. I love you, son."
At that moment, I understood the importance of saying in time: "I LOVE YOU" and to give our loved ones the time they deserve. Nothing in life is more important than your family. Give them the time they deserve, because these things cannot be put off till "some other time."
Somebody said it takes about six weeks to get back to normal after you've had a baby....
Somebody doesn't know that once you're a mother, "normal" is history.
Somebody said you learn how to be a mother by instinct...
Somebody never took a three-year-old shopping.
Somebody said being a mother is boring...
Somebody never rode in a car driven by a teenager with a driver's permit.
Somebody said if you're a "good" mother, your child will "turn out good"...
Somebody thinks a child comes with directions and a guarantee.
Somebody said "good" mothers never raise their voices...
Somebody never came out the back door just in time to see her child hit a golf ball through the neighbor's kitchen window.
Somebody said you don't need an education to be a mother...
Somebody never helped a fourth grader with his math.
Somebody said you can't love the second child as much as you love the first.
Somebody doesn't have two children.
Somebody said a mother can find all the answers to her child-rearing questions in the books....
Somebody never had a child stuff beans up his nose or in his ears.
Somebody said the hardest part of being a mother is labor and delivery....
Somebody never watched her "baby" get on the bus for the first day of kindergarten or on a plane headed for military "boot camp."
Somebody said a mother can do her job with her eyes closed and one hand tied behind her back ...
Somebody never organized seven giggling Brownies to sell cookies.Somebody said a mother can stop worrying after her child gets married....
Somebody doesn't know that marriage adds a new son or daughter-in-law to a mother's heartstrings.
Somebody said a mother's job is done when her last child leaves home....
Somebody never had grandchildren.
Somebody said your mother knows you love her, so you don't need to tell her....
Somebody isn't a mother. Just spend few minutes to read the story "The Room" was writted by Joshua Harris. "The Room", orginally published in New Attitude magazine in 1995, and then reprinted in Harris's book I Kissed Dating Goodbye in 1997.
After reading the story, my heart has touch by God...
http://homepage.mac.com/joshharris/iMovieTheater5.htmlby Joshua Harris
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features save for the one wall covered with small index-card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read “Girls I Have Liked.” I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.
And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn’t match.
A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named “Friends” was next to one marked “Friends I Have Betrayed.”
The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. “Books I Have Read,” “Lies I Have Told,” “Comfort I Have Given,” “Jokes I Have Laughed At.” Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: “Things I’ve Yelled at My Brothers.” Others I couldn’t laugh at: “Things I Have Done in My Anger,” “Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents.” I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped.
I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my 20 years to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file marked “Songs I Have Listened To,” I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn’t found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented.
When I came to a file marked “Lustful Thoughts,” I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.
An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: “No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!” In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn’t matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.
Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title bore “People I Have Shared the Gospel With.” The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.
And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.
But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus.
I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn’t bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one?
Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn’t anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn’t say a word. He just cried with me.
Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.
“No!” I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was “No, no,” as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn’t be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood.
He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don’t think I’ll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, “It is finished.”
I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.
This bag given by CG.. ------------>
This is my favourite flower, "Lily" given by my CG too : D
This flower given by taitai ----------->
This book was prepared by my CG member. I touch by their effort. They have writted all their encouragement & prayer in this book.
