Harsh Words

Author Unknown

I ran into a stranger as he passed by.
“Oh excuse me please” was my reply.
He said, “Please excuse me too;
I wasn’t watching for you.”
We were very polite, this stranger and I.
We went on our way and we said good-bye.

But at home a different story is told,
how we treat our loved ones, young and old.

Later that day, cooking the evening meal,
my son stood beside me very still.
When I turned, I nearly knocked him down.
“Move out of the way,” I said with a frown.
He walked away, his little heart broken.
I didn’t realize how harshly I’d spoken.

While I lay awake in bed,
God’s still small voice came to me and said,
“While dealing with a stranger, common courtesy you use,
but the children you love, you seem to abuse.
Go look on the kitchen floor,
you’ll find some flowers there by the door.”
“Those are the flowers he brought for you.
He picked them himself; pink, yellow and blue.
He stood very quietly not to spoil the surprise,
and you never saw the tears that filled his little eyes.”
By this time, I felt very small,
and now my tears began to fall.

I quietly went and knelt by his bed;
“Wake up, little one, wake up,” I said.
“Are these the flowers you picked for me?”
He smiled, “I found ’em out by the tree.”
“I picked ’em because they’re pretty like you.
I knew you’d like ’em, especially the blue.”
I said, “Son, I’m very sorry for the way I acted today;
I shouldn’t have yelled at you that way.”
He said, “Oh, Mom, that’s okay.
I love you anyway.
I said, “Son, I love you too,
and I do like the flowers, especially the blue.”



Before I Was a Mom …”

Before I was a Mom…

I made and ate hot meals. I had unstained clothing. I had quiet conversations on the phone.
Before I was a Mom… I slept as late as I wanted I cleaned my house each day. I never tripped over toys or forgot words to lullabies.
Before I was a Mom… I didn’t worry whether or not my plants were poisonous. I never thought about Immunizations.
Before I was a Mom… I had never been puked on, pooped on, spit on, chewed on, peed on or pinched by tiny fingers. I had complete control of my mind, my thoughts, and my body. I slept all night.
Before I was a Mom… I never held down a screaming child so that doctors could do tests or give shots. I never looked into teary eyes and cried. I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin. I never sat up late hours at night watching a baby sleep.
Before I was a Mom… I never held a sleeping baby just because I didn’t want to put it down. I never felt my heart break into a million pieces when I couldn’t stop the hurt. I never knew that something so small could affect my life so much. I never knew that I could love someone so much. I never knew I would love being a Mom.

Before I was a Mom… I didn’t know the feeling of having my heart outside my body. I didn’t know how special it could feel to feed a hungry baby. I didn’t know that bond between a mother and her child. I didn’t know that something so small could make me feel so important.
Before I was a Mom… I had never gotten up in the middle of the night every 10 minutes to make sure all was okay. I had never known the warmth, the joy, the love, the heartache, the wonderment, or the satisfaction of being a Mom. I didn’t know I was capable of feeling so much before I was a Mom.



“Lord, Make me a TV”

A teacher from Primary School asks her students to write a essay about what they would like God to do for them… At the end of the day, while marking the essays,she read one that made her very emotional.
Her husband, who had just walked in, saw her crying and asked her:- ‘What happened?’

She answered- ‘Read this. It is one of my students’ essay.’

‘Oh God, tonight I ask you something very special :

Make me into a television. I want to take its place and live like the TV in my house.

Have my own special place, And have my family around ME.
To be taken seriously when I talk….
I want to be the centre of attention and be heard without interruptions or questions.
I want to receive the same special care that theTV receives even when it is not working.
Have the company of my dad when he arrives home from work, even when he is tired.
And I want my mom to want me when she is sad and upset, instead of ignoring me…
And… I want my brothers to fight to be with me…
I want to feel that family just leaves everything aside, every now and then, just to spend some time with me.
And last but not least, ensure that I can make them all happy and entertain them…
Lord I don’t ask you for much… I just want to live like a TV.’

At that moment the husband said :- ‘My God, poor kid. What horrible parents!’

The wife looked up at him and said:- ‘That essay is our son’s !!!



The Power of Love   by: Joseph Walker, , Source Unknown

By any standard of measurement, David was a powerful man. Tall, handsome and dignified, he cut an imposing figure, even in his declining years. He was widely known and greatly respected by his peers and others in the community. As the head of a large organization, he was surrounded by people who were prepared to respond to his every whim. Because of the prominence of his position and the value of his time, he didn’t have to do anything that he didn’t want to do, or that wasn’t a high priority to him.

Which is why it seemed a little unusual to those who worked in the small downtown market to see this great man, slowed and bent by the years, shuffling in to shop.

“Doesn’t he have people to do this sort of thing for him?” a clerk asked the store manager.

“Of course he does,” the manager whispered. “He has people who have people who have people to do this sort of thing for him. They watched as David moved slowly, deliberately, toward the produce section.

“Then what’s he doing here?” the clerk asked.

“I don’t know,” the manager said, a little nervously. “But whatever it is, it must be VERY important.”

David paused at the produce section, looking at the surprisingly expansive display of fresh fruits and vegetables. At last his eyes settled on a big bin of large, shiny red apples. He picked up the apples one by one, examining each closely, twisting and turning it in the sunlight to expose any defect or flaw. Over the course of several minutes he must have inspected two dozen apples or so until at last he settle on one that looked absolutely perfect — perfectly sized, perfectly shaped, perfectly colored, perfectly ripe.

“Perfect!” he said to himself, smiling broadly.

He tucked the apple securely in his hand and made his way back up the aisle to the cash register, where the manager stepped in front of the clerk.

“There will be no charge for that, sir,” the manager said when David presented the apple for purchase. “You may have it, with our compliments.”

David shook his head.

“Thank you, sir,” he said kindly. “But I insist. Please allow me to pay for this beautiful apple.”

Hesitantly, the manager rang up the charge for the apple, and placed it carefully in a brown paper bag. He took David’s money, and handed the bag to him.

“Thank you,” David said, holding the bag as one might hold a package of diamonds. “Emma will love this!”


Of course — Emma. The love of David’s life. His sweetheart of more than 50 years. It was said that in all their time together, they had never once had an argument. And now, a clerk and a manager at a small downtown market understood why. It was a matter of priority. It was a matter of sensitivity. It was a matter of purpose. And clearly, it was a matter of power.

The power of love.

A Bouquet for Mother Author Unknown


A man stopped at a flower shop to order some flowers to be wired to his mother who lived two hundred miles away.

As he got out of his car he noticed a young girl sitting on the curb sobbing.

He asked her what was wrong and she replied, “I wanted to buy a red rose for my mother. But I only have seventy-five cents, and a rose costs two dollars.”

The man smiled and said, “Come on in with me. I’ll buy you a rose.”

He bought the little girl her rose and ordered his own mother’s flowers.

As they were leaving he offered the girl a ride home. She said, “Yes, please! You can take me to my mother.”

She directed him to a cemetery, where she placed the rose on a freshly dug grave.

The man returned to the flower shop, canceled the wire order, picked up a bouquet and drove the two hundred miles to his mother’s house.


I Corinthians 13 For Wives By Jim Fowler

If I exercise my freedom to speak my mind and say what I think, but do not have love, I am just a squeaky wheel or a dripping faucet. If I know the mysteries of how to please a man and the guidelines of a Proverbs 31 wife, but do not have love, I am just going through the motions. If I submit myself to my husband in total availability, and do not give myself in love, I am but a pitiful marital martyr.

A wife’s love is patient with all her husband’s “big ideas,” adaptable to his preferences, and supportive of his leadership.

The love of a Christian wife does not nag; does not keep a running list of all the times he has hurt her feelings. It is not provoked when he does not pick up his own things, does not come home when he says he will, or wants to do something at inconvenient times.

In love for her husband a wife will keep herself attractive, join him in his recreational pursuits, and express her admiration for him often.

A wife’s love bears all the insensitivities, believes that God will mold the marriage and the man as He desires, hopes that God will be glorified in what they do, and endures the inevitable marital conflicts (OK – fights!).

All the feminist propaganda will disappear. All the latest fashion styles will soon be old-fashioned. All the material things will break down and deteriorate.

Now abides faith in God’s sufficiency, Hope for a marriage that glorifies God, But the greatest of these is Love that puts the other first so as to enjoy God’s intent for marriage.

I Corinthians 13 For Husbands By Jim Fowler

If I speak with the authority of the head of the house, but do not have love, I am just blowing off steam. If I claim to know the mysteries of marriage and to have knowledge of gender distinctions, but do not have love, I am just an arrogant theorist. If I provide enough money for my wife’s every whim and sacrifice myself on the altar of marital success, but do not have love, I am just another bankrupt marital casualty.

A husband’s love is patient when she is never ready on time, Kind even when she is in “one of her moods,” And not jealous of her social skills and friends.

A loving husband is not arrogant of his logical abilities and the fact that he is usually right. He treats his wife like a “lady,” with thoughtfulness and tenderness, And does not selfishly pursue his own interests and hobbies to the exclusion of her interests.

A loving husband is not provoked when she does not think or act as he expects, and does not keep a list of all the times when she has hurt or wronged him.

The love of a husband bears all the misunderstandings, Believes that God is sufficient to make the marriage work, Hopes that the relationship will glorify God, and endures all the inevitable difficulties.

If there be marriage seminars, they will be forgotten. If there are libraries of books on marriage, they will be destroyed. If there are theories of gender distinctions and marital roles, they will fade away.

There now abides in the Christian husband, Faith that God knew what He was doing when He created us male and female, and the hope that their marriage union will represent the union of Christ and the Christian as God intended. But the greatest is love which allows us to seek the highest good of the other without selfishly considering what we get out of it.