The idea in the acorn

There is no tree in the tiny acorn, but there is the ever-persistent idea of a tree. The acorn cannot move on its own, or ask for help, or even think for itself, but it can hold on to that idea, and it does.

When the tiny acorn becomes overwhelmed and buried by its surroundings, it then begins to express the idea. It does not complain or wish for more, but makes use of what it has to promote and manifest the idea, the idea of a tree that it holds in its every fiber.

When the thunderous storms come, it does not fear them or hide from them, but uses them to continue expressing the idea it holds of a mighty tree. When the scorching sun beats down, the acorn takes that energy and puts it to productive use, transforming its idea into reality.

And little by little, cell by cell, the idea of a tree begins to become a tree. The hardships and challenges come, yet that idea persists and the tree that is its object grows bigger and ever stronger.

The idea in the acorn becomes a magnificent oak tree. It does so using only the resources which happen to come to it. You have a big advantage over the acorn, for you can think, you can learn, you can move yourself and other things around. Just imagine, then, how even more magnificently you can express your own dreams and ideas, making positive use of whatever may come your way.

-- Ralph Marston

A woman and a fork

A woman and a fork

This woman was diagnosed with a terminal illness and had been given three months to live. So as she was getting her things "in order," she contacted her Pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes.

She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in. Everything was in order and the Pastor was preparing to leave when the young woman suddenly remembered something very important to her. "There's one more thing," she said excitedly. "What's that?"came the Pastor's reply. "This is very important," the young woman continued. "I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand." The Pastor stood looking at the young woman, not knowing quite what to say. "That surprises you, doesn't it," the young woman asked. "Well, to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request," said the Pastor.

The young woman explained. "My grandmother once told me this story, and from that time on I have always tried to pass along its message to those I love and those who are in need of encouragement. In all my years of attending socials and dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, 'Keep your fork'. It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming... like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie. Something wonderful, and with substance! So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder 'What's with the fork?' Then I want you to tell them, 'Keep your fork ... the best is yet to come.'

The Pastor's eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the young woman good-bye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that the young woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She had a better grasp of what heaven would be like than many people twice her age, with twice as much experience and knowledge. She KNEW that something better was coming.

At the funeral people were walking by the young woman's casket and they saw fork placed in her right hand. Over and over, the Pastor heard the question, "What's with the fork?" And over and over he smiled.

During his message, the Pastor told the people of the conversation he had with the young woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her. He told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either. He was right. So the next time you reach down for your fork let it remind you, ever so gently, that the best is yet to come. Friends are a very rare jewel, indeed. They make you smile and encourage you to succeed. They lend an ear, they share a word of praise, and they always want to open their hearts to us. Show your friends how much you care. Remember to always be there for them, even when you need them more. For you never know when it may be their time to "Keep your fork."

Cherish the time you have, and the memories you share...being friends with someone is not an opportunity but a sweet responsibility.


And keep your fork.....


Author unknown

A Lesson Of Porcelain

With The last piece nestled into its place and held there by glue, I wondered how noticeable the cracks would be once back the angel was back on the shelf from which it fell yesterday. But we knew the truth, that porcelain angel hadn’t exactly fallen from that shelf.

My precious porcelain angel had been knocked off that shelf by the awkward and clumsy frame of a boy chasing after his dog in the house. Not just any boy, but my son.

At first I was angry, but as I glued the pieces back together, I realized the significance of the porcelain angel had changed. Having been raised in a home of rigid rules and a swift hand of hard discipline, I thought about my son bumping into the shelf as he played with his dog.

Never again would I look at it with its broken jagged lines without remembering our happy home, where a boy could play with his dog, or wrestle with his little brother.

The porcelain angel truly was more glorious than it had ever been.

Labor Day, 2007

When George Pullman invented the Pullman sleeping cars for the railroad back in the 1850’s not only did he build a name for himself, but he also he built an entire town.

If you happened to live in Pullman, Illinois in the 1880’s you lived and worked for George Pullman. If you worked for George Pullman, you lived in a George Pullman row house and you probably went to a Pullman Church and did your shopping locally at a Pullman market.

All was cozy for a little while, but eventually the recession hit and he laid off a large percentage of his workforce and reduced the wages of the remaining employees. I thought that automated deductions from paychecks were something from perhaps the last fifty years or so, but he was doing it way back in the 1880’s. If you worked for him, your rent was taken out of your check before you ever saw it. With the high rent and low pay this didn’t sit so well and his employees began walking out.

When Pullman workers joined American Railroad Union thus beginning strikes and boycotts, President Grover Cleveland called the strike a crime and deployed the Army to break the dispute. When the strike was officially declared over the employees promised not to unionize again and this remained true until the great depression.

"The day for which the toilers in past centuries looked forward, when their rights and their wrongs would be discussed...that the workers of our day may not only lay down their tools of labor for a holiday, but upon which they may touch shoulders in marching phalanx and feel the stronger for it" ~ Samuel Gompers, head of the American Federation of Labor 1898

A small yet important bit of history on this Labor Day, 2007

Regretfully, yours

My place on the shelf
has turned dusty and old
hands of the clock turn
yet my breath grows cold

Smother me with silence
in this night’s cool air
smooth my rigid corners
for time has not been fair

wind blowing softly
lost in her sweet time
withstand bitter yearning
from this lost soul of mine

Heart, lonely and stale
just as fruit on the vine
left to linger past harvest
like this wretched life of mine

Close off the passage
turn the last latch key
draw breath, so bitter
my captive spirit, set free


Copyrighted by Kentucky Dreamer

Living in My Heart

Living In My Heart

“Hail Mary, Mother Of God…” I said as I counted the beads out with my small fingers, just as the Father had instructed me to do. I had confessed to him that I had taken two cookies before dinner. I remember my mother and grandma thought that was funny.

My Grandmother was a devout Catholic and I was raised Catholic, too. Although I grew away from Catholicism, the memories of Church and Grandma are still close to my heart.

I remember holding her hand and skipping along like busy little girls do as Grandma and me walked the six or seven blocks to Church. This would be the same Church that I would stand in front of family and friends, pick up the head of her casket and carry her down those steps for the final time.

If you have never been a pall bearer for a loved one, you can’t have any idea of the effects it has on you. I found myself looking at all the faces of those that loved her as we carried her towards the steps to leave that Church. As I walked, the fact that I was carrying my Grandmother to her final resting place hit me hard. Tears began rolling down my cheeks. Me, the hard one, the one that never cried, walked forward with my face drenched in tears and I could do nothing to wipe them or hide them. They were there for the world to see. I will never forget that feeling as long as I live.

When I would visit her as a young girl, one of the treats we had together was Dunkin Donuts. I would walk to the next block and visit the little shop there on Saturday evenings. I would pick out a couple for me and a couple for her for twenty cents or so each. We would have them before we walked to Church together on Sunday mornings.
I ate some dough nuts today to celebrate her birthday. I went all out, too. I ate a long john with creamy filling and chocolate icing and a raspberry jelly filled dough nut with white icing. I thought of her the whole time.

As Grandma neared the end of her life, she spoke of the wonderful dinner that had been prepared in her honor. She could actually see it, she said and she spoke of it. It was relayed to me in whispers, as Grandma lay there unable to move. It was then that I understood the mystery of faith.

The Good Book says some things are not meant for us to understand and when that time comes, the understanding will be granted. While my Grandmother lingered between life and death, her time to understand was granted to her. As her visitors wished her well and kissed her soft, cool cheek, she waited for the dinner bell to ring.

She laid her head on the soft pillow and her eyes fluttered softly as she realized a peace and contentment that she had been denied in this life. She drifted off to a peaceful retreat as she left the broken temple that had been her home and reached for the hand that awaited her presence at the table as she did so.

The precise moment that her fingers touched His, her golden heart stopped beating and she was gone… But never forgotten.

Happy Birthday, Grandma.

Copyright © 2006 Tamara A. Isaac

Old Soldier

For all those Veterans
whose injuries don’t show up on x-rays

The Old Soldier nudged me
and called me closer with his eyes

his past wrapped tightly in secrets
his future bleak and locked in

"What is it Trodden Soldier,
that you wish for me to know ?"

~Honors~Duties~Commands~Creeds~

broken bodies are bandaged
but how easily does the mind heal?

weariness, shrouded in blankets of green
eyes bleeding secrets and half truths

you pledged all, Dutiful Soldier
with a heart long ago plastered white

in death you grasped an old brass emblem
Rest In Peace, at long last, Proud Soldier

Morning Orchestra

An early morning orchestra
fills my room with melody
rooster's crow awaken
whilst birds hold morning choir

singing at the sill of my window
delighting my heart
drenching my soul
leaving my spirit to sing

lady of dawn, she dances
‘cross stage, great and wide
stirring me from slumber
with morn' softly aglow

lord of sun greets her
with splendid splay of light
kissing the cheek of the lady
then sending her away
to bask another day

wake me, take me
let me be lost in your presence
one more time, amaze me