Pets that wait

For months, our dog Missy would go to a specific spot and sit next to the highway and wait for the people who dropped her off to return for her. It broke my heart... even after having been abused, even with her scars to prove it, she still waited on them to come back.

She has a loving home now and it took her more than 6 months to allow me to pet her anywhere other than under her chin, and only for a stroke or two.

It took a second dog Bob, being left behind near our home, who did not look abused, but was abandoned also, to help her open up. Bob also waited by the road and no one came back for him either. But Bob was very open and wanted to be loved and petted. His openness showed Missy that we were loving and not abusive. Loving a living thing can help cure a multitude of ills they might have lived through. Be kind - it matters.

Flash Mob Food Court - Chorus Niagra

The most wonderful gift of the Christmas season, you MUST watch it ! Niagara’s premier 100 voice choir!

Burnt Biscuits

Burned Biscuits - "author unknown"

When I was a kid, my Mom liked to make breakfast food for dinner

every now and then. And I remember one night in particular when she had

made breakfast after a long, hard day at work. On that evening so long

ago, my Mom placed a plate of eggs, sausage and extremely burned

biscuits in front of my dad. I remember waiting to see if anyone

noticed! Yet all my dad did was reach for his biscuit, smile at my Mom

and ask me how my day was at school. I don't remember what I told him

that night, but I do remember watching him smear butter and jelly on

that biscuit and eat every bite!

When I got up from the table that evening, I remember hearing my

Mom apologize to my dad for burning the biscuits. And I'll never forget

what he said: "Honey, I love burned biscuits."

Later that night, I went to kiss Daddy good night and I asked

him if he really liked his biscuits burned. He wrapped me in his arms

and said, "Your Momma put in a hard day at work today and she's real

tired. And besides - a little burned biscuit never hurt anyone!"

Life is full of imperfect things and imperfect people. I'm not

the best at hardly anything, and I sometimes forget birthdays and

anniversaries just like everyone else. But what I've learned over the

years is that learning to accept each other's fault - and choosing to

celebrate each other's differences - is one of the most important keys

to creating a healthy, growing, and lasting relationship.

And that's my prayer for you today. That you will learn to take

the good, the bad, and the ugly parts of your life and lay them at the

feet of God. Because in the end, He's the only One who will be able to

give you a relationship where a burnt biscuit isn't a deal-breaker!

We could extend this to any relationship. In fact, understanding

is the basis of any relationship, be it a husband-wife or parent-child

or friendship!

So Please pass me a biscuit, and yes, the burned one will do

just fine. And PLEASE pass this along to someone who has enriched your

life.

Be kinder than necessary because everyone you meet is fighting

some kind of battle.

I BELIEVE IN SANTA CLAUS

I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her. On the way, my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!"

My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her "world-famous" cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to be true.

Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus?" she snorted .... "Ridiculous! Don't believe it! That rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat, and let's go."

"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun.

"Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. "Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.

I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping.

For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church.

I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class. Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough; he didn't have a good coat.

I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat! I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.

"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby."

The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a good winter coat. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) in Christmas paper and ribbons and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it. Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa's helpers.

Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going."

I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma.

Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.

Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes. That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were: ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.

I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95.

May you always have LOVE to share, HEALTH to spare and FRIENDS that care...And may you always believe in the magic of Santa Claus!