It was just a normal day for us kenyans.the sun was still hiding away behind the clouds as if shy to come out of the open.we have been used to this lately ,i mean the chilly weather. i was in my office (i work you know ) which is about 300 metres from the american embassy .
Suddenly the whole building starts shaking as if a point 6 something tremour is hitting the city,for a moment i thought it was an earthquake but something inside me told me it was not. The second thought that crossed my mind was that a car had been rammed into the basement of the building.i ran to the window to see what's happening and what do i hear,there's a big blast that sends window panes and glass flying in all directions you would have thought that God had decided to send glass rain instead of the usual,'nway i put off all the computers in our office and ran outside amid the shouts and wails of people. You should have seen how inhuman men can be.The whole street was filled with crying and wailing men and women who looked as if had just been in a blood bath. some were sprawled on the roads just mere shock had rendered them immobile. (#$#%those terrorists*&$#$!!!!)
I ran towards the american embassy suddenly realising that my dad worked somewhere there,shock and the most of positive thinking was all that you could have etched from my mind.
I ran towards the direction and all i met were people in the state i have just mentioned above , it was just sickish . i couldn'd help it but shed tears of much pain and asking myself ,Why? Somewhere between our office and the american embassy is where my dads office is situated .I asked one of his workmates who was now out of the building of his whereabouts and luckily he had not reported to work that day. i run towards the american embassy and what do i see.
The place is literally hell.A five storey building just next to it is completely in shumbles completely flat. A building another 100 metres away which is 20 storeys high is completely torn apart,no windows no partitions no nothing, just a skeleton of a building. The horror was that it was a working day and all the buildings were buzzling with activity as usual.there were about 250 people dead and more than 5000 people injured by mostly flying debris.
I know you are just to ask me what happened to the american embassy. all i can tell you is that i dont know what the building is made of, it just stood there took the beating and laughed aloud, no collapsed walls no shattered glass but all the building suffered was that the whole panes of glass were being ripped off wholely as they were from the building and thrown down.12 americans died plus 32 kenyans in the building. some kenyans used the window frames to carry out survivors before the rescuers arrived. It was a day of mourning for all kenyans .Kenyans are very concerned about the welfare of others and they really took it sadly that day. all we can pray for is that they get the people concerned with the inhuman act. "this is julius of julius times, kenya !" i have to go now.hope you are blessed and do take care .The world's an awfull place to be in.
I found this on my jolly chum's page. Thought you might enjoy it!
A Dog's Plea
Treat me kindly, my beloved friend, for no heart in
all the world is more grateful for kindness than the
loving heart of me.
Do not break my spirit with a stick, for though I
should lick your hand between blows, your patience and
understanding will more quickly teach me the things you
would have me learn.
Speak to me often, for your voice is the world's
sweetest music, as you must know by the fierce wagging
of my tail when your footstep falls upon my waiting ear.
Please take me inside when it is cold and wet, for I
am a domesticated animal, no longer accustomed
to bitter elements. I ask no greater glory than the
privilege of sitting at your feet beside the hearth.
Keep my pan filled with fresh water, for I cannot tell
you when I suffer thirst.
Feed me clean food that I may stay well, to romp
and play and do your bidding, to walk by your side
and stand ready, willing and able to protect you with my
life, should your life be in danger.
And, my friend, when I am very old, and I no longer
enjoy good health, hearing and sight, do not make heroic
efforts to keep me going. I am not having any fun.
Please see that my trusting life is taken gently. I shall leave
this earth knowing with the last breath I draw that my
fate was always safest in your hands.
Author UnknownThis is a forward I received which I noticed a lot of truth in, whether you're a Christian or not!
A young man was at the end of his rope. Seeing no way out he dropped to his knees in prayer. "Lord, I can't go on," he said. "I have too heavy a cross to bear." The Lord replied, "My son, if you can't bear its weight, just place your cross inside this room. Then open that other door and pick out any cross you wish." The young man was filled with relief. "Thank you Lord," he sighed, and he did what he was told. Upon entering the other door, he saw many other crosses, some so large the tops weren't even visible. Then he spotted a tiny cross leaning against the far wall. "I'd like that one Lord," he whispered. And the Lord replied, "My son, that is the cross you just brought in."
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, > "People 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 > 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 curiousity, 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 exactness: "Things I've Yelled at my > Brothers." > > Others I couldn't laught at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger", "Things I > Have Muttered Under Myu Breath at my Parents." I never ceased to be > surprsied by the content. Often there were many more cards than I > expected. Sometimes, fewer than I had hoped. I was overwhelmed by the > sheer volume of the life that I had lived.. > > Could it be possible that I had the time in my 17 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 down.. > 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 in me. One thought > dominated my mind: "No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever > see this. I have to destroy them!" IN an insane frenzy, I yanked the file > out. > > Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty 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 returrned > 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 no 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 tht the hurt > started in my stomach shook through me.. > > I fell on my knees and cried.. > > I cried of shame, from 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 warch His response.. > > And, in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a > deeper sorrow tham 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 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.. > > Author unknown
Attitude Is Everything By Francie Baltazar-Schwartz Jerry was the kind of guy you love to hate. He was always in a good mood and always had something positive to say. When someone would ask him how he was doing, he would reply, "If I were any better, I would be twins!" He was a unique manager because he had several waiters who had followed Him around from restaurant to restaurant. The reason the waiters followed Jerry was because of his attitude. He was a natural motivator. If an employee was having a bad day, Jerry was there telling the employee how to look on the positive side of the situation. Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up to Jerry and asked him, "I don't get it! You can't be a positive person all of the time. How do you do it?" Jerry replied, "Each morning I wake up and say to myself, Jerry, you have two choices today. You can choose to be in a good mood or you can choose to be in a bad mood.' I choose to be in a good mood. Each time something bad happens, I can choose to be a victim or I can choose to learn from it. I choose to learn from it. Every time someone comes to me complaining, I can choose to accept their complaining or I can point out the positive side of life. I choose the positive side of life." "Yeah, right, it's not that easy," I protested. "Yes it is," Jerry said. "Life is all about choices. When you cut away all the junk, every situation is a choice. You choose how you react to situations. You choose how people will affect your mood. You choose to be in a good mood or bad mood. The bottom line: It's your choice how you live life." I reflected on what Jerry said. Soon thereafter, I left the restaurant industry to start my own business. We lost touch, but often thought about him when I made a choice about life instead of reacting to it. Several years later, I heard that Jerry did something you are never supposed to do in a restaurant business: he left the back door open one morning and was held up at gunpoint by three armed robbers. While trying to open the safe, his hand, shaking from nervousness, slipped off the combination. The robbers panicked and shot him. Luckily, Jerry was found relatively quickly and rushed to the local trauma center. After 18 hours of surgery and weeks of intensive care, Jerry was released from the hospital with fragments of the bullets still in his body. I saw Jerry about six months after the accident. When I asked him how he was, he replied, "If I were any better, I'd be twins. Wanna see my scars?" I declined to see his wounds, but did ask him what had gone through his mind as the robbery took place. "The first thing that went through my mind was that I should have locked the back door," Jerry replied. "Then, as I lay on the floor, I remembered that I had two choices: I could choose to live, or I could choose to die. I chose to live. "Weren't you scared? Did you lose consciousness?" I asked. Jerry continued, "The paramedics were great. They kept telling me I was going to be fine. But when they wheeled me into the emergency room and I saw the expressions on the faces of the doctors and nurses, I got really scared. In their eyes, I read, 'He's a dead man. "I knew I needed to take action." "What did you do?" I asked. "Well, there was a big, burly nurse shouting questions at me," said Jerry. "She asked if I was allergic to anything. 'Yes,' I replied. The doctors and nurses stopped working as they waited for my reply. I took a deep breath and yelled, 'Bullets!' Over their laughter, I told them, 'I am choosing to live. Operate on me as if I am alive, not dead." Jerry lived thanks to the skill of his doctors, but also because of his amazing attitude. I learned from him that every day we have the choice to live fully. Attitude, after all, is everything.
FRIENDS WITHOUT FACES > > We sit and we type, and we stare at our screens > We all have to wonder, what this possibly means. > > With our mouse we roam, through the rooms in a maze > Looking for something or someone, as we sit in a daze. > > We chat with each other, we type all our woes > Small groups we do form, and gang up on our foes. > > We wait for somebody, to type out our name > We want recognition, but it is always the same. > > We give kisses and hugs, and sometimes flirt > In IMs we chat deeply, and reveal why we hurt. > > We do form friendships - but - why we don't know > But some of these friendships, will flourish and grow. > > Why is it on screen, we can be so bold > Telling our secrets, that have never been told. > > Why is it we share, the thoughts in our mind > With those we can't see, as though we were blind. > > The answer is simple, it is as clear as a bell. > We all have our problems, and need someone to tell. > > We can't tell real people, but tell someone we must > So we turn to the 'puter, and to those we can trust. > > Even though it is crazy, the truth still remains > They are Friends Without Faces, and odd little names.
It takes guts to Say "Jesus" : : This is a true story of something that happened just a few years ago at : USC. There was a professor of philosophy there who was a deeply : committed atheist. His primary goal for one required class was to spend : the entire semester attempting to prove that God couldn't exist. His : students were always afraid to argue with him because of his impeccable : logic. For twenty years, he had taught this class and no one had ever : had the courage to go against him. Sure, some had argued in class at : times, but no one had ever 'really gone against him' (you'll see what I : mean later.) Nobody would go against him because he had reputation.. : At the end of every semester, on the last day, he would say to his class : of 300 students, "If there is anyone here who still believes in God, : stand up!" In twenty years, no one had ever stood up. They knew what : he was going to do next. He would say, "Because anyone who believes in : God is a fool. If God existed, he could stop this piece of chalk from : hitting the ground and breaking. Such a simple task to prove that he is : God, and yet he can't do it." And every year, he would drop the chalk : onto the floor of the class room and it would shatter into a hundred : pieces. All of the students could do nothing but stop and stare. Most : of the students were convinced that God couldn't exist. Certainly, a : number of Christians had slipped through, but for twenty years, they had : been too afraid to stand up.. : Well, a few years ago, there was a freshman who happened to get enrolled : in the class. He was a Christian, and had heard the stories about this : professor. He had to take the class because it was one of the required : classes for his major. And he was afraid. But for three months that : semester, he prayed every morning that he would have the courage to : stand up no matter what the professor said or what the class thought. : Nothing they said or did could ever shatter his faith, he hoped. : Finally the day came. The professor said, "If anyone here that still : believes in God, stand up!" The professor and the class of 300 people : looked at him, shocked, as he stood up at the back of the classroom. : The professor shouted, "You FOOL!! If God existed, he could keep this : piece of chalk from breaking when it hits the ground!" He proceeded to : drop the chalk but as he did, it slipped out of his fingers, off his : shirt cuff, onto the pleats of his pants, down his leg, and off his : shoe. As it hit the ground, it simply rolled away, unbroken. The : professor's jaw dropped as he stared at the chalk. He looked up at the : young man and then ran out of the lecture hall. The young man who had : stood up proceeded to walk to the front of the classroom and share his : faith in Jesus for the next half hour. 300 students stayed and listened : as he told of God's love for them and of his power through Jesus.. : "Yet to all who receive HIM, to those who believe in HIS name, He gave : the right to become children of God--children not born of natural : descent,nor of human decision or a husbands's will, but born of GOD." : "But He knows the way that I take. When He tests me, I will come forth : as gold." Job 23:10 : : Please continue to pass this on from one Christian to the next as a : message of encouragement and hope.. : : : **WOULD YOU HAVE STOOD UP?**
These are some awesome poems!
I Believe I believe in the sun even when it is not shining. I believe in love even when I feel it not. I believe in God even when He is silent. Found written on a wall in a concentration camp -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Broken Dreams As children bring their broken toys with tears for us to mend I brought my broken dreams to God because He is my friend. But then, instead of leaving Him in peace to work alone I hung around and tried to help with ways that were my own. At last I snatched them back and cried, "How can you be so slow?" "My child," He said, "What could I do... you never did let go." ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- I am only one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, but I can do something. What I can do, I should do and, with the help of God, I will do! Everett Hale
A great story
I saw a strange sight. I stumbled upon a story most strange, like > > >nothing my life, my street sense, my sly tongue had ever prepared me > > for. > > > > > > Hush, child. Hush, now, and I will tell it to you. > > > Even before the dawn one Friday morning I noticed a young man, > > >handsome and strong, walking the alleys of our City. He was pulling > an > > >old cart filled with clothes both bright and new, and he was calling > in > > a > > >clear, tenor voice: "Rags!" > > > "Now this is a wonder," I thought to myself, for the man stood > > >six-feet-four, and his arms were like tree limbs, hard and muscular, > > and > > >his eyes flashed intelligence. Could he find no better job than this, > > to > > >be a ragman in the inner city? > > > I followed him. My curiosity drove me. And I wasn't disappointed. > > > Soon the Ragman saw a woman sitting on her back porch. She was > > >sobbing into a handkerchief, sighing, and shedding a thousand tears. > > Her > > >knees and elbows made a sad X. Her shoulders shook. Her heart was > > >breaking. > > > The Ragman stopped his cart. Quietly he walked to the woman, > > >stepping round tin cans, dead toys, and Pampers. > > > "Give me your rag," he said so gently, "and I'll give you > > >another." > > > He slipped the handkerchief from her eyes. She looked up, and he > > >laid across her palm a linen cloth so clean and new that it shined. > She > > >blinked from the gift to the giver. > > > Then, as he began to pull his cart again, the Ragman did a > > >strange thing: he began to weep, to sob as grievously as she had > done, > > >his shoulders shaking. Yet she was left without a tear. > > > "This is a wonder," I breathed to myself, and I > > followed > > >the sobbing Ragman like a child who cannot turn away from mystery. > > > "Rags! Rags! New rags for old!" > > > In a little while, when the sky showed grey behind the rooftops > > >and I could see the shredded curtains hanging out black windows, the > > >Ragman came upon a girl whose head was wrapped in a bandage, whose > eyes > > >were empty. Blood soaked her bandage. A single line of blood ran down > > her > > >cheek. > > > Now the Ragman looked upon this child with pity, and he drew a > > >lovely yellow bonnet from his cart. > > > "Give me your rag," he said, tracing his own line on her cheek, > > >"and I'll give you mine." > > > The child could only gaze at him while he loosened the bandage, > > >removed it, and tied it to his own head. The bonnet he set on hers. > And > > I > > >gasped at what I saw: for with the bandage went the wound! Against > his > > >brow it ran a darker, more substantial blood - his own! > > > "Rags! rags! I take old rags!" cried the sobbing, > > >bleeding, strong, intelligent Ragman. > > > The sun hurt both the sky, now, and my eyes; the Ragman seemed > > >more and more to hurry. > > > "Are you going to work? he asked a man who leaned against a > > >telephone pole. The man shook his head. > > > The Ragman pressed him: "Do you have a job?" > > > "Are you crazy?" sneered the other. He pulled away from the pole, > > >revealing the right sleeve of his jacket - flat, the cuff stuffed > into > > >the pocket. He had no arm. > > > "So," said the Ragman. "Give me your jacket, and I'll give you > > >mine." > > > Such quiet authority in his voice! > > > The one-armed man took off his jacket. So did the Ragman - and I > > >trembled at what I saw: for the Ragman's arm stayed in its sleeve, > and > > >when the other put it on he had two good arms, thick as tree limbs; > but > > >the Ragman had only one. > > > "Go to work," he said. > > > After that he found a drunk, lying unconscious beneath an army > > >blanket, an old man, hunched, wizened, and sick. He took that blanket > > and > > >wrapped it around himself, but for the drunk he left new clothes. > > > And now I had to run to keep up with the Ragman. Though he was > > >weeping, and bleeding freely at the forehead, pulling his cart with > one > > >arm, stumbling for drunkeness, falling again and again, exhausted, > old, > > >old, and sick, yet he went with terrible speed. On spider's legs he > > >skittered through the alleys of the City, this mile and the next, > until > > >he came to its limits, and then he rushed beyond. > > > I wept to see the change in this man. I hurt to see his sorrow. > > >And yet I needed to see where he was going in such haste, perhaps to > > know > > >what drove him so. > > > The little old Ragman - he came to a landfill. He came to the > > >garbage pits. And then I wanted to help him in what he did, but I > hung > > >back, hiding. He climbed a hill. With tormented labor he cleared a > > little > > >space on that hill. Then he sighed. He lay down. He pillowed his head > > on > > >a handkerchief and a jacket. He covered his bones with an army > blanket. > > >And he died. > > > Oh, how I cried to witness that death! I slumped in a junked car > > >and wailed and mourned as one who has no hope - because I had come to > > >love the Ragman. Every other face had faded in the wonder of this > man, > > >and I cherished him; but he died. I sobbed myself to sleep. > > > I did not know - how could I know? - that I slept through Friday > > >night and Saturday and its night, too. > > > But then on Sunday morning, I was wakened by a violence. > > > Light - pure, hard, demanding light - slammed against my sour > > >face, and I blinked, and I looked, and I saw the last and first > wonder > > of > > >all. There was the Ragman, folding the blanket most carefully, a scar > > on > > >his forehead, but alive! And, besides that, healthy! There was no > sign > > of > > >sorrow nor of age, and all the rags that he had gathered shined for > > >cleanliness. > > > Well, then I lowered my head and, trembling for all that I had > > >seen, I myself walked up to the Ragman. I told him my name with > shame, > > >for I was a sorry figure next to him. Then I took off all my clothes > in > > >that place, and I said to him with dear yearning in my voice: "Dress > > me." > > > > > > He dressed me. My Lord, he put new rags on me, and I am a wonder > > >beside him. the Ragman, the Ragman, the Christ! > > > > > > - From "Ragman and Other Cries of Faith" > > > by Walter Wangerin, Jr.. copyright 1984
"No more wars to fight
White flags fly tonight
You are out of danger now
Battlefield is still
Wild poppies on the hill
peace can only come when you surrender"
"Here the tracers fly
Lighting up the sky
But I'll fight on to the end.
Let them send their armies
I will never bend
I won't see you now 'til I surrender
I'll see you again when I surrender."
This is a poem that Chris Jue-Steuck submitted for my page.
A Summer Day As happy as a butterfly flowing in the gentle breeze A feather floating through the winds of joy Floating without a care in the world A girl breaks the silence of that nice calm summers day She is laughing with a smile Laughing about life, The world and all The laughter of happiness, Of joy for the many she knows and the inner peace She tells of her many acquaintances And how they helped shaped her being The wind still flowing though the grass And the feather still blowing in the wind Happy as an angel on a daily trip from heaven's gates To see a young girl in a peaceful summer field On a peaceful summers day With the presence of this new girl the summers day seems to come to life The once empty burrows filled with creatures of sorts And once empty logs filled with insects, frogs, an the likes They all gather round To hear the pleasent melody of this girl She sits upon the grass singing a tune of true harmony and peace Detached from the outside world She sits undisturbed with the attention of all around After she is done She leaves this summer grass on this peaceful summer day To face the true realities of life The grass, the burrows, and the logs all return to a state of timeless harmony She is done She has her peace She has told all she wants and now she must face life All stose who care try to make her feel as happy as happy as she was on that one special day When she sung of all she cared about Her life, her friends, and her experiences She is gone The field will remember and record that lovely melody That melody is suspended in the minds of many Those who heard Remember that sweet melody on that summer grass On that summers day
