Words from My 5 Year Old Autistic Son: "Here Comes Jesus" !!! | |
Anonymous Coward User ID: 28630651 United States 04/03/2013 05:23 AM Report Abusive Post Report Copyright Violation | This is what happens when you brainwash your kids with religious bull. Quoting: Anonymous Coward 37102849 Maybe you should stop watching "the Bible" series with him. Little kids have a great imagination and can't distinguish reality from fantasy - he is basing his on your programming. The Lord Jesus bless you |
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Judethz User ID: 20521597 United Kingdom 04/03/2013 12:11 PM Report Abusive Post Report Copyright Violation | Here's an update I posted just now...I didn't want anyone to think I forgot about this thread. It's been overwhelming to say the least...but such a blessing Quoting: BetteDavisEyes Again, thank you to those who felt the same way THANKS TO OUR LORD! That was a lovely message. BEST FRIEND... [link to www.chick.com] |
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Anonymous Coward (OP) User ID: 20399685 United States 04/03/2013 10:10 PM Report Abusive Post Report Copyright Violation | the lamb...becomes a RAM........the sheep He protects...for a RAM is a father to its flock...to the sheep. [link to www.kidcyber.com.au] ain't that interesting how nature expresses this to us.... BDE Yes it is! Thank you my friend |
Anonymous Coward (OP) User ID: 20399685 United States 04/03/2013 10:12 PM Report Abusive Post Report Copyright Violation | WOW what responses...need time to catch up Quoting: BetteDavisEyes I just realized I've been a member of this forum for TWO YEARS today! I expect it ALL...every kind of response imaginable If anything, I've developed a thicker skin being here. I really appreciate the diversity of people and their experiences, triumphs and tragedies. What good is a forum w/o this? HA and the shills too You really can't be without the bad to know what is truly GOOD My heart goes out to those who posted the positive feedback and blessings...THANK YOU SO MUCH ! As for those who didn't have anything good to say, you have to answer to God for it, straight up and nothing else. My son was very excited, in fact he was shuffling his feet while he was saying the words! For a moment, it felt like I was watching him be born all over again! It was truly a miracle for him to put those three specific words together...unfathomable yet with God, all is possible!! So again to those who oppose this message...TIME IS RUNNING OUT!!! Please realize the LOVE that our Lord Jesus Christ has for you...every single one of you!! He will never leave us or forsake us...HALLELUJAH !!! THANK YOU JESUS!! WE WAITING AND HOPING WE'RE READY FOR YOU!!! :peace28: :chesswithGod: Hello OP Great message btw. People that taunt are just fearful in the back of their mind of Christ's return. They can't fathom giving up their idols of television, gaming, partying, smart phones and just sinning in particular. They invent stories that say people who are saved have mental issues. This will only get worse. It took me a while to figger out why God didn't want me to go to Churches to tell them what will soon unfold. The reason is that there hearts are cold to Him. There will be more problems coming back to me. God is letting His people know to get ready because here I come. The few that we do try to warn will see the miracles and then explain them off. Once a society or people get used to doing certain things, it is much harder for them to stop. It is an addiction this life that we live in. So continue what you do because there might be that one person that may change themselves for the better. These people that ridicule even would ridicule Jesus if they could. Even Jesus was ridiculed in his time and we know what happened to most of them. So Thanks again for sharing your story and God Bless You and Your Family. You are always in my prayers! Thank you brother for your heartfelt post ! Will keep you in my prayers too :pray: |
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Anonymous Coward (OP) User ID: 20399685 United States 04/03/2013 10:13 PM Report Abusive Post Report Copyright Violation | Here's an update I posted just now...I didn't want anyone to think I forgot about this thread. It's been overwhelming to say the least...but such a blessing Quoting: BetteDavisEyes Again, thank you to those who felt the same way THANKS TO OUR LORD! :mumcub: That was a lovely message. BEST FRIEND... [link to www.chick.com] Thank you sister |
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Anonymous Coward User ID: 21921104 United States 04/04/2013 05:55 AM Report Abusive Post Report Copyright Violation | It was so refreshing to wake up and watch your video this morning. Such words of hope and comfort from such a beautiful spirit in the LORD! How quickly I forget this precious truth in a world filled such hopelessness. To those that are HIS at HIS coming there will be nothing SWEETER TO TASTE. To those that are without a Day of BITTERNESS TO THE STOMACH as the Mystery of GOD is finished. Praying all would be ready.... The Messiah Is Coming! |
Adventus Domini User ID: 893880 United States 04/04/2013 09:29 AM Report Abusive Post Report Copyright Violation | It was so refreshing to wake up and watch your video this morning. Such words of hope and comfort from such a beautiful spirit in the LORD! How quickly I forget this precious truth in a world filled such hopelessness. Quoting: Anonymous Coward 21921104 To those that are HIS at HIS coming there will be nothing SWEETER TO TASTE. To those that are without a Day of BITTERNESS TO THE STOMACH as the Mystery of GOD is finished. Praying all would be ready.... The Messiah Is Coming! This world can be a dark place. But, this video shines the Lord's light into dark places. I'm reminded of a story written by Robert Fulghum. It's one of my favotites and I think it applies here. ***** What is the Meaning of Life? "Are There Any Questions?" An offer that comes at the end of college lectures and long meetings. Said when an audience is not only overdosed with information, but when there is no time left anyhow. At times like that you sure do have questions. Like "Can we leave now?" and "What the hell was this meeting for?" and "Where can I get a drink?" The gesture is supposed to indicate openness on the part of the speaker, I suppose, but if in fact you do ask a question, both the speaker and audience will give you drop-dead looks. And some fool -- some earnest idiot -- always asks. And the speaker always answers. By repeating most of what he has already said. But if there is a little time left and there is a little silence in response to the invitation, I usually ask the most important question of all: "What is the meaning of life?" You never know, somebody may have the answer, and I'd really hate to miss it because I was too socially inhibited to ask. But when I ask, it's usually taken as a kind of absurdist move -- people laugh and nod and gather up their stuff and the meeting is dismissed on that ridiculous note. Once, and only once, I asked that question and got a serious answer. One that is with me still. First, I must tell you where this happened, because the place has a power of its own. In Greece again. Near the village of Gonia on a rocky bay of the island of Crete, sits a Greek Orthodox monastery. Alongside it, on land donated by the monastery, is an institute dedicated to human understanding and peace, and especially to rapprochement between Germans and Cretans. An improbable task, given the bitter residue of wartime. This site is important, because it overlooks the small airstrip at Maleme where Nazi paratroopers invaded Crete and were attacked by peasants wielding kitchen knives and hay scythes. The retribution was terrible. The populations of whole villages were lined up and shot for assaulting Hitler's finest troops. High above the institute is a cemetery with a single cross marking the mass grave of Cretan partisans. And across the bay on yet another hill is the regimented burial ground of the Nazi paratroopers. The memorials are so placed that all might see and never forget. Hate was the only weapon the Cretans had at the end, and it was a weapon many vowed never to give up. Never ever. Against this heavy curtain of history, in this place where the stone of hatred is hard and thick, the existence of an institute devoted to healing the wounds of war is a fragile paradox. How has it come to be here? The answer is a man. Alexander Papaderos. A doctor of philosophy, teacher, politician, resident of Athens but a son of this soil. At war's end he came to believe that the Germans and the Cretans had much to give one another -- much to learn from one another. That they had an example to set. For if they could forgive each other and construct a creative relationship, then any people could. To make a lovely story short, Papaderos succeeded. The institute became a reality -- a conference ground on the site of horror -- and it was in fact a source of producive interaction between the two countries. Books have been written on the dreams that were realized by what people gave to people in this place. By the time I came to the institute for a summer session, Alexander Papaderos had become a living legend. One look at him and you saw his strength and intensity -- energy, physical power, courage, intelligence, passion, and vivacity radiated from this person. And to speak to him, to shake his hand, to be in a room with him when he spoke, was to experience his extraordinary electric humanity. Few men live up to their reputations when you get close. Alexander Papaderos was an exception. At the last session on the last morning of a two-week seminar on Greek culture, led by intellectuals and experts in their fields who were recruited by Papaderos from across Greece, Papaderos rose from his chair at the back of the room and walked to the front, where he stood in the bright Greek sunlight of an open window and looked out. We followed his gaze across the bay to the iron cross marking the German cemetery. He turned. And made the ritual gesture: "Are there any questions?" Quiet quilted the room. These two weeks had generated enough questions for a lifetime, but for now there was only silence. "No questions?" Papaderos swept the room with his eyes. So. I asked. "Dr. Papaderos, what is the meaning of life?" The usual laughter followed, and people stirred to go. Papaderos held up his hand and stilled the room and looked at me for a long time, asking with his eyes if I was serious and seeing from my eyes that I was. "I will answer your question." Taking his wallet out of his hip pocket, he fished into a leather billfold and brought out a very small round mirror, about the size of a quarter. And what he said went like this: "When I was a small child, during the war, we were very poor and we lived in a remote village. One day, on the road, I found the broken pieces of a mirror. A German motorcycle had been wrecked in that place. "I tried to find all the pieces and put them together, but it was not possible, so I kept only the largest piece. This one. And by scratching it on a stone I made it round. I began to play with it as a toy and became fascinated by the fact that I could reflect light into dark places where the sun would never shine -- in deep holes and crevices and dark closets. It became a game for me to get light into the most inaccessible places I could find. "I kept the little mirror, and as I went about my growing up, I would take it out in idle moments and continue the challenge of the game. As I became a man, I grew to understand that this was not just a child's game but a metaphor for what I might do with my life. I came to understand that I am not the light or the source of light. But light -- truth, understanding, knowledge -- is there, and it will only shine in many dark places if I reflect it. "I am a fragment of a mirror whose whole design and shape I do not know. Nevertheless, with what I have I can reflect light into the dark places of this world -- into the black places in the hearts of men -- and change some things in some people. Perhaps others may see and do likewise. This is what I am about. This is the meaning of my life." And then he took his small mirror and, holding it carefully, caught the bright rays of daylight streaming through the window and reflected them onto my face and onto my hands folded on the desk. Much of what I experienced in the way of information about Greek culture and history that summer is gone from memory. But in the wallet of my mind I carry a small round mirror still. Are there any questions? From the book, ’It Was On Fire When I Lay Down On It’ , by Robert Fulghum When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro. |
Anonymous Coward (OP) User ID: 20399685 United States 04/04/2013 10:46 AM Report Abusive Post Report Copyright Violation | It was so refreshing to wake up and watch your video this morning. Such words of hope and comfort from such a beautiful spirit in the LORD! How quickly I forget this precious truth in a world filled such hopelessness. Quoting: Anonymous Coward 21921104 To those that are HIS at HIS coming there will be nothing SWEETER TO TASTE. To those that are without a Day of BITTERNESS TO THE STOMACH as the Mystery of GOD is finished. Praying all would be ready.... The Messiah Is Coming! This world can be a dark place. But, this video shines the Lord's light into dark places. I'm reminded of a story written by Robert Fulghum. It's one of my favotites and I think it applies here. ***** What is the Meaning of Life? "Are There Any Questions?" An offer that comes at the end of college lectures and long meetings. Said when an audience is not only overdosed with information, but when there is no time left anyhow. At times like that you sure do have questions. Like "Can we leave now?" and "What the hell was this meeting for?" and "Where can I get a drink?" The gesture is supposed to indicate openness on the part of the speaker, I suppose, but if in fact you do ask a question, both the speaker and audience will give you drop-dead looks. And some fool -- some earnest idiot -- always asks. And the speaker always answers. By repeating most of what he has already said. But if there is a little time left and there is a little silence in response to the invitation, I usually ask the most important question of all: "What is the meaning of life?" You never know, somebody may have the answer, and I'd really hate to miss it because I was too socially inhibited to ask. But when I ask, it's usually taken as a kind of absurdist move -- people laugh and nod and gather up their stuff and the meeting is dismissed on that ridiculous note. Once, and only once, I asked that question and got a serious answer. One that is with me still. First, I must tell you where this happened, because the place has a power of its own. In Greece again. Near the village of Gonia on a rocky bay of the island of Crete, sits a Greek Orthodox monastery. Alongside it, on land donated by the monastery, is an institute dedicated to human understanding and peace, and especially to rapprochement between Germans and Cretans. An improbable task, given the bitter residue of wartime. This site is important, because it overlooks the small airstrip at Maleme where Nazi paratroopers invaded Crete and were attacked by peasants wielding kitchen knives and hay scythes. The retribution was terrible. The populations of whole villages were lined up and shot for assaulting Hitler's finest troops. High above the institute is a cemetery with a single cross marking the mass grave of Cretan partisans. And across the bay on yet another hill is the regimented burial ground of the Nazi paratroopers. The memorials are so placed that all might see and never forget. Hate was the only weapon the Cretans had at the end, and it was a weapon many vowed never to give up. Never ever. Against this heavy curtain of history, in this place where the stone of hatred is hard and thick, the existence of an institute devoted to healing the wounds of war is a fragile paradox. How has it come to be here? The answer is a man. Alexander Papaderos. A doctor of philosophy, teacher, politician, resident of Athens but a son of this soil. At war's end he came to believe that the Germans and the Cretans had much to give one another -- much to learn from one another. That they had an example to set. For if they could forgive each other and construct a creative relationship, then any people could. To make a lovely story short, Papaderos succeeded. The institute became a reality -- a conference ground on the site of horror -- and it was in fact a source of producive interaction between the two countries. Books have been written on the dreams that were realized by what people gave to people in this place. By the time I came to the institute for a summer session, Alexander Papaderos had become a living legend. One look at him and you saw his strength and intensity -- energy, physical power, courage, intelligence, passion, and vivacity radiated from this person. And to speak to him, to shake his hand, to be in a room with him when he spoke, was to experience his extraordinary electric humanity. Few men live up to their reputations when you get close. Alexander Papaderos was an exception. At the last session on the last morning of a two-week seminar on Greek culture, led by intellectuals and experts in their fields who were recruited by Papaderos from across Greece, Papaderos rose from his chair at the back of the room and walked to the front, where he stood in the bright Greek sunlight of an open window and looked out. We followed his gaze across the bay to the iron cross marking the German cemetery. He turned. And made the ritual gesture: "Are there any questions?" Quiet quilted the room. These two weeks had generated enough questions for a lifetime, but for now there was only silence. "No questions?" Papaderos swept the room with his eyes. So. I asked. "Dr. Papaderos, what is the meaning of life?" The usual laughter followed, and people stirred to go. Papaderos held up his hand and stilled the room and looked at me for a long time, asking with his eyes if I was serious and seeing from my eyes that I was. "I will answer your question." Taking his wallet out of his hip pocket, he fished into a leather billfold and brought out a very small round mirror, about the size of a quarter. And what he said went like this: "When I was a small child, during the war, we were very poor and we lived in a remote village. One day, on the road, I found the broken pieces of a mirror. A German motorcycle had been wrecked in that place. "I tried to find all the pieces and put them together, but it was not possible, so I kept only the largest piece. This one. And by scratching it on a stone I made it round. I began to play with it as a toy and became fascinated by the fact that I could reflect light into dark places where the sun would never shine -- in deep holes and crevices and dark closets. It became a game for me to get light into the most inaccessible places I could find. "I kept the little mirror, and as I went about my growing up, I would take it out in idle moments and continue the challenge of the game. As I became a man, I grew to understand that this was not just a child's game but a metaphor for what I might do with my life. I came to understand that I am not the light or the source of light. But light -- truth, understanding, knowledge -- is there, and it will only shine in many dark places if I reflect it. "I am a fragment of a mirror whose whole design and shape I do not know. Nevertheless, with what I have I can reflect light into the dark places of this world -- into the black places in the hearts of men -- and change some things in some people. Perhaps others may see and do likewise. This is what I am about. This is the meaning of my life." And then he took his small mirror and, holding it carefully, caught the bright rays of daylight streaming through the window and reflected them onto my face and onto my hands folded on the desk. Much of what I experienced in the way of information about Greek culture and history that summer is gone from memory. But in the wallet of my mind I carry a small round mirror still. Are there any questions? From the book, ’It Was On Fire When I Lay Down On It’ , by Robert Fulghum What a beautiful story AD! Thank you so much for sharing this |
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Revo/elation User ID: 1278834 United States 04/12/2013 02:31 AM Report Abusive Post Report Copyright Violation | It was so refreshing to wake up and watch your video this morning. Such words of hope and comfort from such a beautiful spirit in the LORD! How quickly I forget this precious truth in a world filled such hopelessness. Quoting: Anonymous Coward 21921104 To those that are HIS at HIS coming there will be nothing SWEETER TO TASTE. To those that are without a Day of BITTERNESS TO THE STOMACH as the Mystery of GOD is finished. Praying all would be ready.... The Messiah Is Coming! This world can be a dark place. But, this video shines the Lord's light into dark places. I'm reminded of a story written by Robert Fulghum. It's one of my favotites and I think it applies here. ***** What is the Meaning of Life? "Are There Any Questions?" An offer that comes at the end of college lectures and long meetings. Said when an audience is not only overdosed with information, but when there is no time left anyhow. At times like that you sure do have questions. Like "Can we leave now?" and "What the hell was this meeting for?" and "Where can I get a drink?" The gesture is supposed to indicate openness on the part of the speaker, I suppose, but if in fact you do ask a question, both the speaker and audience will give you drop-dead looks. And some fool -- some earnest idiot -- always asks. And the speaker always answers. By repeating most of what he has already said. But if there is a little time left and there is a little silence in response to the invitation, I usually ask the most important question of all: "What is the meaning of life?" You never know, somebody may have the answer, and I'd really hate to miss it because I was too socially inhibited to ask. But when I ask, it's usually taken as a kind of absurdist move -- people laugh and nod and gather up their stuff and the meeting is dismissed on that ridiculous note. Once, and only once, I asked that question and got a serious answer. One that is with me still. First, I must tell you where this happened, because the place has a power of its own. In Greece again. Near the village of Gonia on a rocky bay of the island of Crete, sits a Greek Orthodox monastery. Alongside it, on land donated by the monastery, is an institute dedicated to human understanding and peace, and especially to rapprochement between Germans and Cretans. An improbable task, given the bitter residue of wartime. This site is important, because it overlooks the small airstrip at Maleme where Nazi paratroopers invaded Crete and were attacked by peasants wielding kitchen knives and hay scythes. The retribution was terrible. The populations of whole villages were lined up and shot for assaulting Hitler's finest troops. High above the institute is a cemetery with a single cross marking the mass grave of Cretan partisans. And across the bay on yet another hill is the regimented burial ground of the Nazi paratroopers. The memorials are so placed that all might see and never forget. Hate was the only weapon the Cretans had at the end, and it was a weapon many vowed never to give up. Never ever. Against this heavy curtain of history, in this place where the stone of hatred is hard and thick, the existence of an institute devoted to healing the wounds of war is a fragile paradox. How has it come to be here? The answer is a man. Alexander Papaderos. A doctor of philosophy, teacher, politician, resident of Athens but a son of this soil. At war's end he came to believe that the Germans and the Cretans had much to give one another -- much to learn from one another. That they had an example to set. For if they could forgive each other and construct a creative relationship, then any people could. To make a lovely story short, Papaderos succeeded. The institute became a reality -- a conference ground on the site of horror -- and it was in fact a source of producive interaction between the two countries. Books have been written on the dreams that were realized by what people gave to people in this place. By the time I came to the institute for a summer session, Alexander Papaderos had become a living legend. One look at him and you saw his strength and intensity -- energy, physical power, courage, intelligence, passion, and vivacity radiated from this person. And to speak to him, to shake his hand, to be in a room with him when he spoke, was to experience his extraordinary electric humanity. Few men live up to their reputations when you get close. Alexander Papaderos was an exception. At the last session on the last morning of a two-week seminar on Greek culture, led by intellectuals and experts in their fields who were recruited by Papaderos from across Greece, Papaderos rose from his chair at the back of the room and walked to the front, where he stood in the bright Greek sunlight of an open window and looked out. We followed his gaze across the bay to the iron cross marking the German cemetery. He turned. And made the ritual gesture: "Are there any questions?" Quiet quilted the room. These two weeks had generated enough questions for a lifetime, but for now there was only silence. "No questions?" Papaderos swept the room with his eyes. So. I asked. "Dr. Papaderos, what is the meaning of life?" The usual laughter followed, and people stirred to go. Papaderos held up his hand and stilled the room and looked at me for a long time, asking with his eyes if I was serious and seeing from my eyes that I was. "I will answer your question." Taking his wallet out of his hip pocket, he fished into a leather billfold and brought out a very small round mirror, about the size of a quarter. And what he said went like this: "When I was a small child, during the war, we were very poor and we lived in a remote village. One day, on the road, I found the broken pieces of a mirror. A German motorcycle had been wrecked in that place. "I tried to find all the pieces and put them together, but it was not possible, so I kept only the largest piece. This one. And by scratching it on a stone I made it round. I began to play with it as a toy and became fascinated by the fact that I could reflect light into dark places where the sun would never shine -- in deep holes and crevices and dark closets. It became a game for me to get light into the most inaccessible places I could find. "I kept the little mirror, and as I went about my growing up, I would take it out in idle moments and continue the challenge of the game. As I became a man, I grew to understand that this was not just a child's game but a metaphor for what I might do with my life. I came to understand that I am not the light or the source of light. But light -- truth, understanding, knowledge -- is there, and it will only shine in many dark places if I reflect it. "I am a fragment of a mirror whose whole design and shape I do not know. Nevertheless, with what I have I can reflect light into the dark places of this world -- into the black places in the hearts of men -- and change some things in some people. Perhaps others may see and do likewise. This is what I am about. This is the meaning of my life." And then he took his small mirror and, holding it carefully, caught the bright rays of daylight streaming through the window and reflected them onto my face and onto my hands folded on the desk. Much of what I experienced in the way of information about Greek culture and history that summer is gone from memory. But in the wallet of my mind I carry a small round mirror still. Are there any questions? From the book, ’It Was On Fire When I Lay Down On It’ , by Robert Fulghum What an awesome read. And personal meaning/confirmation for me as well. Thanks for posting. |
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