Have you ever been alone in a crowded room when I'm here with you?

Have you ever been alone in a crowded room; well I'm here with you...

Many years ago, when I worked as a volunteer at a hospital, I got to know a little girl named Liz who was suffering from a rare & serious disease. Her only chance of recovery appeared to be a blood transfusion from her 5-year old brother, who had miraculously survived the same disease and had developed the antibodies needed to combat the illness. The doctor explained the situation to her little brother, and asked the little boy if he would be willing to give his blood to his sister.

I saw him hesitate for only a moment before taking a deep breath and saying, "Yes I'll do it if it will save her." As the transfusion progressed, he lay in bed next to his sister and smiled, as we all did, seeing the color returning to her cheek. Then his face grew pale and his smile faded. He looked up at the doctor and asked with a trembling voice, "Will I start to die right away".

Being young, the little boy had misunderstood the doctor; he thought he was going to have to give his sister ALL of his blood in order to save her.

In the days when an ice cream sundae cost much less, a 10-year-old boy entered a hotel coffee shop and sat at a table. A waitress put a glass of water in front of him. "How much is an ice cream sundae?" "Fifty cents," replied the waitress. The little boy pulled his hand out of his pocket and studied a number of coins in it. "How much is a dish of plain ice cream?" he inquired. Some people were now waiting for a table and the waitress was a bit impatient. "Thirty-five cents," she said brusquely. The little boy again counted the coins. "I'll have the plain ice cream," he said. The waitress brought the ice cream, put the bill on the table and walked away. The boy finished the ice cream, paid the cashier and departed. When the waitress came back, she began wiping down the table and then swallowed hard at what she saw. There, placed neatly beside the empty dish, were two nickels and five pennies - her tip.

So nice of the boy... he had the 50 cents for the ice cream sundae, but he bought plain ice cream so part of the 50 cents could go to the waitress as her tip.

Sitting at home... bored bored bored. My music STILL hasn't arrived yet and I have to meet a less than 2 month deadline... grr... if it doesn't arrive soon I'll go to the store to see if they have it... musn't let the singer down. haha. Welps, the TCMS v-ball team has their (semi)finals next Wednesday and after that, our badminton team should be complete or near complete. Mr. T probably hasn't decided the way our team's gonna be divded as of yet... he probably has 1 out of the 2 required mens singles, and 1 out of 2 mixed doubles, and 1 out of 2 mens doubles.

A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master's house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water to his master's house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do. After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream.

"I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you."

"Why?" asked the bearer. "What are you ashamed of?"

"I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master's house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don't get full value from your efforts," the pot said. The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion he said, "As we return to the master's house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path."

Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some. But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure. The bearer said to the pot, "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of your path, but not on the other pot's side? That's because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you've watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master's table. Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house."

Each of us has our own unique flaws. We're all cracked pots. But if we will allow it, the Lord will use our flaws to grace His Father's table. In God's great economy, nothing goes to waste. So as we seek ways to minister together, and as God calls you to the tasks He has appointed for you, don't be afraid of your flaws. Acknowledge them, and allow Him to take advantage of them, and you, too, can be the cause of beauty in His pathway.Go out boldly, knowing that in our weakness we find His strength, and that "In Him every one of God's promises is a Yes."

Anyhow, when Stephen and I woke up, Carin commented on how lucky we were to be able to sleep because she coudlnt' sleep sitting up and she coudlnt' lie down in the back since Stephen was taking one out of the 3 conjoined seat. Stephen protested "You could still lie down!" and I muttered just loud enough for Carin to hear "Yeah, Stephen's hoping that you'll lie on his lap," because it was ridiculously obvious that Carin would not be able to lie in a 2-seat space, to which she replied "Quiet you!"

We got to the RA Club in good time... and the tournament went well. We managed not to sink to the Consollation pool and pulled as far as the quarter finals in the Champion pool... where we were violently defeated 15-7. Midway through the tourne, we went to some chinese restaurant for lunch... where I didnt' each much, and neither did Carin for we both disliked the food. But that was ok because Stephen ate his own share plus our own... that guy can really eat. Whilst Stephen was stuffing himself, Carin related to me that she didn't like the color of her current racquet and wanted one that was "Either Titanium or Isometric, it has to be long, it has to be silver, but not 100% silver and the other colors cannot be blue, green, black, purple, yellow, orange, magenta, cyan, mauve, turqoise, brown, or any other color except for red... and red was only ok" I did not think such a racquet existed.

A bunch more other stuff happened after that until we started for the 4-hour journey home, but they aren't exactly interesting... if any of the above stuff is. On the way back, since it was getting very late, and since we had been running around all day, I had a good feeling that we'd all be tired. I insisted on Stephen moving up to the middle seat with me in the case that Carin felt obliged to sleep, she could do so without having to worry aobut Stephen lounging on the third seat... she refused to sleep on it, because she thought we went through too much trouble to make her comfortable. So she sat in the back seat the entire journey, refusing to sleep... she's the only person I know who would pass up on such a situation.

“Don't mind criticism.
If it's untrue, disregard it;
If it's unfair, keep from irritation;
If it's ignorant, smile;
If it's justified, learn from it.”
-- Jessica Guidobono

I guess I'm taking a break from the stories just for a little bit... mostly cause good ones are rarer to find than good quotes and I've only got like 5 stories. Maybe I'll post about Saturday... today being Monday, anybody would be wondering why I didn't do it sooner and I really don't have an answer for that. Saturday was the day of the badminton tournament down in Ottawa and in retrospect... it was actually really really good.

With the tournament in Ottawa and everything, I had to get up at the ungodly hour of 4 AM in order to drive to Stephen's house by 5. Stephen being my mens doubles partner had also insisted upon bringing a mixed doubles partner named Carin... Carin allegedly pronounced in the same fashion as Karen. Carin would be the source behind the constant bickering of petty topics between the two of us... having nothing better to do, she was adament on arguing with me. She was a really nice girl though, and her apparent reason behind why she complained so much that day was because I listened to it. Anyhow, at the outrageously early time that it was, we were all somewhat still tired and Stephen and myself fell into a deep state of slumber for the first little bit of the journey. I was sitting in the middle row and Stephen and Carin sat in the back row. Carin's complaining started as soon as she got into the van, saying something about Stephen's insistence on sitting on the outside seat where his legs could strech out when her's couldn't.

A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. "Going my way, sailor?" she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own. And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be, grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment.

"I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard,and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?"

The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is about, son," she answered, "but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!"

It's not difficult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive. "Tell me whom you love," Houssaye wrote, "And I will tell you who you are."

John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose.

His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, butwith the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. With time and effort he located her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond.

The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II. During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like.

When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting - 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in New York. "You'll recognize me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel." So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.
I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what happened:

The years went by, and the trees forgot about their dreams. Then one day, a man and women came to the barn. She gave birth and they placed the baby in the hay in the feed box that was made from the first tree. The man wished that he could have made a crib for the baby, but this manger would have to do. The tree could feel the importance of this event and knew that it had held the greatest treasure of all time.

Years later, a group of men got in the fishing boat made from the second tree. One of them was tired and went to sleep. While they were out on the water, a great storm arose and the tree didn't think it was strong enough to keep the men safe. The men woke the sleeping man, and he stood and said "peace" and the storm stopped. At this time, the tree knew that it had carried the king of kings in it's boat.

Finally, someone came and got the third tree. It was carried through the streets as the people mocked the man who was carrying it. When they came to a stop, the man was nailed to the tree and raised in the air to die at the top of a hill. When Sunday came, the tree came to realize that it was strong enough to stand at the top of the hill and be as close to God as was possible, because Jesus had been crucified on it.

The moral of this story is that when things don't seem to be going your way, always know that God has a plan for you. If you place your trust in Him, He will give you great gifts. Each of the trees got what they wanted, just not in the way they had imagined

Once there were three trees on a hill in a woods. They were discussing their hopes and dreams when the first tree said "Someday I hope to be a treasure chest. I could be filled with gold, silver and precious gems. I could be decorated with intricate carving and everyone would see the beauty."

Then the second tree said "Someday I will be a mighty ship. I will take kings and queens across the waters and sail to the corners of the world. Everyone will feel safe in me because of the strength of my hull."

Finally the third tree said. "I want to grow to be the tallest and straightest tree in the forest. People will see me on top of the hill and look up to my branches, and think of the heavens and God and how close to them I am reaching. I will be the greatest tree of all time and people will always remember me.."

After a few years of praying that their dreams would come true, a group of woodsmen came upon the trees. When one came to the first tree he said, "This looks like a strong tree, I think I should be able to sell the wood to a carpenter." and he began cutting it down. The tree was happy, because he knew that the carpenter would make him into a treasure chest.

At the second tree a woodsman said, "This looks like a strong tree, I should be able to sell it to the shipyard." The second tree was happy because he knew he was on his way to becoming a mighty ship.

When the woodsmen came upon the third tree, the tree was frightened because he knew that if they cut him down his dreams would not come true. One of the woodsman said, "I don't need anything special from my tree so I'll take this one" and he cut it down.

When the first tree arrived at the carpenters, he was made into a feed box for animals. He was then placed in a barn and filled with hay. This was not at all what he had prayed for. The second tree was cut and made into a small fishing boat. His dreams of being a mighty ship and carrying kings had come to an end. The third tree was cut into large pieces and left alone in the dark.

Once in my life, I met a good soul.. so kind and caring. Once in my life, I met an angel.. so sweet and thoughtful. Once in my life, I met you, a good soul and an angel

“If one could only learn to appreciate the little things...
A song that takes you away, for there are those who cannot hear.
The beauty of a sunset, for there are those who cannot see.
The warmth and safety of your home, for there are those who are homeless.
Time spent with good friends for there are those who are lonely.
A walk along the beach for there are those who cannot walk.
The little things are what life is all about,
Search your soul and learn to appreciate."
-- Shadi Souferian

The end of another week... and teh start of another weekend... which will prove to be quite boring. I will find myself in my room on Saturday afternoon thinking "I should be doing something" I wish I was doing something. Blah. It's getting to the point where I look forward to school more than weekends. I guess I just get lonely on the weekends.

“It's not enough to have a dream,
Unless you're willing to pursue it.
It's not enough to know what's right,
Unless you're strong enough to do it.
It's not enough to learn the truth,
Unless you also learn to live it.
It's not enough to reach for love,
Unless you care enough to give it.”
-- Anonymous

Ok, so Mr. T has finally consented to allow me to play badminton in Phys Ed class... but he handicaps me. I'm suddenly unsure of whether or not I want to go on the ski/snowboard trip... not because of the recent avalanche incident of cousre, but because I don't snowboard, and I stopped skiing in grade 6 when I broke my arm.

“Sometimes it's easier for me to be numb. It's easier not to feel things, to just put them away and not feel anything about them. But when I'm numb towards you, it doesn't mean I don't care. It means I care too much.”
-- Anonymous

Just remember that everyone. Anyhow, I had a feeling that the second day would be better than the first. Science was ok. Portelli held up an apple in science class and said "This is our earth... it's slightly bashed up but anyways, I'm going to cut it into four pieces (she proceeds to begin the slicing process and then mutters to herself)... I'm going to cut my fingers off." Mr. T won't let my play badminton in Phys Ed. class. Apparently, he already guarentees me an A+ on the sport, but doesn't want me to humiliate anyone... like I'm really going to try to humiliate my peers in gym class. I also found myself sitting smack dab in the middle of music class... like in the very center of the room. Apparently, Elaine gets a bit jittery when she's bored... which might explain how I was sitting in class and a flute flew out of nowhere next to me and stabbed me in the side.

“School shouldn't be taken too seriously or too carelessly; life is an endless process of learning, it's inevitable. You'll be whatever you're destined to be no matter what, so the question isn't whether you'll make it but how long will it take for you to get there?”
-- Marie del Sol

Second Semester... well, it's not terribly bad but somehow not as great as I thought it would be. Semester two's Science with Portelli. In some very wierd way, I think I somehow prefer History. I don't know why. I guess it's partly cause I have Ms.M.P. instead of Mr. Cheung like last year and I actually enjoyed History with Fisher. Like for all these years, ever since like grade 2, Science has always been my strong subject and History my weaker one. I remember Science marks like 80s and 90s and History marks of 70s or so. But now with my History in the 90s... I don't know anymore. I liked the class a lot. Period 2 is great. Phys Ed with Mr. T, even if it IS in the small gym. And we really didn't do much. Period 3 is Math with Ms. Edwards. This is the class that's almost hte exact parallel with its semester 1 class partly because I have the same teacher. And ComSci first semester wasn't really all that hard anyways and it was a helluva lot more interesting than learning about co-interior angles. Period 4 I guess is probably the period that gave me a bad first impression. The teacher's the greatest in the world, but we have a much larger class this year. I liked it a lot more last year when we only had our grade and the grade 10s (this year's grade 11s) in it rather than one conglomerated class of 9/10/11. That and we have 5 new pieces to learn just like that. Sigh, I make seem like I don't like Semester 2. Well, it's not AS great as I thought it would be, but I'll have to admit it's a good semester and tomorrow'll probably be a better day, what with the grade 9s having their off day and Mr. T actually starting a sport in Phys Ed instead of the mandatory introductory lecture that he apologized to us for having to give.