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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 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 long hard day at work today and she’s real tired. And besides… a burnt biscuit never hurt anyone!” You know, life is full of imperfect things… and imperfect people. I’m not the best at hardly anything, and I forget birthdays and anniversaries just like everyone else. What I’ve learned over the years is that learning to accept each others faults and choosing to celebrate each others differences, is one of the most important keys to creating a healthy, growing, and lasting relationship. So…please pass me a biscuit. And yes, the burned one will do just fine!

Pass this along to someone who has enriched your life… I just did! Life is too short to wake up with regrets… Love the people who treat you right and forget about the ones who don’t.

• A monthly pension of : $1,890.00 to a simple refugee
• plus :                                 580.00   in social aid

                                             ==========

•  A grand total of :         $2,470.00    monthly

                                                X   12       months
                                           ========== 
                                          $28,920.00   annual income 

·         By comparison, the Old Age Pension of a senior citizen who has contributed to the development of Our Beautiful Big Country during 40 or 50 years, CANNOT receive more than :

•     Amount/month          $1,012.00    in Old Age Pension and Guaranteed Income Supplement

                                              X   12 months
                                          ============ 
                                                                        $12,144.00          annual income

•    A difference of :         $16,776.00          per year

*      Perhaps our senior citizens should ask for the Status of Refugees instead of applying for Old Age Pension.

*   Let us send this message to as many Canadians as possible, and maybe the allowance of refugee could then be reduced to $1,012.00, and that of our Canadian pensioners raised to $2,470.00 per month.     (who actually deserve it) the money that they have been paying in income taxes for 40 or 50 years,

                                          AN INCREDIBLE NONSENSE !!!
                           OUR CANADIAN SENIORS CITIZENS, DESERVE BETTER

THIS ONE PACKS A FIRM PUNCH

Here is a woman who should run for Prime Minister!

Written by a housewife in New Brunswick , to her local newspaper. This is one ticked off lady.

Are we fighting a war on terror or aren’t we? Was it or was it not started by Islamic people who brought it to our shores on September 11, 2001 and have continually threatened to do so since?

Were people from all over the world, not brutally murdered that day, in downtown Manhattan , across the Potomac from the nation’s capitol and in a field in Pennsylvania ?

Did nearly three thousand men, women and children die a horrible, burning or crushing death that day, or didn’t they?

And I’m supposed to care that a few Taliban were claiming to be tortured by a justice system of the nation they come from and are fighting against in a brutal insurgency.

I’ll start caring when Osama bin Laden turns himself in and repents for incinerating all those innocent people on 9/11.

I’ll care about the Koran when the fanatics in the Middle East start caring about the Holy Bible, the mere belief of which is a crime punishable by beheading in Afghanistan .

I’ll care when these thugs tell the world they are sorry for hacking off Nick Berg’s head while Berg screamed through his gurgling slashed throat.

I’ll care when the cowardly so-called ‘insurgents’ in Afghanistan come out and fight like men instead of disrespecting their own religion by hiding in mosques.

I’ll care when the mindless zealots who blows themselves up in search of nirvana care about the innocent children within range of their suicide bombs.

I’ll care when the Canadian media stops pretending that their freedom of speech on stories is more important than the lives of the soldiers on the ground or their families waiting at home to hear about them when something happens.

In the meantime, when I hear a story about a CANADIAN soldier roughing up an Insurgent terrorist to obtain information, know this:

I don’t care.

When I see a wounded terrorist get shot in the head when he is told not to move because he might be booby-trapped, you can take it to the bank:

I don’t care.

When I hear that a prisoner, who was issued a Koran and a prayer mat, and ‘fed special’ food that is paid for by my tax dollars, is complaining that his holy book is being ‘mishandled,’ you can absolutely believe in your heart of hearts:

I don’t care.

And oh, by the way, I’ve noticed that sometimes it’s spelled ‘Koran’ and other times ‘Quran.’ Well, Jimmy Crack Corn you guessed it,

I don’t care!!

If you agree with this viewpoint, pass this on to all your E-mail friends Sooner or later, it’ll get to the people responsible for this ridiculous behaviour!

If you don’t agree, then by all means hit the delete button. Should you choose the latter, then please don’t complain when more atrocities committed by radical Muslims happen here in our great Country! And may I add:

Some people spend an entire lifetime wondering if they made a difference in the world. But, the Soldiers don’t have that problem.

I have another quote that I would like to add, AND…….I hope you forward all this.

One last thought for the day:

Only five defining forces have ever offered to die for you:

1. Jesus Christ

 2. The Canadian Soldier.

 3. The British Soldier.

 4. The US Soldier, and

 5. The Australian Soldier

One died for your soul, the other 4 for your freedom.

YOU MIGHT WANT TO PASS THIS ON, AS MANY SEEM TO FORGET ALL OF THEM.

AMEN!

Apply to be a refugee. It is interesting that the federal government provides a single refugee with a monthly allowance of 1,890.00 and each can get an additional $580.00 in social assistance for a total of $2,470.00.

This compares very well to a single pensioner who, after contributing to the growth and development of Canada for 40 or 50 years, can only receive a monthly maximum of $1,012.00 in old age pension and Guaranteed Income Supplement.

Furthermore if you had the wisdom to have a RRSP and made other income generating investments you may have earned the right to receive nothing from the Federal Government as they claw your Old Age Pension back because in their opinion you do not need it!!!!!

Maybe our pensioners should apply as refugees! Let’s send this thought to as many Canadians as we can and maybe we can get the refugees generous GIFT reduced to $1,012.00 and the pensioners hard earned pittance increased to $2,470.00, so they can enjoy some minimal benefit from the money they were forced to submit to the Canadian government for those 40 to 50 years.

The subject was what Heaven was like. ‘I wowed ‘em,’ he later told his father, Bruce.

‘It’s a killer. It’s the bomb. It’s the best thing I ever wrote..’ It also was the last.

Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving home from a friend’s house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck unharmed but stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted.

The Moores framed a copy of Brian’s essay and hung it among the family portraits in the living room. ‘I think God used him to make a point. I think we were meant to find it and make something out of it,’ Mrs. Moore said of the essay. She and her husband want to share their son’s vision of life after death. ‘I’m happy for Brian. I know he’s in heaven.. I know I’ll see him.’

Brian’s Essay: The Room…

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except 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 endless 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 ‘Girls 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 on 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 curiosity, 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 their exactness: ‘Things I’ve yelled at my brothers.’ Others I couldn’t laugh at: ‘Things I Have Done in My Anger’, ‘Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents.’ I never ceased to be surprised by the contents.

Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill 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 ‘TV Shows I have watched’, 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 shows but more by the vast time I knew that file represented.

When I came to a file marked ‘Lustful Thoughts,’ I felt a chill run through my body. 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 on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!’ In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn’t matter now. I had to empty it 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 returned 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 not 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 that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the 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 watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than 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 back 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.

‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.’-Phil. 4:13 ‘For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.’ If you feel the same way forward it so the love of Jesus will touch their lives also. My ‘People I shared the gospel with’ file just got bigger, how about yours?

IF THERE IS ONE EMAIL THAT I HAVE READ THAT NEEDS TO GO AROUND THE WORLD, IT IS THIS ONE, FOR THE CHRISTIAN OR NOT! MAY GOD BLESS YOU ALL!

You don’t have to share this with anybody, no one will know whether you did or not, but what do you feel in your heart?

A man came home from work late, tired and irritated, to find his 5-year old son waiting for him at the door.
SON: Daddy, may I ask you a question?
DAD: Yeah sure, what it is? replied the man.
SON: Daddy, how much do you make an hour?
DAD: That’s none of your business. Why do you ask such a thing? the man said angrily.
SON: I just want to know. Please tell me, how much do you make an hour?
DAD: If you must know, I make $50 an hour.
SON: Oh, the little boy replied, with his head down.
SON: Daddy, may I please borrow $25?
The father was furious, If the only reason you asked that is so you can borrow some money to buy a silly toy or some other nonsense, then you march yourself straight to your room and go to bed. Think about why you are being so selfish. I don’t work hard everyday for such childish frivolities.’ The little boy quietly went to his room and shut the door.
The man sat down and started to get even angrier about the little boys’ questions. How dare he ask such questions only to get some money?
After about an hour or so, the man had calmed down , and started to think: maybe there was something he really needed to buy with that $25.00 and he really didn’t ask for money very often. The man went to the door of the little boy’s room and opened the door. ‘Are you asleep, son?’ He asked. ‘No daddy, I’m awake,’ replied the boy.
I’ve been thinking, maybe I was too hard on you earlier, said the man. It’s been a long day and I took out my aggravation on you. Here’s the $25 you asked for.
The little boy sat straight up, smiling. Oh, thank you daddy! he yelled. Then, reaching under his pillow he pulled out some crumpled up bills.
The man saw that the boy already had money, started to get angry again.
The little boy slowly counted out his money, and then looked up at his father. Why do you want more money if you already have some? the father grumbled.
Because I didn’t have enough, but now I do, the little boy replied. Daddy, I have $50 now. Can I buy an hour of your time? Please come home early tomorrow. I would like to have dinner with you.
The father was crushed. He put his arms around his little son, and he begged for his forgiveness.
It’s just a short reminder to all of you working so hard in life. We should not let time slip through our fingers without having spent some time with those who really matter to us, those close to our hearts.
Do remember to share that $50 worth of your time with someone you love.
If we die tomorrow, the company that we are working for could easily replace us in a matter of hours. But the family & friends we leave behind will feel the loss for the rest of their lives.

Lady, hundreds of thousands of men and women like this young man have fought and died so that YOU could stand here in MY country and accuse a check-out cashier of bombing YOUR countrymen.
It is my belief that had you been this outspoken in YOUR own country, we wouldn’t need to be there today.
But, hey, if you have now learned how to speak out so loudly and clearly, I’ll gladly buy you a ticket and pay your way back to Iraq so you can Straighten out the Mess in YOUR country that you are Obviously here in MY country to avoid.

Everyone within hearing distance cheered!

IF YOU AGREE… Pass this on to all of your proud Canadian friends. I just did!

Hello! You have reached the automated answering service of your school. In order to assist you in connecting to the right staff member, please listen to all the options before making a selection:
To lie about why your child is absent – Press 1
To make excuses for why your child did not do his work – Press 2
To complain about what we do – Press 3
To swear at staff members – Press 4
To ask why you didn’t get information that was already enclosed in your newsletter and several flyers mailed to you – Press 5
If you want us to raise your child – Press 6
If you want to reach out and touch, slap or hit someone – Press 7
To request another teacher, for the third time this year – Press 8
To complain about bus transportation – Press 9
To complain about school lunches – Press 0

If you realize this is the real world and your child must be Accountable and responsible for his/her own behaviour, class work, homework and that it’s not the teachers’ fault for your child’s lack of effort: Hang up and have a nice day!
If you want this in another language, move to a country that speaks it.