Thursday, August 21, 2014


This was sent by a friend. It seemed so true that I felt I should share it with you all.

THE                 BUZZARD
If you put  a  buzzard in a pen that is  6 feet by 8 feet and is entirely open at  the  top,
the bird,  in   spite of its ability to  fly, will be an absolute   prisoner.
The  reason is that a buzzard  always begins a flight from the ground with a run  of  10 to 12 feet.
Without  space to run, as is its habit, it will not even attempt  to  fly,
But  will remain a prisoner for life in a small jail with  no   top.
THE           BAT
The   ordinary bat that flies around at night, a remarkable nimble creature  in the air,
cannot  take off from a level place.
If   it  is placed on the floor or flat ground, all it can do is shuffle  about   helplessly and,
no    doubt, painfully, until it reaches some slight elevation from which  it can throw itself into  the air.
Then,   at once, it takes off like a flash.
A  bumblebee, if dropped into an open tumbler, will be there until it  dies,  unless it is taken  out.
It never sees the means of escape at the top, but persists in trying  to  find some way out
through the sides near  the bottom.
It will seek a way where none exists, until it completely  destroys   itself.
In  many ways, we are like the buzzard, the bat, and  the   bumblebee.
We  struggle about with all our problems and frustrations, never  realizing  that all we have  to do is lookup!
That's    the answer, the escape route and  the solution to any    problem...
just    look up!
Sorrow    looks back,
Worry    looks around,
But    faith looks up!
Live    simply,
love    generously,
care    deeply,
speak    kindly, and
trust    yourself .

Saturday, August 2, 2014


I am sharing what a friend mailed to me for your consideration. I have already pledged my organs and my signed papers are with a hospital. Our children are told about it.

An Article From The ' Cincinnati Post'

The day will come when my body will lie upon a white sheet neatly tucked under four corners of a mattress located in a hospital busily occupied with the living and dying. 
At a certain moment a doctor will determine that my brain has ceased to function and that, for all intents and purposes, my life has stopped.

When that happens, do not attempt to instill artificial life into my body by the use of a machine. 
And don't call this my death bed. Let it be called the Bed of Life, and let my body be taken from it
to help others lead fuller lives.
Give my sight to the man who has never seen a sunrise, a baby's face or love in the eyes of a woman.
Give my heart to a person whose own heart has caused nothing  but endless days of pain. 
Give my blood to the teenager who was pulled from the wreckage of his car, so that he might live
to see his grandchildren play.
Give my kidneys to one who depends on a machine to exist from week to week. 
Take my bones, every muscle, every fiber and nerve in my body and find a way to make a
crippled child walk.

Explore every corner of my brain. 
Take my cells, if necessary, and let them grow so that, someday, a speechless boy will shout at
the crack of a bat and a deaf girl will hear the sound of rain against her window.

Burn what is left of me and scatter the ashes to the winds to help the flowers grow.

If you must bury something, let it be my faults, my weaknesses and all prejudice against my fellow men.

If by chance, you wish to remember me, do it with a kind deed or word to someone who needs you.
If you do all I have asked, I will live forever.

Robert N Test.