Gloudina
Lees die drie stories mooi en volgende keer dink voor jy skryf.Ek dink Emmy
kan ook maar lees.
Die stories is egter in Engels.
Storie 1
The Old Frog
Two small boys on opposite banks, starring at one another.
If not for the pond between the two, they could be mistaken for brothers.
Two little boys, with fresh young faces but old hatreds fill their eyes.
Glaring across at one another, with anger and despise.
"Why do you both feel this way?" croaks the old frog from his lily pad.
"What have you done to one another?" uncertain why they're mad.
"My father said, this is our way, that his side did us wrong."
"Well my uncle has said, your sides to blame." shouts a reply from across
the pond.
The old frog then looks at both of the boys and questions with dismay.
"How can these brothers someday soar together, if they're chained down by
yesterday?"
by W.A.S.
Used with Permission
Storie 2
Forgiveness
A letter written to a man on death row by the Father of the man whom the man
on death row had killed:
You are probably surprised that I, of all people, am writing a letter to
you, but I ask you to read it in its entirety and consider its request
seriously. As the Father of the man whom you took part in murdering, I have
something very important to say to you.
I forgive you. With all my heart, I forgive you. I realize it may be hard
for you to believe, but I really do. At your trial, when you confessed to
your part in the events that cost my Son his life and asked for my
forgiveness, I immediately granted you that forgiving love from my heart. I
can only hope you believe me and will accept my forgiveness.
But this is not all I have to say to you. I want to make you an offer -- I
want you to become my adopted child. You see, my Son who died was my only
child, and I now want to share my life with you and leave my riches to you.
This may not make sense to you or anyone else, but I believe you are worth
the offer. I have arranged matters so that if you will receive my offer of
forgiveness, not only will you be pardoned for your crime, but you also will
be set free from your imprisonment, and your sentence of death will be
dismissed. At that point, you will become my adopted child and heir to all
my riches.
I realize this is a risky offer for me to make to you -- you might be
tempted to reject my offer completely -- but I make it to you without
reservation.
Also, I realize it may seem foolish to make such an offer to one who cost my
Son his life, but I now have a great love and an unchangeable forgiveness in
my heart for you.
Finally, you may be concerned that once you accept my offer you may do
something to cause you to be denied your rights as an heir to my wealth.
Nothing could be further from the truth. If I can forgive you for your part
in my Son's death, I can forgive you for anything. I know you never will be
perfect, but you do not have to be perfect to receive my offer. Besides, I
believe that once you have accepted my offer and begin to experience the
riches that will come to you from me, that your primary (though not always)
response will be gratitude and loyalty.
Some would call me foolish for my offer to you, but I wish for you to call
me your Father.
Sincerely,
The Father of Jesus
Storie 3
Heaven's Grocery Store
by Ron DeMarco
Copyright 1990
I was walking down life's highway a long time ago.
One day I saw a sign that read, "Heaven's Grocery Store".
As I got a little closer the door came open wide,
and when I came to myself I was standing inside.
I saw a host of Angels, they were standing everywhere.
One handed me a blanket and said, "My Child shop with care".
Everything a Christian needs is in that grocery store,
and all you can't carry, come back the next day for more.
First, I got some Patience, Love was in the same row.
Further down was Understanding, needed everywhere you go.
I got a box or two of Wisdom, a bag or two of Faith,
I just couldn't miss the Holy Ghost, it was all over the place.
I stopped to get some Strength and Courage to help me run this race,
but then my blanket was getting full, and I remembered I needed Grace.
I didn't forget Salvation, which like the others was free,
so I tried to get enough of that to save both you and me.
Then I started to the counter to pay my grocery bill,
for I thought I had everything to do my master's will.
As I went up the aisle, I saw Prayer and had to put it in,
for I knew when I stepped outside, I would run right into sin.
Peace and Joy were plentiful, they were on the last shelf.
Song and Praises were hanging near, so I just helped myself.
Then I said to the Angel, "How much do I owe"?
The Angel smiled and said, "Just take them everywhere you go."
Again, I politely asked "How much do I really owe?"
The Angel smiled again and said, "My Child, Jesus Paid Your Bill A Long Time
Ago."
Gisteraand het ons partytjie gehou, en die kultuurgedeelte was die wyne wat
ons gedrink het. Moet sê, ons ou lot het nog steeds vrolik en geselserig
geraak -ons laat ons nie afsit deur onbekombare wyn nie.:)))
Net as agtergrond - sedert my pa se dood sit ons met hierdie klomp ou rooi
wyn. Ek wou dit eers alles verkoop het, maar het besluit om eers behoorlik
partytjie te hou, en dit wat oor is te verkoop. Die klomp by die partytjie
sou ook dan my proefkonyne wees om te sien of die wyn nog reg en drinkbaar
is.
Sommige van die etikette was deur die vismotte bygekom, maar dit het die
bottels net meer besonders gemaak.
Nie een van die wyne was so sleg dat dit moes uitgespoeg word nie -
inteendeel, dit was almal onverwags besonder goed.
Baie van die wyne het 'n ekstra aangename smaak gehad, wat mens nie by
jonger wyne proe nie.
Vir die kenners - hieronder 'n lys van die wyn wat ek nie meer kan verkoop
nie, maar wat ek vir ewig sal onthou:
1982 Spruitdrift Pinotage
1982 Spruitdrift Cabernet Sauvignon
1984 Alto Cabernet Saucignon
1983 Kanonkop Pinotage
1982 Mamreweg Pinotage
1982 Bergsig Pinotage
1987 Backsberg Dry Red
1974 Backsberg Cabernet Sauvignon
1973 Backsberg Pinotage
1979 KWV Cabernet Sauvignon
Soos julle kan sien hou ek van Pinotage en Cabernet Sauvignon:)))
Die mense wat by die partytjie was stel nogal belang in die 1978 & 1979 KWV
Roodeberg, maar ek sal mos nooit aan vriende wyn aanbied wat ek nie self
drink nie;))))
There once was a little boy who wanted to meet God. He knew it was a long
trip to where God lived, so he packed his suitcase with Twinkies and a
six-pack of root beer, and he started his journey.
When he had gone about three blocks, he met an old woman. She was sitting in
the park just staring at some pigeons. The boy sat down next to her and
opened his suitcase. He was about to take a drink from his root beer when he
noticed that the old lady looked hungry so he offered her a Twinkie. She
gratefully accepted it and smiled at him. Her smile was so pretty that the
boy wanted to see it again, so he offered her a root beer. Once again, she
smiled at him. The boy was delighted! They sat there all afternoon eating
and smiling, but they never said a word.
As it grew dark, the boy realized how tired he was and he got up to leave
but before he had gone more than a few steps; he turned around, ran back to
the old woman, and gave her a hug. She gave him her biggest smile ever. When
the boy opened the door to his own house a short time later his mother was
surprised by the look of joy on his face. She asked him, "What did you do
today that made you so happy?" He replied, "I had lunch with God." But
before his mother could respond, he added, "You know what? She's got the
most beautiful smile I've ever seen!"
Meanwhile, the old woman, also radiant with joy, returned to her home. Her
son was stunned by the look of peace on her face and he asked, "Mother, what
did you do today that made you so happy?" She replied, "I ate Twinkies in
the park with God." But before her son responded, she added, "You know, he's
much younger than I expected."
Too often we under estimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a
listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of
which have the potential to turn a life around. People come into our lives
for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Embrace all equally!
------------------------------------------------------------ ----------------
----
by Max Lucado
The Wemmicks were small wooden people. Each of the wooden people was carved
by a woodworker named Eli. His workshop sat on a hill overlooking their
village. Every Wemmick was different. Some had big noses, others had large
eyes. Some were tall and others were short. Some wore hats, others wore
coats. But all were made by the same carver and all lived in the village.
And all day, every day, the Wemmicks did the same thing: They gave each
other stickers. Each Wemmick had a box of golden star stickers and a box of
gray dot stickers. Up and down the streets all over the city, people could
be seen sticking stars or dots on one another.
The pretty ones, those with smooth wood and fine paint, always got stars.
But if the wood was rough or the paint chipped, the Wemmicks gave dots. The
talented ones got stars, too. Some could lift big sticks high above their
heads or jump over tall boxes. Still others knew big words or could sing
very pretty songs. Everyone gave them stars.
Some Wemmicks had stars all over them! Every time they got a star it made
them feel so good that they did something else and got another star.
Others, though, could do little. They got dots.
Punchinello was one of these. He tried to jump high like the others, but he
always fell. And when he fell, the others would gather around and give him
dots. Sometimes when he fell, it would scar his wood, so the people would
give him more dots. He would try to explain why he fell and say something
silly, and the Wemmicks would give him more dots.
After a while he had so many dots that he didn't want to go outside. He was
afraid he would do something dumb such as forget his hat or step in the
water, and then people would give him another dot. In fact, he had so many
gray dots that some people would come up and give him one without reason.
"He deserves lots of dots," the wooden people would agree with one another.
"He's not a good wooden person."
After a while Punchinello believed them. "I'm not a good wemmick,"he would
say. The few times he went outside, he hung around other Wemmicks who had a
lot of dots. He felt better around them.
One day he met a Wemmick who was unlike any he'd ever met. She had no dots
or stars. She was just wooden. Her name was Lulia. It wasn't that people
didn't try to give her stickers; it's just that the stickers didn't stick.
Some admired Lulia for having no dots, so they would run up and give her a
star. But it would fall off. Some would look down on her for having no
stars, so they would give her a dot. But it wouldn't stay either.
"That's the way I want to be," thought Punchinello. "I don't want anyone's
marks." So he asked the stickerless Wemmick how she did it.
"It's easy," Lulia replied. "every day I go see Eli."
"Eli?"
"Yes, Eli. The woodcarver. I sit in the workshop with him."
"Why?"
"Why don't you find out for yourself? Go up the hill. He's there." And with
that the Wemmick with no marks turned and skipped away.
"But he won't want to see me!" Punchinello cried out. Lulia didn't hear. So
Punchinello went home. He sat near a window and watched the wooden people as
they scurried around giving each other stars and dots.
"It's not right," he muttered to himself. And he resolved to go see Eli. He
walked up the narrow path to the top of the hill and stepped into the big
shop. His wooden eyes widened at the size of everything. The stool was as
tall as he was. He had to stretch on his tiptoes to see the top of the
workbench. A hammer was as long as his arm. Punchinello swallowed hard. "I'm
not staying here!" and he turned to leave. Then he heard his name.
"Punchinello?" The voice was deep and strong.
Punchinello stopped.
"Punchinello! How good to see you. Come and let me have a look at you."
Punchinello turned slowly and looked at the large bearded craftsman.
"You know my name?" the little Wemmick asked.
"Of course I do. I made you." Eli stooped down and picked him up and set him
on the bench. "Hmm," the maker spoke thoughtfully as he inspected the gray
circles "Looks like you've been given some bad marks."
"I didn't mean to, Eli. I really tried hard."
"Oh, you don't have to defend yourself to me, child. I don't care what the
other Wemmicks think."
"You don't?"
"No, and you shouldn't either. Who are they to give stars or dots? They're
Wemmicks just like you. What they think doesn't matter, Punchinello. All
that matters is what I think. And I think you are pretty special."
Punchinello laughed. "Me, special? Why? I can't walk fast. I can't jump. My
paint is peeling. Why do I matter to you?"
Eli looked at Punchinello, put his hands on those small wooden shoulders,
and spoke very slowly. "Because you're mine. That's why you matter to me."
Punchinello had never had anyone look at him like this-much less his maker.
He didn't know what to say.
"Every day I've been hoping you'd come," Eli explained.
"I came because I met someone who had no marks."
"I know. She told me about you."
"Why don't the stickers stay on her?"
"Because she has decided that what I think is more important than what they
think. The stickers only stick if you let them."
"What?"
"The stickers only stick if they matter to you. The more you trust my love,
the less you care about the stickers."
"I'm not sure I understand."
"You will, but it will take time. You've got a lot of marks. For now, just
come to see me every day and let me remind you how much I care."
Eli lifted Punchinello off the bench and set him on the ground. "Remember,"
Eli said as the Wemmick walked out the door. "You are special because I made
you. And I don't make mistakes."
Punchinello didn't stop, but in his heart he thought, "I think he really
means it."
These are blatant, racially motivated attacks. Please contact the victims
and let them tell you what is transpiring.
Gloudina - ek het nog altyd vermoed dat die naam Gloudina sy oorsprong het
in sanitêre doekies - maar jy het dit nou bevestig. Bepaal jou by jou nuwe
tuisland en by sake waarvan jy iets mag weet - soos Ferdie se resitasies...
skryf in boodskap news:3B2A5588.8B8F09B@home.com...
Bruno wrote:
> Le racisme antiblanc existe. Il est distinct d'autres formes de racisme par
> sa capacité de réduire ses victimes au silence
So from where do you hail, Bruno? Belgium or France? Farmattacks are not
racist
acts. They are forms of economic terrorism.
You find the same kind of thing in countries where the elite land-
owners are not necessarily white. So stop talking of "antiblanc."
Your own racist bias is showing.
>
> En nog niks van die anakefalitiese MCP en "internet koordineerder" wat
> by Beeld werk nie. Moontlik skryf/lees jy net gedurende werksure,
> sodat jy net Beeld en jou landsgenote se belasting geld kan mors?
>
> Kom nou seuntjie - Che sou nie so lamsakkig en papbroekig gewees het
> nie!!!!
So komies (en lekker!) dat twee vròumense die twee kommuniste op die
NG 'poppey' maak!
Dag se
Ek is op soek na die woorde van 'n gedig met bo staande woorde - of iets
soos "die jaar word ryp in goue akker blare, in wingerd wat verbruin ....."
Dalk geur N P van Wyk Louw geskryf. Kan iemand my met die woorde voorsien?
By voorbaat dankie.
Rodney Tucker
Dag se
Ek is op soek na die woorde van 'n gedig met bo staande woorde - of iets
soos "die jaar word ryp in goue akker blare, in wingerd wat verbruin ....."
Dalk geur N P van Wyk Louw geskryf. Kan iemand my met die woorde voorsien?
By voorbaat dankie.
Rodney Tucker
Koos Kombuis wil beweer hy is André le Toit ( dink ek - ek weet daar is nie
'n du nie)
Hy het gereeld by die Spur en die Tuine Inkopiesentrum gesit en koffie drink
en sy gedagtes neergeskryf.
Moes Lisa se Klavier gewees het, want hy was gewoonlik saans daar:))))
Nee, ek ken hom nie. Het hom net daar gesien en vir hom hallo gesê voordat
ek geweet het hy beroemd sou raak:))))
Annette
Danielle skryf in boodskap news:sjpcitok4v0st80tsf9sf96qcir7jffh66@4ax.com...
>
> Is dit kopiereg skending om lirieke te plaas op 'n nuusgroep as dit
> reeds openlik beskikbaar is op die Internet?
>
>
> SWART SEPTEMBER
>
> Plant vir my 'n Namibsroos, verafgelee Velvitchia
> hervestig hom in Hillbrow en doop hom Kayalitcha
> September is die mooiste, mooiste maand
> viooltjies in die voorhuis en riots oral in die land
> Die aand was vrolik om die vure, Gatiep was olik by die bure
> Die tyres het gebrand daar aan Mannenburg se kant
> al die volk was hoenderkop, die Caspers was vol guns gestop
> en die vroue by die draad het eerste die gedruis gehoor
> tjank maar Ragel oor jou kind, die boere het hom doodgemoer
> Groot masjiene oor die land, September '84
> die seisoen wat brand en aanhou brand,'n lente bleek en dor
> waar swartes sonder pas nog skuifel langs die mure
> en Niemandsland se as nog waai oor Niemandsland se vure
> Die swarte sonder pas, ja die swarte sonder pas
> skuifel langs die mure, verlustig hom in derde klas
> In Langstraat waar die cafes nog oop is tot laat in die angry nag
> het ek my dolla slap tjips gaan koop ek moes half an hour staan en wag
> Van Tafelbaai tot in Transvaal loop hensoppers weer deesdae kaal
> maar is jy wit, bruin, swart of geel, kak almal in die symste taal
> Sou jy haar nog liefhe, die ongerymde moedertaal
> besef jy sy's met clones en pigeons landwyd op die paal
> Oooe, die hart is bitterkos, oooe, met pap en wors
> dat liefde so tot haat kon gis, dat reforms so kon afwas
> Gonna, AIDS en sifillis groei wild waar eens beloftes was
> Groot masjiene oor die land, September '84 wat oorkook in 'n
> noodtoestand
> 'n lente bleek en dor
> waar swartes sonder pas nog skuifel langs die mure
> en Niemandsland se as nog waai oor Niemandsland se vure
>
>
>
>
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