A lovely song I want to share: Oh Jesus You're the Lily of the valley Sweet Jesus You are the bright and morning star Oh Jesus You're the mighty man in battle I call You Jesus The master of the world Oh Jesus You're the Lily of the valley Sweet Jesus You are the bright and morning star Oh Jesus You're the mighty man in battle I call You Jesus The master of the world Halleluyah Halleluyah Halleluyah I call you Jesus The master of the world Halleluyah Halleluyah Halleluyah I call you Jesus The master of the world I call you Jesus The master of the world I call you Jesus The master of the world Mighty God, Mighty God Mighty God, Mighty God You have done marvelous things You have done glorious things You have done wonderful things Mighty God You have done marvelous things You have done glorious things You have done wonderful things Mighty God Mighty God, Mighty God Mighty God, Mighty God You have done marvelous things You have done glorious things You have done wonderful things Mighty God You have done marvelous things You have done glorious things You have done wonderful things Mighty God

Ruddy is TWO!!!

Today, Ruddy is two years old, It’s just so incredible as it brings back memories of his birth, the love and support of family and friends, the time spent in the clinic, the preceding months of Ruddy’s development and presently the big boy that he is.

God be praised.

HABA WHAT!!!!

I came across this on the net and could not help but share and ask what is really happening to families around the globe.


MIAMI – Pablo Amador was a "regular dad" who made music with his children and shared his gift teaching kids to play piano, a man known for a friendly wave and lending a hand to jump-start a car. And those who knew him say they can't understand why he apparently shot and killed his two daughters, wife and then himself.
TV satellite trucks surrounded the gray-trimmed, white ranch home Wednesday as authorities carried out the family, whom police identified as Pablo Josue Amador, 53; his 45-year-old wife, Maria; and their youngest daughters, Prescilla and Rosa, 14 and 13.
A teenage son escaped the shootings uninjured, calling 911 at 5:58 a.m. as he fled the home, police said. Those who saw him regularly along the quiet, modest street of homes could only wonder what happened.
"It confuses me," said 48-year-old Thelma Vallecillo, whose 13-year-old daughter took piano lessons at the house. "I don't understand."
A biography of Amador posted on a Web site advertising his piano classes says he began studying music in Havana and later earned a degree in the U.S. The U.S. Copyright Office lists 36 compositions by him and a set of photographs. The songs he wrote, many in Spanish, included titles such as "Beautiful Boy" and "Rose of Love," as well as numerous religious selections.
Sarait Betancourt, a 44-year-old school bus driver who lives near the family, said Amador was a Cuban immigrant who has been giving her two sons, ages 9 and 10, piano lessons at his home once a week since 2006.
"He was a marvelous person and a tremendous professor," she said. "People would enter the house, and you just breathed peace."
Amador's two slain daughters, his 16-year-old son, and a college-age daughter all excelled at piano and performed together at church and home as Los Galileos, Betancourt said. Amador said on his Web site that he produced 13 CDs of his children performing.
Authorities have not confirmed that there is a fourth sibling, nor said where the son is now.
Gregorio Montesino, who lives nearby, said music could always be heard coming from the house and children often played in its in-ground pool. He said Amador always waved to greet him.
Amador also said on his Web site that he sang tenor with the Greater Miami Opera chorus and was a soloist at Kendall United Methodist Church, though officials at both places weren't able to confirm that information.
Christina Ruiz, a 23-year-old social work student who lives next to the family, described him as a "regular dad" who helped her grandmother jump-start her car several times but who was known to complain when he was bothered by noise or work being done on her house.
Neighbors said Amador also worked at a music store. His wife had nursing degrees and officials at The Miami Project to Cure Paralysis confirmed she was the director of education there, teaching about spinal cord injuries and answering calls from patients looking for the right doctor

The skill of Patience, an asset to develop.

We are living in interesting times, it is called “The economic meltdown” Everyone is saying something about the situation, some positive and some others, negative.
But the truth is this; we must be patient and pray that things return back to normalcy again

But in the main time what should be our attitude? Well I outline a few thoughts here and want to share:

1. Thank God for Your job and take it serious: Your job at the moment may not be fantastic; actually it may seem like you are not making any progress. But wait are you getting paid at the end of the day, week, month? Then hang in there and don’t quit. I know that a job is suppose to be fulfilling, interesting and challenging, but because you never know, when you will get another one if you quit the current one your are holding, I advise to stay with it, and make the most that you can with it. I believe that sometimes a job is not just about the money, there are lessons to be learnt there and when that stage of your life is over, when you have passed the test, then you can move on to the next level.

Ah I have to go now we will continue this series tomorrow

Cheers.

Happy new year

Hey! It's a new year.





Well it is still a very young new year don't you think, and everyone deserves to be wished a happy new year.





I've been away for so long and know my readers and fans will be wondering why. But It's so so good to be back and kicking too.

2008 was a challenging year for most, i pause to remember the good things that happened during the past year and am looking hopefully to the future, by the will of God, it will bring us the best.

cheers .

Ember Months !!!

The ember months are here again (i.e. September, October, November and December). Thanks be to the Lord because to me, these are months of remembrance. God has already started remembering me for Good. And it will continue thus.

In this part of the world people attribute several kinds of atrocities and evil to these months. But the wise sage says that life and death are in the power of the tongue, so what I say concerning my life and destiny in these months is my choice because so shall it be.

It is going to be great!! I just wish all of you out there the best. Remember to key in to the attitude that these months are months of God’s remembrance of you for good and so shall it be.

Cheers

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." (Jeremiah 29:11)

A view of Heaven

This morning, I just read this story and it really got me, in fact I was broken and sober. You know most times, we tend to forget who we really are and what we are suppose to be going on planet earth. I mean the really important things that are suppose to be part of our daily lives are most times chocked and crowded away by flimsy excuses, unimportant and worthless things and ventures all in the name of living life. God help us.

The original author is Josh Harris. Read the story. I hope it helps you ponder and take a decision about your life hereafter.

Please Consider it!

A Teenager's View of Heaven

17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a class. 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.