Category: Some Humor Some serious

The True story of Rudolph

By , December 16, 2010 6:50 pm

                       The True Story of Rudolph
A man named Bob May, depressed and brokenhearted, stared out his drafty apartment window into the chilling December night.  His
4-year-old daughter Barbara sat on his lap quietly sobbing. Bob’s wife, Evelyn, was dying of cancer.  Little Barbara couldn’t understand why her mommy could never come home. Barbara looked up into her dad’s eyes and asked, “Why isn’t Mommy just like everybody else’s Mommy?”
Bob’s jaw tightened and his eyes welled with tears. Her question brought waves of grief, but also of anger. It had been the story of Bob’s life.
Life always had to be different for Bob.
Small when he was a kid, Bob was often bullied by other boys.  He was too little at the time to compete in sports. He was often called > names he’d rather not remember. From childhood, Bob was different and never seemed to fit in. Bob did complete college, married his loving wife and
was grateful to get his job as a copywriter at Montgomery Ward during the Great Depression. Then he was blessed with his little girl. But it was all short-lived. Evelyn’s bout with cancer stripped them of all their savings
and now Bob and his daughter were forced to live in a two-room apartment in the Chicago slums. Evelyn died just days before Christmas in  1938.
Bob struggled to give hope to his child, for whom he couldn’t even afford  to buy a Christmas gift. But if he couldn’t buy a gift, he was determined to make one – a storybook! Bob had created an animal character in his own mind and told the animal’s story to little Barbara to give her comfort and hope. Again and again Bob told the story, embellishing it more  with each telling. Who was the character? What was the story all about?
The story Bob May created was his own autobiography in fable form. The character he created was a misfit outcast like he was. The name of the character? A little reindeer named Rudolph, with a big shiny nose. Bob
finished the book just in time to give it to his little girl on
Christmas  Day.
But the story doesn’t end there.
The general manager of Montgomery Ward caught wind of the little storybook and offered Bob May a nominal fee to purchase the rights to print the book.
Wards went on to print,_ Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ and distribute it to children visiting Santa Claus in their stores. By 1946 Wards had printed and distributed more than six million copies of Rudolph. That same year, a major publisher wanted to purchase the rights from Wards to print an updated version of the book.
In an unprecedented gesture of kindness, the CEO of Wards returned all rights back to Bob May. The book became a best seller. Many toy and marketing deals followed and Bob May, now remarried with a
growing family, became wealthy from the story he created to comfort his grieving daughter. But the story doesn’t end there either.
Bob’s brother-in-law, Johnny Marks, made a song adaptation to Rudolph. Though the song was turned down by such popular vocalists as Bing Crosby and Dinah Shore , it was recorded by the singing cowboy, Gene Autry.
“Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer” was released in 1949 and became a phenomenal success, selling more records than any other Christmas song, with the exception of “White Christmas.”
The gift of love that Bob May created for his daughter so long ago kept on returning back to bless him again and again. And Bob May learned the lesson, just like his dear friend Rudolph, that being different isn’t so bad. In fact, being different can be a blessing.

MERRY CHRISTMAS    2010

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A little humor for the soul

By , September 26, 2010 6:23 pm

 I received this comment and liked it enough to want to share it with you

Banking | Damelio1@yahoo.com | IP: 62.209.202.19

So not really on the same topic as your post, but I found this today and I just can’t resist sharing. Mrs. Agathe’s dishwasher quit working so she called a repairman. Since she had to go to work the next day, she told him, “I’ll leave the key under the mat. Fix the dishwasher, leave the bill on the counter, and I’ll mail you the check. Oh, and by the way…don’t worry about my Doberman. He won’t bother you. But, whatever you do, do NOT under ANY circumstances talk to my parrot!” When the repairman arrived at Mrs. Agathe’s apartment the next day, he discovered the biggest and meanest looking Doberman he had ever seen. But just as she had said, the dog simply laid there on the carpet, watching the repairman go about his business. However, the whole time the parrot drove him nuts with his incessant cursing, yelling and name-calling. Finally the repairman couldn’t contain himself any longer and yelled, “Shut up, you stupid ugly bird!” To which the parrot replied, “Get him, Spike!”

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THE BIRTH OF THE HYMN “Precious Lord”

By , September 5, 2010 2:28 pm

THE BIRTH OF THE HYMN
“PRECIOUS LORD”

 
Back in 1932, I was a
fairly new husband. My wife, Nettie and I were
living in a little apartment on Chicago ‘s south
side. One hot August afternoon I had to go to St.
Louis where I was to be the featured soloist at a
large revival meeting. I didn’t want to go; Nettie
was in the last month of pregnancy with our first
child, but a lot of people were expecting me in
St. Louis . I kissed Nettie goodbye, clattered
downstairs to our Model A and, in a fresh
Lake Michigan breeze, chugged out of Chicago
on Route 66.

However, outside the city, I discovered
that in my anxiety at leaving, I had forgotten my
music case. I wheeled around and headed back.

I found Nettie sleeping peacefully. I hesitated
by her bed; something was strongly telling me
to stay But eager to get on my way, and not wanting
to disturb Nettie, I shrugged off the feeling and
quietly slipped out of the room with my music.

The next night, in the steaming St. Louis heat, the
crowd called on me to sing again and again. When I
finally sat down, a messenger boy ran up with a
Western Union telegram. I ripped open the envelope….
Pasted on the yellow sheet were the words:
YOUR WIFE JUST DIED.

People were happily singing and clapping
around me, but I could hardly keep from crying out.
I rushed to a phone and called home. All I could
hear on the other end was “Nettie is dead. Nettie is
dead.'”

When I got back, I learned that Nettie had given
birth to a boy. I swung between grief and joy. Yet
that same night, the baby died. I buried Nettie and
our little boy together, in the same casket. Then I
fell apart.
For days I closeted myself. I felt that God had done
me an injustice. I didn’t want to serve Him anymore or
write gospel songs I just wanted to go back to that
jazz world I once knew so well. But then, as I
hunched alone in that dark apartment those first sad
days, I thought back to the afternoon I went to
St. Louis . Something kept telling me to stay with Nettie.
Was that something God? Oh, if I had paid more attention
to Him that day, I would have stayed and been with Nettie when
she died.

From that moment on I vowed to listen more closely to Him.
But still I was lost in grief. Everyone was kind to me, especially
one friend. The following Saturday evening he took me up to
Maloney’s Poro College , a neighborhood music school. It was
quiet; the late evening sun crept through the curtained windows.

I sat down at the piano, and my hands began to browse over
the keys. Something happened to me then. I felt at peace. I
felt as though I could reach out and touch God. I found
myself playing a melody. Once in my head they just seemed
to fall into place: ‘Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me on,
let me stand, I am tired, I am weak, I am worn, through the storm, through the night, lead me on to the light, take my hand,
precious Lord, lead me home.’

The Lord gave me these words and melody, He also healed my
spirit. I learned that when we are in our deepest grief, when
we feel farthest from God, this is when He is closest, and when
we are most open to His restoring power.

And so I go on living for God willingly and joyfully, until that
day comes when He will take me and gently lead me home.

– – – -Tommy Dorsey
For those too young to know who he is, Tommy Dorsey was
a well-known band leader in the 1930’s and 40’s.

Did you know that Tommy Dorsey
wrote this song? I surely didn’t. What a wonderful
story of how God CAN heal the brokenhearted!
Beautiful, isn’t it?

 
Worth the reading.Think on the message for a while.
                              Please share 
 

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Bright side of bad days

By , September 1, 2010 6:14 pm

There I was is sitting at the bar staring at my drink when a

really big, trouble-making biker steps up next to me, grabs

my drink and gulps it down in one swig.“Well, whatcha gonna do about it?” he says, menacingly, as

I burst into tears.“Come on, man,” the biker says, “I didn’t think you’d CRY. I

can’t stand to see a man crying.”

“This is the worst day of my life,” I say. “I’m a complete

failure. I was late to a meeting and my boss fired me. When

 

I went to the parking lot, I found my car had been stolen and

I don’t have any insurance. I left my wallet in the cab I took

home. I found my old lady in bed with the gardener, and

then my dog bit me.”

“So I came to this bar to work up the courage to put an end

to it all, I buy a drink, I drop a capsule in and sit here

watching the poison dissolve. Then you, you ass hole, show

up and drink the whole thing! But enough about me, how’s

your day going?”

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A little (rough) humor during hard times

By , May 24, 2010 5:54 pm

I am still laughing  

We were dressed and ready to go out for the New Years Eve party. We turned on a night light, turned the  answering machine on, covered our pet parakeet, and put the cat in the backyard.

 

We phoned the local cab company and requested a taxi. The taxi arrived and we opened the front door to leave the house.

 

As we walked out the door, the cat we had put out in the yard, scoots back into the house. We didn’t want the cat shut in the house because she always tries to eat the bird.

 

My wife goes on out to the taxi while I went back inside to get the cat. The cat runs upstairs with me in hot pursuit. Waiting in the cab, my wife doesn’t want the driver to know that the house will be empty for the night. 

 

So she explains to the taxi driver that I will be out soon, ‘He’s just going upstairs to say goodbye to my mother.’

 

A few minutes later, I get into the cab. ‘Sorry I took so long,’ I said, as we drove away.  ‘That stupid bitch was hiding under the bed. I had to poke her ass with a coat hanger to get her to come out!   She tried to take off, so I grabbed her by the neck. Then I had to wrap her in a blanket to keep her from scratching me. But it worked! I hauled her fat ass downstairs and threw her out into the back yard!’

 

The cab driver hit a parked car.

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Time

By , December 1, 2009 6:30 pm

Time      The dictionary says that time is a person’s experience on a particuliar occasion or a rythm as given by a division into parts of equal time, or the period of time a prisoner is imprisoned. But I believe it is more than that. I believe time is our friend and our enemy and something we cannot change. Let’s face it, time is worth so many things, it’s also probably the most amazing thing humans have ever seen.      I said to my mother once, if we could own time, it would be more expensive than a house and two cars and everything in th house and cars all put together. But for one, I think we should all be thankful for time. Because if you look at it, it is something so beautiful.      Right now I’m looking at the clock, trying to look for an inspiration, but I should take my time because the time will come.—————————————————————————-Those words were exactly what she wrote. Pretty good for an 8 year old. I was really impressed and it almost made me cry. When we think we are not doing a good job as a homeschool teacher, our children go and do something that totally knock our socks off and show us we are not doing such a bad job afterall. Please share your comments and I will let her read them! By the way, she did this unprompted and not school related. Love,Carrie

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