Memorylane46’s Weblog

April 16, 2009

Shine Down On Me

Filed under: Inspirational Story — memorylane46 @ 3:48 am


Shine Down On Me

ist1_4171786-sun-and-lifeEver tenderly she held the child in her arms as she rocked. The familiar song like a lament rose from the depth of her tortured soul. “ You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…”
“If I am your sunshine, then why am I so cold, mommy?” came the weak little voice.
“You are cold! Let me warm up your blanket in the clothes dryer.” As she climbed the steps to reach the dryer, her heart broke. There lay her son, her only child, in the throes of death. A sense of desolation that shook her entire being overcame her. As the familiar sound of the spinning dryer drowned her sobs, she shook like the amber leaf hanging by a thread in the autumn wind. “ He cannot see me like this. Only hope will keep him alive. And there is hope. Yes! There has to be hope.”
“Mommy, are you coming back?” At the sound of the frail voice, she quickly gathered all her strength. A quick prayer breezed through her lips. “ Dear God, yes, give us hope and strength and the wisdom to know what to do as this drama unfolds. Your Will be done.”
Lately she had become prayerful. She had not prayed for years, but her son’s illness had changed her.
Surely there was a God and He didn’t want her son who had just been given her!  Eight short years! Why be born at all?
As she opened the dryer door, she saw the light! Light! Heat! Sunshine!
Transfixed, she stared incomprehensibly at the light inside the dryer. Another light exploded in her mind. In contrast to the feeling of helplessness that had possessed her a few minutes earlier, she was now afire. With renewed vitality, she grabbed the warm blanket and ran down the steps to where her son awaited her. Wrapping him up tightly, she held his weak body against hers. Songs, beautiful songs, new joyful lyrics mounted from her tender soul. Rocked to sleep in the warm cover of his mother’s love, the boy soon forgot the world around him.


On the computer she began her search. “Light+cancer” she wrote in the search box. “Surely, God has given us the means to heal ourselves. We just have to access it.” “Ask and you shall receive” played the thought in her head.

Her spirit would plunge in the dark dungeon of despair. The song, the miraculous song always rekindled the flame. Every spare moment was spent on her urgent search. Doctor after doctor repeated the refrain that light therapy is for SAD. “ But we are sad”, she would retort.

A little bit of light would brighten our days. Secretly, she harboured the thought that light would bring a cure. After all, why had she been given this sudden insight?
She knew time was of the essence. The time was now! The light arrived on a dreary gray day. Little by little, mother and child experienced the light.

The child had not been outside for such a long time. Like a beautiful flower not receiving sunshine, her son was wilting. Her search led her to sight after sight. The information highway was long indeed. Endless!

“ When I am sleeping, the angels sing with you, mommy. Don’t stop singing when I am asleep!”
Scintillating joy of love, intertwined with deep sadness, brought up a silent tear.
No longer fighting the beckoning sleep that often eluded him, the child now slept soundly.
Mother sang! Mother invented song! Song about a little boy getting better. Song about an eight year old playing outside! Song about a next birthday! As she sang, she believed. So did the boy.
A smile had now returned to the hollowed cheeks. His frail little body started moving to the endless refrain. One common thread was spun through each song. A boy would be healed of cancer.
“ Mother, will you read me the story of the boy who went to the circus?”
At that moment, mother saw that God’s hand had touched her child. And so, with a circus book in hand, as she turned the pages, a story was born. A story of Joey, the eight year old who was healed of cancer. A story of Joey at the circus on a beautiful summer day.
The doctors recognized that Joey had gained weight and strength. They saw the gleam in his big brown eyes. “He is in remission” they cautioned.
Joey soon spread the word. A beautiful light and the songs of angels had made him feel better.
Today, Joey is a doctor who works with cancer patients. He often stops and reads to his patients the now famous books written by his mother. He does not hesitate to join the familiar lyrics of the angels’ voices that echo through the childrens’ ward.
Ah, yes, there is light! Lots of light! “Where there is light, there is hope“, reads the inscription at the entrance of the building.

(C)  Simone Arbour Vegh



Filed under: Inspirational Story — memorylane46 @ 3:30 am



I bolted upright in bed. Sweat poured profusely all over my body. The full moon up above lit the room and exposed the silhouettes of my two bed partners. How peacefully they slept, my darling little sisters!

So it was that night after night, they contentedly slept, on either side of me, secure in the knowledge that we had each other. The evening ritual was always the same. First we scratched each others backs, then we shared stories that were often invented on the spot for the sheer purpose of entertainment, and eventually they drifted off to sleep while I pondered what dreams would come to disrupt my rest.

Now I sat there, perplexed, confused, dizzied by the thoughts that raced through my mind. I had awakened just as I was ready to cast my vote. Not unlike Merril Streep in the movie “Choice”, my dream told me to make a choice. She had to choose which one of her children she would give to the Nazi soldier knowing it to be the child’s death sentence; I had to choose which one of my brothers was destined to die. Now my mind raced trying to remember the details of the dream. For one, how was death going to render it’s ultimate verdict?

I had six brothers to choose from. At that moment I realized how equally my love was shared between them. Their loving faces took turns waltzing in front of me, eyes pleading for mercy.

My oldest brother, oh how dearly I loved him! He was the apple of my eye! The world couldn’t have existed without him! “No, Death,” I pleaded! “Turn your ugly face away! He is mine! You can’t have him!”

Then there was the brother who was one year younger than me. My best friend! He was the gallant young man who carried my books on the half mile walk to the bus stop. The endearing nick names that he kept inventing for me touched me deeply. How could I get by without him? “No, Death! Go away! Without him, the sun will not rise in the morning!”

Then came the other three. They went everywhere together. Mischief as well as pleasures they shared equally. The fun never ended! Endless rhymes through dinner kept us in stitches, night after night. They hunted together. They did shores together. They were inseparable. I saw their pleading eyes, their winning smiles, their love of life and again I pleaded with Death to go away!

Then , there was the baby. He was just five years old. Surely, he had not begun to live yet. Dream monster was mocking me!

Each and every one of them was unique and special. Each occupied an important place in the family! No! This dream was not going to become reality! Many of my dreams were prophetic dreams, but not all of them, and certainly not this one! It just couldn’t be! But then what if… who… how…? Sleep eluded me. I loved them all so much!

There was a rumbling black cloud that often prevented the sun from showing it’s face. It appeared in the form of a bad temper. My brother, my friend, had a determined outlook on life. His fury often wreaked havoc with my soul. Like the tornado that swept through the peaceful valley leaving disaster in it’s path, so did my brother’s wrath. The remorse that followed devoured at his heart like famished vultures. That was punishment enough. He would soon be over those difficult teenage years. He would learn!

But the determination that inhabited his being was to play a role in the tragedy that cut short his young life.

On the 20th of May 1964, the weather was at it’s best. All week-long, the thermometer had hovered in the 80 degree Fahrenheit. It was unusual for the cold north. Spring fever was busy humming her favorite tune in everybody’s ear. It was the end of the school year. All that remained were exams. Both my brother and I were exempted form writing several exams due to our good marks. Can life really be that glorious?

That day my brother and I skipped all the way home. Ecstasy filled every breath we took. The end was near. The end of the school year, that is; or so we thought! The nightmare that was about to weave it’s way through the fabric of our lives did not give a hint of its presence.

The days were already long. Evenings were spent in games played in and out of the buildings that made up our farm. It was around eight o’clock when a neighboring boy showed up on a tractor that pulled a wagon. Several boys from two other families were already perched on the wagon. “ Come on,” they called to the boys. “ Let’s go swimming! The water is warm and it’s a lot of fun!” Then mother intervened: “I don’t think so” she protested. “I will be worried!” “Mother, you are always worried,” I quickly interjected. “Let them go!”

My dream was long out of my mind. Besides, the dream had not revealed the manner in which this drama was going to unfold. One cannot stop living out of fear and uncertainties. There were no worries in my heart. Life was grand! At sixteen, life must be lived to the fullest.

And so it was that they joined their friends at the fateful gravel pit that was to claim the life of my beloved brother, my best friend. As the sun acquiesced dawn the telephone rang. We had a party line: one long and four short rings. There were many people on that party line. The call came from the neighbor one mile to the south. The gravel pit was on his property. There was urgency in his voice. “Come quickly. One of the boys is in trouble.” The oldest boy was out with the family truck. My parents jumped on the tractor and proceeded at a turtle’s pace , to make their way to the doomed sight.

I stayed behind with my two younger sisters, my little brother, and some of their friends. Our dog Lassy echoed our fears with a constant lament. It knew the smell of death was in the air. It mourned for the distressed body and the soul that was bidding adieu to this world. Her cry filled us with dread! I tried to use the telephone but was told to keep the line free, just in case…And so, the longest evening of my life passed, minute by minute.

At midnight, the neighbors brought in my mother. She was soaked to the waist and convulsions shook her entire body. The doctor soon arrived. He gave her an injection, something to calm her down.

My sixteen year old brother Fern, had drowned in the pit. My father remained at the scene. A rescue team had arrived. They were trying to recover the body. Finally at one o’clock my father returned. He did not shed a tear. His face was white as starch. It had no life. He suddenly looked very old.

My father had seen them pull Fern out of the water. It was not a pretty sight. It had been a difficult task for the diver. Unbeknown to us, the pit had been dredged and it was deep. The water was murky and cold. Even a good swimmer would have had a difficult time.

And so the end had come for him. No more school! No more exams! No one to carry my books! No more endearing nick names! I would be alone on the road to school! I would be lonely on the road of life!

My words to my mother would echo in my mind time and time again.: “Mother, you worry all the time! Let them go!” Had I cast a vote after the dream? Had I made a choice? Could I have changed what happened or was it predestined? I certainly shared some of the responsibilities in the drama that replayed itself that night! Some questions will never be answered! Mother, can you ever forgive me? Fern, dear brother I miss you so!

April 14, 2009

I Will Not Subscribe

Filed under: Inspirational Story — memorylane46 @ 1:51 am


I was impressed! I was speechless! My aunt was giving me the first and last gift I received from her. It was a booklet on faith, written by a distant, recently discovered cousin, a man I never met. With only a grade five education, disregarding spelling, he had ventured into authorship, in order to pass on his beliefs. For each booklet, he charged 50 cents. My aunt had bought dozens, to share with the people she loved. I was one of them.

If this man could leave such a mark, why was I so reluctant to share my writings? (A pass time I truly enjoyed)
The next day, working at the kitchen sink, I was inspired. It was as though I was pushed towards paper and pencil, with thoughts that came from outside of me. I was exuberant, as time after time, I left the kitchen sink, to write yet another of my thoughts, OR WERE THEY MY THOUGHTS?

Within an hour, I had written a text I was very proud of. Where did this line of thought come from?
Would I have the courage to share my writings? How could I go about it?

Going to town that afternoon, I prayed. I prayed for a sign. “God, if you were my inspiration, give me a sign. Not just any sign. Let me meet Mary, the local author, the 84-year-old woman I swim with every morning and admire so much”. I proceeded to the bank, where I intended to take out some money for my errands. An accident around the corner caused power to go out while my debit card was still in the banking machine. Impatiently, I waited to retrieve my card, when, Mary walked in, said hello and explained how she had been delayed by traffic.

Following is the text that I now wanted very much to share!

I Will Not Subscribe

formulas for everyday living

I Will Not Subscribe to the Encyclopedia of Self-pity.

It robs me of my energy.  I will pick up a new hobby instead.

I Will Not Subscribe to the Daily Newspaper of Stress.

It is the cause of the three major killers; cancer, heart disease and Alzheimer.  I will meditate instead.

I Will Not Subscribe to the Magazine of Negative Thoughts.

It erodes my joie de vivre.  I will sing instead.

I Will Not Subscribe to the Book of Loneliness.

It opens the doors to fear.  I will give of my time instead.

I Will Not Subscribe to the Recipe of Fear.

It gleans away sleep so that I cannot rest and I become ill.  I will learn the facts instead so that I may find a solution.

I Will Not Subscribe  to  the Library of Disease.

It erodes the most subtle pleasure of life.  I will heal my body with my mind.

I Will Not Subscribe  to the Diary of Tears for my Loved and Departed Friends.

It may hold them back from reaching the Light.  I will send them blessings instead.

I will  make time for myself.  I am worth it.

I will not forget play, laughter and exercise are some of the best prescriptions for life’s trials.

I will not stay in a job I do not enjoy.

I will make the play I love my work.  My rewards will be even greater.

I believe what the mind conjures up has a way of becoming reality.

It is even biblical: “According to your thoughts be it unto you.”

April 13, 2009

Divine Intervention

Filed under: Inspirational Story — memorylane46 @ 12:26 am


Good Friday 2008. A special day. There is a feeling in the air. It is hard to identify. It is a mixture of excitement and regret. We fit the label “Snowbirds” for only three more days. Two and a half months ago, we escaped our Canadian frozen landscape to wander through warm areas of the United States. Our only agenda being to stay warm, we followed closely the weather maps, glorifying in sunshine and friendship. Now our vacation was coming to an end. 

There has been so much to be thankful for! Invited by our best friends, Sue and Aurel, we traveled in their truck, pulling a fifth wheel. We travelled in amiable companionship, finally having time to share memories, family histories and events. Yet in all that time, I am not sure that I prayed. 

Of course, as we admired, awestruck, the splendor of the world surrounding us, we each praised and glorified God in our mostly silent and private way. As we camped at Big Bend, I knew in my heart that the sights my eyes were beholding were truly holy. Only a great Artist could sculpt such grandeur. Speechless we travelled on foot through the large spectacular Carlsbad Caves, wanting the excursion to never end. 

“Oh Lord, how great thou art” was the refrain that escaped my lips a thousand times over as we allowed the immensity of space and scattered starlight to dominate our very beings at the MacDonald Observatory. 

The incredible views of the Grand Canyon, the Painted Desert, the Petrified Forest and varied giant cacti were but a few of the sights that left me, and I’m sure the rest of my group, with an attitude of gratitude. Is living in a prayerful state actually the same as voicing a heartfelt prayer directly to HE/SHE who is directly responsible for our very existence? 

On that Friday morning as we left Nashville to slowly make our way home, I worded a prayer of thanksgiving, asking that we be safe the rest of the way, as well as the people we encountered on the road. The men were in charge of the transportation vehicles and responsibly checked them on a daily basis to make sure we were safe. Thus, it was with a great feeling of security that we travelled the speed limit of a six lane highway, towards our next camp site. 

We finally turned to a two lane highway shortly after twelve, our GPS telling us that we were .8 miles from the campground. Suddenly and without warning, we heard a great thump and then with incredulous astonishment, we watched one of our wheels roll ahead of us as the metal scraped the pavement leaving a deep gauge as testimonial to our mishap. My husband Larry being the driver at that time responded quickly and adroitly to the situation. 

Had it happened one minute earlier, we would not have had a place to park. As it was, we veered into a parking lot of a small strip mall directly on our right. We watched, terrified, as our tire crossed the road, missing every vehicle travelling in the other direction. It bounced in the air over a deep ditch bordering a car dealership. It weaved its way between a few vehicles, never touching one, before it crossed the parking lot of a variety store, continuing through to the parking lot of a garage. There, an employee, having come out to investigate the ruckus, placed his hand on the slowing down tire and stopped it before it could touch a truck parked in the yard. 

No sooner had this happened that people started arriving with offers of help. A young man stopped, picked up parts that had scattered on the road and made sure we were okay before leaving. As luck would have it, ( or was it part of the Divine plan?) we had thirty minutes left on our cell phone. It was exactly the time we needed to call AAA, asking for, not one but two tow trucks, one for the truck and one for the trailer. Where exactly were we? No problem! To our right again, on a billboard on the last building, written in big bold letters, was the address and telephone number of the one business that was open on that Holy Day. 

It was through them that AAA communicated with us once they could no longer reach us on our cell phone.
It was a beautiful, sunny day. My cousin and friend Sue and I sat back on the side, taking pictures and talking about what could have been! I told her about my prayer that morning as we left. I was not surprised to hear that she too had had a prayerful moment. Her prayer had been much the same as mine. 

To our dismay, a truck pulled up, baring the words “Racing For The Lord”. The young driver was a chaplain on his way to checker flag races. Despite our protest, he stayed with us for the three hours it took AAA to arrive. He called a garage nearby. They happened to have the part needed to fix the truck wheel. He checked on their progress, insisting that they treat us fairly. Finally, we climbed in his truck, a truck sent by God, and followed our towed trailer to the campground. 

The town of Goodletsville wears its name justly and hopefully, proudly. And check out the name on the truck of the minister racing for the lord at three o’clock on Good Friday; Crossroads Ministries Inc.
By five o’clock, all four of us, numbed by the experience, were back in the safety of our travelling home as if nothing had happened. Not quite! Humbled and awed as we sought to understand the litany of events and seeming coincidences, we each sent up prayers to our Maker, who had decided after all to keep us around a little while longer. And when I told my daughter the story, she said that she too had prayed for our safety that morning. “ 

Matthew 18:20 (New International Version) 

“For where two or three come together in my name, there am I with them.” 


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