SpecialAngel's blog: "SpecialAngel's Stories And More"

Dear Lord: Every single evening As I'm lying here in bed This tiny little prayer Keeps running through my head. God bless all my family Wherever they may be, Keep them warm and safe from harm For they're so close to me. And God, there is one more thing I wish that you could do. Hope you don't mind me asking, Bless my computer too. Now I know that it's not normal To bless a mother board, But listen just a second While I explain to you 'My Lord.' You see, that little metal box Holds more than odds & ends Inside those small compartments Rest so many of my FRIENDS. I know so much about them By the kindness that they give And this little scrap of metal Takes me in to where they live. By faith is how I know them Much the same as you We share in what life brings us And from that our friendship grew. Please, take an extra minute From your duties up above To bless those in my address book That's filled with so much love! Wherever else this prayer may reach To each and every friend, bless each e-mail Inbox And the person who hits Send. When you update your heavenly list On your own CD-ROM Remember each who've said this prayer Sent up to God.com. Amen.

A sobbing little girl stood near a small church from which she had been turned away because it was "too crowded." "I can't go to Sunday School," she sobbed to the pastor as he walked by. Seeing her shabby, unkempt appearance, the pastor guessed the reason and, taking her by the hand, took her inside and found a place for her in the Sunday school class. The child was so happy that they found room for her, and she went to bed that night thinking of the children who have no place to worship Jesus. Some two years later, this child lay dead in one of the poor tenement buildings. Her parents called for the kindhearted pastor who had befriended their daughter to handle the final arrangements. As her poor little body was being moved, a worn and crumpled red purse was found which looked as if it had been rummaged from some trash dump. Inside was found 57 cents and a note, scribbled in childish handwriting, which read: "This is to help build the little church bigger so more children can go to Sunday School." For two years the little girl had saved for this offering of love. When the pastor tearfully read that note, he knew instantly what he would do. Carrying the note and the cracked, red pocketbook to the pulpit, he told the story of her unselfish love and devotion. He challenged his deacons to get busy and raise enough money for the larger building. But the story does not end there... Soon afterwards, a newspaper learned of the story and published It. It was read by a wealthy realtor who offered the church a parcel of land worth many thousands of dollars. When told that the church could not pay much, he offered to sell it to the little church for 57 cents. Soon church members were making large donations and checks came from far and wide. Within five years the little girl's gift had increased to $250,000.00, which was no small sum at the turn of the century. Her unselfish love had paid huge dividends. When you are in the city of Philadelphia, look up Temple Baptist Church. It currently has a seating capacity of 3,300. Be sure to visit the Temple University, where thousands of students are educated. Have a look, too, at the Good Samaritan Hospital and at the Sunday school building which houses hundreds of beautiful children, built so that no child in the area will ever need to be left outside during Sunday school again. One of the rooms of the Sunday school building features the picture of the sweet face of the little girl whose 57 cents, so sacrificially saved, made such remarkable history. Alongside of it is a portrait of her kind pastor, Dr. Russel H. Conwell, author of the book, "Acres of Diamonds". This story is true, and it goes to show exactly what God can do with just 57 cents.

By John Powell, a professor at Loyola University in Chicago, about a student in his Theology of Faith class named Tommy. Some twelve years ago, I stood watching my university students file into the classroom for our first session in the Theology of Faith. That was the first day I first saw Tommy. My eyes and my mind both blinked. He was combing his long flaxen hair, which hung six inches below his shoulders. It was the first time I had ever seen a boy with hair that long. I guess it was just coming into fashion then. I know in my mind that it isn't what's on your head but what's in it that counts; but on that day I was unprepared and my emotions flipped. I immediately filed Tommy under "S" for strange…very strange. Tommy turned out to be the "atheist in residence" in my Theology of Faith course. He constantly objected to, smirked at or whined about the possibility of an unconditionally loving Father/God. We lived with each other in relative peace for one semester, although I admit he was for me at times a serious pain in the back pew. When he came up at the end of the course to turn in his final exam, he asked in a slightly cynical tone, "Do you think I'll ever find God?" I decided instantly on a little shock therapy. No!" I said very emphatically. "Oh," he responded, "I thought that was the product you were pushing." I let him get five steps from the classroom door and then called out, "Tommy! I don't think you'll ever find him, but I am absolutely certain that he will find you!" He shrugged a little and left my class and my life. I felt slightly disappointed at the thought that he had missed my clever line, "He will find you!" At least I thought it was clever. Later I heard that Tommy had graduated and I was duly grateful. Then came a sad report. I heard that Tommy had terminal cancer. Before I could search him out, he came to see me. When he walked into my office, his body was very badly wasted, and the long hair had all fallen out as a result of chemotherapy. But his eyes were bright and his voice was firm, for the first time, I believe. "Tommy, I've thought about you so often. I hear you are sick." I blurted out. "Oh, yes, very sick. I have cancer in both lungs. It's a matter of weeks." "Can you talk about it, Tom?" I asked. "Sure, what would you like to know?" he replied. "What's it like to be only twenty four and dying?" "Well, it could be worse." "Like what?" "Well, like being fifty and having no values or ideals, like being fifty and thinking that booze, seducing women and making money are the real 'biggies' in life." I began to look through my mental file cabinet under "S" where I had filed Tommy as strange. (It seems as though everybody I try to reject by classification, God sends back into my life to educate me.) "But what I really came to see you about," Tom said, "is something you said to me on the last day of class." (He remembered!) He continued, "I asked you if you thought I would ever find God and you said, 'No!' which surprised me. Then you said, 'But he will find you.' I thought about that a lot, even though my search for God was hardly intense at that time.” (My "clever" line. He thought about that a lot!) Tommy continued, “But when the doctors removed a lump from my groin and told me that it was malignant, then I got serious about locating God. And when the malignancy spread into my vital organs, I really began banging bloody fists against the bronze doors of heaven. But God did not come out. In fact, nothing happened… Did you ever try anything for a long time with great effort and with no success? You get psychologically glutted, fed up with trying. And then you quit. Well, one day I woke up, and instead of throwing a few more futile appeals over that high brick wall to a God who may be or may not be there, I just quit. I decided that I didn't really care…about God, about an afterlife, or anything like that. I decided to spend what time I had left doing something more profitable. I thought about you and your class and I remembered something else you had said: 'the essential sadness is to go through life without loving. But it would be almost equally sad to go through life and leave this world without ever telling those you loved that you had loved them.' So, I began with the hardest one, my Dad. He was reading the newspaper when I approached him: "Dad". "Yes, what?" he asked without lowering the newspaper. "Dad, I would like to talk with you." "Well, talk." "I mean…it's really important." The newspaper came down three slow inches. "What is it?" "Dad, I love you. I just wanted you to know that." Tom smiled at me and said with obvious satisfaction, as though he felt a warm and secret joy flowing inside of him. “The newspaper fluttered to the floor. Then my father did two things I could never remember him ever doing before. He cried and he hugged me. And we talked all night, even though he had to go to work the next morning. It felt so good to be close to my father, to see his tears, to feel his hug, to hear him say that he loved me.” It was easier with my mother and little brother. They cried with me, too, and we hugged each other, and started saying real nice things to each other. We shared the things we had been keeping secret for so many years. I was only sorry about one thing: that I had waited so long. Here I was, just beginning to open up to all the people I had actually been close to. Then, one day I turned around and God was there. He didn't come to me when I pleaded with him. I guess I was like an animal trainer holding out a hoop, 'C'mon, jump through.' 'C'mon, I'll give you three days, three weeks.' Apparently God does things in his own way and at his own hour. But the important thing is that he was there. He found me. You were right. He found me even after I stopped looking for him.” "Tommy," I practically gasped, "I think you are saying something very important and much more universal than you realize. To me, at least, you are saying that the surest way to find God is not to make him a private possession, a problem solver, or an instant consolation in time of need, but rather by opening to love. You know, the Apostle John said that. He said: 'God is love, and anyone who lives in love is living with God and God is living in him.' Tom, could I ask you a favor? You know, when I had you in class you were a real pain. But (laughingly) you can make it all up to me now. Would you come into my present Theology of Faith course and tell them what you have just told me? If I told them the same thing it wouldn't be half as effective as if you were to tell them.” “Ooh…I was ready for you, but I don't know if I'm ready for your class." "Tom, think about it. If and when you are ready, give me a call." In a few days Tom called, said he was ready for the class, and that he wanted to do that for God and for me. So we scheduled a date. However, he never made it. He had another appointment, far more important than the one with my class and me. Of course, his life was not really ended by his death, only changed. He made the great step from faith into vision. He found a life far more beautiful than the eye of man has ever seen or the ear of man has ever heard or the mind of man has ever imagined. Before he died, we talked one last time. I'm not going to make it to your class," he said. "I know, Tom." "Will you tell them for me? Will you…tell the whole world for me?" "I will, Tom. I'll tell them. I'll do my best." So, to all of you who have been kind enough to hear this simple statement about love, thank you for listening, and to you, Tommy, somewhere in the sunlit, verdant hills of heaven: "I told them, Tommy…as best I could."

A friend of mine opened his wife's underwear drawer and picked up a silk paper wrapped package: "This, - he said - isn't any ordinary package." He unwrapped the box and stared at both the silk paper and the box. "She got this the first time we went to New York , 8 or 9 years ago. She has never put it on, was saving it for a special occasion. Well, I guess this is it. He got near the bed and placed the gift box next to the other clothing he was taking to the funeral house, his wife had just died. He turned to me and said: "Never save something for a special occasion. Every day in your life is a special occasion". I still think those words changed my life. Now I read more and clean less. I sit on the porch without worrying about anything.I spend more time with my family, and less at work. I understood that life should be a source of experience to be lived up to, not survived through. I no longer keep anything. I use crystal glasses every day. I'll wear new clothes to go to the supermarket, if i feel like it. I don't save my special perfume for special occasions, I use it whenever I want to. The words "Someday..." and "One Day..." are fading away from my dictionary. If it's worth seeing, listening or doing, I want to see, listen or do it now. I don't know what my friend's wife would have done if she knew she wouldn't be there the next morning, this nobody can tell. I think she might have called her relatives and closest friends. She might call old friends to make peace over past quarrels. I'd like to think she would go out for Chinese, her favorite food. It's these small things that I would regret not doing, if I knew my time had come.I would regret it, because I would no longer see the friends I would meet, letters... that I wanted to write "One of these days". I would regret and feel sad, because I didn't say to my brother and sisters, son and daughters, not times enough at least, how much I love them. Now, I try not to delay, postpone or keep anything that could bring laughter and joy into our lives.. And, on each morning, I say to myself that this could be a special day.. Each day, each hour, each minute, is special. Remember that one day is far away....or might never come.

What Elementary School Kids Say about Their Moms: Why did God make mothers? *1. She's the only one who knows where the scotch tape is. *2. Mostly to clean the house. *3. To help us out of there when we were getting born. How did God make mothers? *1. He used dirt, just like for the rest of us. *2. Magic plus super powers and a lot of stirring. *3. God made my Mom just the same like he made me. He just used bigger parts. What ingredients are mothers made of? *1. God makes mothers out of clouds and angel hair and everything nice in the world and one dab of mean. *2. They had to get their start from men's bones. Then they mostly use string, I think. Why did God give you your mother and not some other Mom? *1. We're related. *2. God knew she likes me a lot more than other people's moms like me. What kind of little girl was your Mom? *1. My Mom has always been my Mom and none of that other stuff. *2. I don't know because I wasn't there, but my guess would be pretty bossy. *3. They say she used to be nice. What did Mom need to know about dad before she married him? *1. His last name. *2. She had to know his background. Like is he a crook? Does he get drunk on beer? *3. Does he make at least $800 a year? Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores? Why did your Mom marry your dad? *1. My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world, and my Mom eats a lot. *2. She got too old to do anything else with him. *3. My grandma says that Mom didn't have her thinking cap on. Who's the boss at your house? *1. Mom doesn't want to be boss, but she has to because dad's such a goof ball. *2. Mom. You can tell by room inspection. She sees the stuff under the bed. *3. I guess Mom is, but only because she has a lot more to do than dad. What's the difference between moms and dads? *1. Moms work at work and work at home, and dads just go to work at work. *2. Moms know how to talk to teachers without scaring them. *3. Dads are taller and stronger, but moms have all the real power 'cause' that's who you got to ask if you want to sleep over at your friend's. Moms have magic; they make you feel better without medicine. What does your Mom do in her spare time? *1. Mothers don't do spare time. *2. To hear her tell it, she pays bills all day long. What would it take to make your Mom perfect? *1. On the inside she's already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery. *2. I'd dye her hair blue. If you could change one thing about your Mom, what would it be? *1. She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean. I'd get rid of that. *2. I'd make my Mom smarter. Then she would know it was my sister who did it and not me. *3. I would like for her to get rid of those invisible eyes on her back. ============================== THE MOMMY TEST I was out walking with my 4 year old daughter. She picked up something off the ground and started to put it in her mouth. I took the item away from her, and I asked her not to do that. "Why?" my daughter asked. "Because it's been laying outside, and you don't know where it's been. It's dirty and probably has germs," I replied. At this point, my daughter looked at me with total admiration and asked, "Wow! How do you know all this stuff?" "Uh," I was thinking quickly. "All moms know this stuff. It's on the Mommy Test. You have to know it, or they don't let you be a Mommy." We walked along in silence for 2 or 3 minutes, but she was evidently pondering this new information. "Oh, I get it!" she beamed, "So if you don't pass the test, you have to be the daddy."

This is a story about Carl.. I think we all can learn a lesson from this.. It is a tear jerker, so get yourself a kleenex, a cup of coffee, tea, or soda, and enjoy... This sure did touch my heart, and I hope that it will touch yours as well. A Lesson in Love Carl was a quiet man. He didn't talk much. He would always greet you with a big smile and a firm handshake. Even after living in our neighborhood for over 50 years, no one could really say they knew him very well. Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. The lone sight of him walking down the street often worried us. He had a slight limp from a bullet wound received in WWII. Watching him, we worried that although he had survived WWII, he may not make it through our changing uptown neighborhood with its ever-increasing random violence, gangs, and drug activity. When he saw the flyer at our local church asking for volunteers for caring for the gardens behind the minister's residence, he responded in his characteristically unassuming manner. Without fanfare, h e just signed up. He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we had always feared finally happened. He was just finishing his watering for the day when three gang members approached him. Ignoring their attempt to intimidate him, he simply asked, "Would you like a drink from the hose?" The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, "Yeah, sure," with a malevolent little smile. As Carl offered the hose to him, the other two grabbed Carl's arm, throwing him down. As the hose snaked crazily over the ground, dousing everything in its way, Carl's assailants stole his retirement watch and his wallet, and then fled. Carl tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown down on his bad leg. He lay there trying to gather himself as the minister came running to help him.. Although the minister had witnessed the attack from his window, he couldn't get there fast enough to stop it. "Carl, are you okay? Are you hurt?" the minister kept asking as he helped Carl to his feet. Carl just passed a hand over his brow and sighed, shaking his head. "Just some punk kids. I hope they'll wise-up someday." His wet clothes clung to his slight frame as he bent to pick up the hose. He adjusted the nozzle again and started to water. Confused and a little concerned, the minister asked, "Carl, what are you doing?" "I've got to finish my watering. It's been very dry lately," came the calm reply. Satisfying himself that Carl really was all right, the minister could only marvel. Carl was a man from a different time and place. A few weeks later the three returned. Just as before their threat was unchallenged. Carl again offered them a drink from his hose. This time they didn't rob him. They wrenched the hose from his hand and drenched him head to foot in the icy water. When they had finished their humiliation of him, they sauntered off down the street, throwing catcalls and curses, falling over one another laughing at the hilarity of what they had just done. Carl just watched them. Then he turned toward the warmth giving sun, picked up his hose, and went on with his watering. The summer was quickly fading into fall Carl was doing some tilling when he was startled by the sudden approach of someone behind him. He stumbled and fell into some evergreen branches. As he struggled to regain his footing, he turned to see the tall leader of his summer tormentors reaching down for him. He braced himself for the expected attack. "Don't worry old man, I'm not gonna hurt you this time." The young man spoke softly, still offering the tattooed and scarred hand to Carl. As he helped Carl get up, the man pulled a crumpled bag from his pocket and handed it to Carl. "What's this?" Carl asked. "It's your stuff," the man explained. "It's your stuff back, even the money in your wallet." "I don't understand," Carl said. "Why would you help me now?" The man shifted his feet, seeming embarrassed and ill at ease. "I learned something from you," he said. "I ran with that gang and hurt people like you. We picked you because you were old and we knew we could do it. But every time we came and did something to you, instead of yelling and fighting back, you tried to give us a drink. You didn't hate us for hating you. You kept showing love against our hate." He stopped for a moment. "I couldn't sleep after we stole your stuff, so here it is back." He paused for another awkward moment, not knowing what more there was to say.. "That bag's my way of saying thanks for straightening me out, I guess." And with that, he walked off down the street. Carl looked down at the sack in his hands and gingerly opened it. He took out his retirement watch and put it back on his wrist. Opening his wallet, he checked for his wedding photo. He gazed for a moment at the young bride that still smiled back at him from all those years ago. He died one cold day after Christmas that winter. Many people attended his funeral in spite of the weather. In particular the minister noticed a tall young man that he didn't know sitting quietly in a distant corner of the church. The minister spoke of Carl's garden as a lesson in life. In a voice made thick with unshed tears, he said, "Do your best and make your garden as beautiful as you can. We will never forget Carl and his garden." The following spring another flyer went up. It read: "Person needed to care for Carl's garden." The flyer went unnoticed by the busy parishioners until one day when a knock was heard at the minister's office door. Opening the door, the minister saw a pair of scarred and tattooed hands holding the flyer. "I believe this is my job, if you'll have me," the young man said. The minister recognized him as the same young man who had returned the stolen watch and wallet to Carl. He knew that Carl's kindness had turned this man's life around. As the minister handed him the keys to the garden shed, he said, "Yes, go take care of Carl's garden and honor him." The man went to work and, over the next several years, he tended the flowers and vegetables just as Carl had done. In that time, he went to college, got married, and became a prominent member of the community. But he never forgot his promise to Carl's memory and kept the garden as beautiful as he thought Carl would have kept it. One day he approached the new minister and told him that he couldn't care for the garden any longer. He explained with a shy and happy smile, "My wife just had a baby boy last night, and she's bringing him home on Saturday." "Well, congratulations!" said the minister, as he was handed the garden shed keys. "That's wonderful! What's the baby's name?" "Carl," he replied.

This is story was written by a doctor who worked in South Africa... One night I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in spite of all we could do, she died leaving us with a tiny premature baby and a crying two-year-old daughter. We would have difficulty keeping the baby alive, as we had no incubator (we had no electricity to run an incubator). We also had no special feeding facilities. Although we lived on the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts. One student midwife went for the box we had for such babies and the cotton wool that the baby would be wrapped in. Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle. She came back shortly in distress to tell me that in filling the bottle, it had burst (rubber perishes easily in tropical climates). "And it is our last hot water bottle!" she exclaimed. As in the West, it is no good crying over spilled milk, so in Central Africa it might be considered no good crying over burst water bottles. They do not grow on trees, and there are no drugstores down forest pathways. "All right," I said, "put the baby as near the fire as you safely can, and sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from drafts. Your job is to keep the baby warm." The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have prayers with any of the orphanage children who chose to gather with me. I gave the youngsters various suggestions of things to pray about and told them about the tiny baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle, and that the baby could so easily die if it got chills. I also told them of the two-year-old sister, crying because her mother had died. During prayer time, one ten-year old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual blunt conciseness of our African children. "Please, God" she prayed, "send us a water bottle. It'll be no good tomorrow, God, as the baby will be dead so please send it this afternoon." While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added, "And while You are about it, would You please send a dolly for the little girl so she'll know You really love her?" As often with children's prayers, I was put on the spot. Could I honestly say, "Amen". I just did not believe that God could do this. Oh, yes, I know that He can do everything, the Bible says so. But there are limits, aren't there? The only way God could answer this particular prayer would be by sending me a parcel from homeland. I had been in Africa for almost four years at that time, and I had never, ever received a parcel from home. Anyway, if anyone did send me a parcel, who would put in a hot water bottle? I lived on the equator! Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurses' training school, a message was sent that there was a car at my front door. By the time I reached home, the car had gone, but there, on the verandah, was a large twenty-two pound parcel. I felt tears pricking my eyes. I could not open the parcel alone, so I sent for the orphanage children. Together we pulled off the string, carefully undoing each knot. We folded the paper, taking care not to tear it unduly. Excitement was mounting. Some thirty or forty pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box. From the top, I lifted out brightly colored, knitted jerseys. Eyes sparkled as I gave them out. Then there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy patients, and the children looked a little bored. Then came a box of mixed raisins and sultanas - that would make a batch of buns for the weekend. Then, as I put my hand in again, I felt the.....could it really be? I grasped it and pulled it out - yes, a brand-new, rubber hot water bottle. I cried. I had not asked God to send it; I had not truly believed that He could. Ruth was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying out, "If God has sent the bottle, He must have sent the dolly too!" Rummaging down to the bottom of the box, she pulled out the small, beautifully dressed dolly. Her eyes shone! She had never doubted! Looking up at me, she asked: "Can I go over with you and give this dolly to that little girl, so she'll know that Jesus really loves her?" That parcel had been on the way for five whole months. Packed up by my former Sunday school class, whose leader had heard and obeyed God's prompting to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator. And one of the girls had put in a dolly for an African child - five months before, in answer to the believing prayer of a ten-year-old to bring it "that afternoon." "Before they call, I will answer" (Isaiah 65:24)

GOD'S CAKE Sometimes we wonder, "What did I do to deserve this?" or "Why did God have to do this to me?" Here is a wonderful explanation! A daughter was telling her Mother how everything was going wrong; she was failing algebra, her boyfriend broke up with her and her best friend was moving away. Meanwhile, her Mother was baking a cake and asked her daughter if she would like a snack, and the daughter replied, "Absolutely Mom, I love your cake." "Here, have some cooking oil," her Mother offers. "Yuck" says her daughter. "How about a couple raw eggs?" "Gross, Mom!" "Would you like some flour then? Or maybe baking soda?" "Mom, those are all yucky!" To which the mother replies: "Yes, all those things seem bad all by themselves. But when they are put together in the right way, they make a wonderfully delicious cake! God works the same way. Many times we wonder why He would let us go through such bad and difficult times. But God knows that when He puts these things together all in His order, they always work for good! We just have to trust Him and, eventually, all these ingredients of life will make something wonderful! God is crazy about you. He sends you flowers every spring and a sunrise every morning. Whenever you want to talk, He listens. He can live anywhere in the universe yet He chose your heart in which to make his home. Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here we might as well dance." May each of your days be "a piece of cake!"

If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you." Winnie the Pooh ***** "True friendship is like sound health; the value of it is seldom known until it be lost." Charles Caleb Colton ***** "A real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out." Unknown ***** "Friendship is one mind in two bodies." Mencius ***** "Friends are God's way of taking care of us." Unknown ***** "If you should die before me, ask if you could bring a friend." Stone Temple Pilots ***** "I'll lean on you and you lean on me and we'll be okay." Dave Matthews Band ***** "If all my friends were to jump off a bridge, I wouldn't jump with them, I'd be at the bottom to catch them." Unknown ***** "Everyone hears what you say. Friends listen to what you say. Best friends listen to what you don't say." Unknown ***** "We all take different paths in life, but no matter where we go, we take a little of each other everywhere." Tim McGraw ***** "My father always used to say that when you die, if you've got five real friends, then you've had a great life." Lee Iacocca ***** "Hold a true friend with both your hands." Nigerian Proverb ***** "A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words." Unknown

This is for all the mothers who DIDN'T win Mother of the Year last year, all the runners-up and all the wannabes. Including the mothers too tired to enter or too busy to care. This is for all the mothers who froze their buns off on metal bleachers at soccer games on Friday night, instead of watching from cars. So that when their kids asked, "Did you see my goal?" They could say, "Of course, wouldn't have missed it for the world," and mean it. This is for all the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up barf laced with Oscar Mayer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying, "It's OK honey, Mommy's here." This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see, and the mothers who took those babies and made them homes. This is for all the mothers of the victims of school shootings, and the mothers of the murderers. For the mothers of the survivors, and the mothers who sat in front of their TVs in horror, hugging their child who just came home from school, safely. This is for all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew Halloween costumes, and all the mothers who DON'T. What makes a good mother anyway? Is it patience? Compassion? Broad hips? Is it the ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and sew a button on a shirt, all at the same time? Or is it heart? Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son or daughter disappear down the street, walking to school alone for the very first time? Is it the jolt that takes you from sleep to dread, as you bound from bed to crib at 2 a.m. to put your hand on the back of a sleeping baby? Is it the need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear news of a school shooting, a fire, a car accident, or a baby dying? I think so. So this is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and explained all about making babies, and for all the mothers who wanted to but just couldn't. This is for reading "Goodnight, Moon" twice a night for a year. And then reading it again. "Just one more time." This is for all the mothers who mess up. Who yell at their kids in the grocery store and swat them in despair and stomp their feet like a tired 2 year old who wants ice cream before dinner. This is for all the mothers who taught their daughters to tie their shoelaces before they started school. And for all the mothers who opted for Velcro instead. This is for all the mothers who bite their lips-sometimes until they bleed-when their 14 year olds dye their hair green. Who lock themselves in the bathroom when babies keep crying and won't stop. This is for all the mothers who show up at work with spit-up in their hair and milk stains on their blouses and diapers in their purse. This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot. This is for all mothers whose heads turn automatically when a little voice calls "Mom?" in a crowd, even though they know their own offspring are at home. This is for mothers who put pinwheels and teddy bears on their children's graves. This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can't find the words to reach them. This is for all the mothers who sent their sons to school with stomachaches, assuring them they'd be just FINE once they got there, only to get calls from the school nurse and hour later asking them to please pick them up, right away. This is for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation, and mature mothers learning to let go. This is for working mothers and stay-at-home mothers, single mothers and married mothers, mothers with money, and mothers without. This is for you all. So hang in there!