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Prior Threads ~~~~~
July, 2005, Closing Thread
February, 2008
March, 2008
April, 2008
May, 2008
June, 2008
July, 2008
August, 2008
September, 2008 (Main Thread)
September 26, 2008 (FR Down Special)
October, 2008
November, 2008
December, 2008
January, 2009
February, 2009


Please FReepmail me to be added or removed from my ping list. Thank you.

1 posted on 02/28/2009 10:43:26 PM PST by JustAmy
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To: ST.LOUIE1; Mama_Bear; Billie; DollyCali; dutchess; Aquamarine; GodBlessUSA; OESY; NicknamedBob; ...

(music)

In The Garden

I come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses.

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.

He speaks, and the sound of His voice,
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
And the melody that He gave to me
Within my heart is ringing.

I’d stay in the garden with Him
Though the night around me be falling,
But He bids me go; through the voice of woe
His voice to me is calling.



Graphics and music by Aquamarine


2 posted on 02/28/2009 10:46:05 PM PST by JustAmy
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To: All

Good Sunday, everyone.

Enjoyed this page. Thanks for the brightness.

I have a question that I hope for a bright answer, but...

Has anyone heard from Common Tator lately?

Please ping me or PM me if you can.

Thanks - AFPhys


39 posted on 03/01/2009 9:37:18 AM PST by AFPhys ((.Praying for President Bush, our troops, their families, and all my American neighbors..))
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To: guitarplayer1953

You may enjoy this thread if you are not already familiar with it.


1,267 posted on 03/12/2009 8:08:14 AM PDT by Sundog (Atlas Shrugged needs to be required reading . . . Which character are you?)
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To: JustAmy

Over the weekend, I discovered a poem my mother wrote many years ago. I want to share it today.

“His Presence”

I never watch a flower bloom
Without thinking of God;
I see Him in the petals
And in every closed seed pod.

I feel His presence in the Autumn
Afternoon sun’s glow;
I find Him on the hilltops
And in freshly fallen snow.

I hear Him in the pine tree’s sough,
The catbird’s piercing cry;
I sense His voice in waterfalls
And airplanes in the sky.

I smell His essence in the wind
On warm midsummer days;
I experience His bounty
In a hundred different ways.

I glimpse His image in the face
Of every child newborn;
His unselfish love surrounds me
In the still hours of the morn.

His spirit permeates the air;
His signs are everywhere;
His breath is in small bumblebees
And eagles in the air.

His nearness dominates my life;
His presence is as real
As peebles on a sandy beach,
Things I can touch and feel.

Some folks may think that God is dead,
I know it isn’t true;
He lives in all the universe,
He lives in me and you.

(VLC)


1,318 posted on 03/12/2009 9:53:11 AM PDT by auboy (Men who cannot deceive others are very often successful at deceiving themselves. Samuel Johnson)
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To: JustAmy

(sing to tune of Pink Panther) ...

Osama bin Laden,
was out in his garden,
He’s begging your pardon
for 9-11.

Barack H. Obama,
said goodbye to grandma,
And made sure his COLB was
not easily found.

Now who knows the real score?
A man named Rush Limbaugh,
He just might be president
Number forty-five.

If he stays alive.

...


1,960 posted on 03/19/2009 4:34:49 PM PDT by Peter ODonnell
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To: JustAmy
I just been on a thread about the Freeper Common Tatr, I didn't know he was sick, he died yesterday.

I posted my condolences to his freeper wife.

2,752 posted on 03/29/2009 8:21:54 AM PDT by Pippin
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To: JustAmy; All; silent_jonny; Quix

Take my Son

A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often sit together and admire the great works of art.

The son went to war. He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only son.

About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands.

He said, ‘Sir, you don’t know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly. He often talked about you, and your love for art.’ The young man held out this package. ‘I know this isn’t much. I’m not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this.’

The father opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture. ‘Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It’s a gift.’

The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected.

The man died a few months later. There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection.

On the platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel. ‘We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?’

There was silence.

Then a voice in the back of the room shouted, ‘We want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one.’

But the auctioneer persisted. ‘Will somebody bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding? $100, $200?’

Another voice angrily. ‘We didn’t come to see this painting. We came to see the Van Gogh’s, the Rembrandts. Get on with the real bids!’

But still the auctioneer continued. ‘The son! The son! Who’ll take the son?’

Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the longtime gardener of the man and his son. ‘I’ll give $10 for the painting.’ Being a poor man, it was all he could afford.

‘We have $10, who will bid $20?’

‘Give it to him for $10. Let’s see the masters.’

The crowd was becoming angry. They didn’t want the picture of the son.

They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.

The auctioneer pounded the gavel. ‘Going once, twice, SOLD for ten dollars.’

A man sitting on the second row shouted, ‘Now let’s get on with the collection!’

The auctioneer laid down his gavel. ‘I’m sorry, the auction is over.’

‘What about the paintings?’

‘I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will. I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings.’

‘The man who took the son gets everything!’

God gave His Son two thousand years ago to die on the cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message today is: ‘The son, the son, who’ll take the son?’

Because, you see, whoever takes the Son gets everything.


2,927 posted on 03/30/2009 9:46:17 AM PDT by Joya (Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, Savior, have mercy on me, a sinner.)
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