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Thu, 18 Jun 2009 00:58:40 -0700

Happy Birthday Comments

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY LOVLY FRIEND BARBRA COLINS ,WISH HER LONG LIFE AND HAPPY DAYS

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Sun, 07 Jun 2009 00:45:59 -0700

These are some of my autistic daughter paintings hope it take some of your atention

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Tue, 02 Sep 2008 00:51:43 -0700

RAMADAN MOBAREK

I WILL PRAY TO ALLAH TO MAKE PEACE COME OVER ALL THE EARTH IN THIS BLESSING GENEROUS MONTH

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Thu, 14 Aug 2008 08:26:12 -0700

you may love someone you never meet him att all.only you have spiritual conections on this fields

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Fri, 06 Jun 2008 04:02:57 -0700

How much does a prayer weigh?

The only man I ever knew who tried to weigh one still does not know.

Once he thought he did.
That was when he owned a little grocery store on New York's West Side. It was the week before Christmas of 1918 when a tired-looking woman came into the store and asked him for enough food to make a Christmas dinner for her children. He asked her how much she could afford to spend.

"My husband was killed in the war," the woman answered. "I have nothing to offer but a little prayer."

The man confesses that he was not very sentimental in those days. A grocery store could not be run like a breadline.
Without even reading the prayer, he placed the paper on one side of his old-fashioned weight scales and said, "We shall see how much food this is worth."
"Write it down," he said with a huff, and turned to attend to other customers.

To his surprise, the woman pulled a piece of paper from her pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to him over the counter. "I did that during the night, while sitting up with my sick baby."
The grocer took the paper before he could recover from his surprise, and then regretted having done so. What would he do with it? What could he say?
Then an idea came to him. Without even reading the prayer, he placed the paper on one side of his old-fashioned weight scales and said, "We shall see how much food this is worth."
To his astonishment, the scale would not go down when he put a loaf of bread on the other side. And it still didn't go down as he added more food--anything he could lay his hands on quickly, because people were watching him. His face turned redder the more embarrassed and flustered he became.

Finally he said, "Well, that's all the scales will hold. Here's a bag." And he turned away.

With a little sob, the woman took the bag and started packing the food, only stopping to dry her eyes on her sleeve from time to time.
The grocer tried not to look, but he had given her a big bag and couldn't help but see that it wasn't quite full. Without another word, he tossed a large cheese down the counter. Had he let down his defenses enough to actually look at the woman, he would have been rewarded with a timid smile and look of deepest gratitude.
When the woman had gone, the grocer examined his scales, which had worked fine for the previous customer. He never figured out how or when it had happened, but they were broken.

The grocer had never seen that woman before, and he never saw her again.

But for the rest of his life he remembered her better than any other woman that ever came into his shop, and he always kept that slip of paper with her simple prayer: "Please, Lord, give us this day our daily bread."

THANKS FOR MY SU FRIEND KISSY WHO WRITE THIS BLOG

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Thu, 27 Mar 2008 00:58:21 -0700

MyHotComments

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Wed, 05 Mar 2008 05:08:29 -0800

MELWEYAT SAMARAA
This tower in Samarra city north of Baghdad its for praying call in old time

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Fri, 11 Jan 2008 20:59:05 -0800

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Fri, 04 Jan 2008 05:25:16 -0800

From: Deborah's Revolution
Date: Jan 3, 2008 5:57 PM

Thank you
Pine Apple

PEACE.&.JUSTICE
Date: Jan 3, 2008 7:27 PM

The Beautiful Face of the United States

by Imad Jadaa*
Rachel Corrie was never a terrorist. She never sympathized with Al Qaeda. Her blond hair and U.S. nationality and the fact than no Arab blood ran in her veins made her stand out among the other young women in the Gaza Strip. she was barely 23 years old.

Rachel lived in Olympia, in the state of Washington, and she had been far from home for many months. She belonged to the International Solidarity Movement and for the moment her profession was a new one for the 21st century: that of a human shield against evil and wrongdoing.

One might guess at the reasons why Rachel found herself in a Palestinian refugee camp in Gaza, and why she postponed her dream of graduating from college, leaving behind for the moment the beautiful possibility of loving, of having children. She wanted now, not later to bear witness to the Palestinian tragedy and, far from home, she was learning the true meaning of U.S. justice.

Rachel was guilty. Guilty according to Israeli statements of being in the wrong country at the wrong time with the wrong people. She was guilty of not staying home to dance in the discotheques of the United States, of ceasing to be a common, ordinary citizen. She chose to stand in front of a Palestinian home at the moment an Israeli bulldozer was trying to tear it down. In the first image captured on camera, she is challenging the driver with a megaphone in her hand. Her hair is loose around her shoulders. She places her body between the weakened wall of the house and the brutal shovel of the bulldozer. The scene takes place in Rafah, in Gaza, and her protective gesture is poignant. Never has such an undefended, fragile person challenged a vehicle transformed into a machine of death and destruction.

One cannot hear her words. Next to her in the first photograph is another young solidarity worker, perhaps of her same nationality. In the second photo, she is on the ground bleeding. According to witnesses the bulldozer, after stopping for awhile, decided to move forward. After knocking her down with the first blow, it backed up and attacked once again. With a turn of the steering wheel, the driver drove away from the scene. He changed direction and left her there to one side, like some unimportant object: the house still standing, the young woman on the ground.

The image has no sound. �What was she shouting at her assassin? Her cries were not in Hebrew, but in the purest English pronounced by a pure girl. The Israeli soldier could not understand why the shouts were directed at him in the same language of his godfather and protector.

Maybe he thought for an instant how odd were these blond Palestinians speaking English, a second before he floored the accelerator for the final attack. Silence.

The death of a blond young woman, 23 years old, crushed to death in Gaza, deserves silence. There are no investigations. No one orders the assassin arrested because that would mean one less driver for the bulldozers, for the tanks, one less soldier to carry on the killing. And all of them are needed to keep carrying out these crimes. No one has expressed regret to Rachel's parents. Only the Palestinian leader has expressed his condolences.

Nothing important has happened because no one has to ask forgiveness in the United States or Israel. No one has begged forgiveness or even contemplated the collateral damage. It is not necessary. Perhaps they may even think that the Palestinians were responsible, for not preventing her from standing in front of that house at the hour of the disaster. If the young woman stood together with the Arab people under attack, together with the Third World, it is a certain fact that she was not a legitimate U.S. citizen. If she were one, she would have been like the President of her country, on the side of Zionism. Something is missing from their statistics:

Rachel Corrie is the first U.S. martyr, the first U.S. blood shed on Palestinian s

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Sun, 16 Dec 2007 01:06:19 -0800

from Ali Quotes by Shirl site

there is no shame in going down, the shame is in staying down.