The
importance of struggle
Sometimes
struggles are exactly what we need in our lives. If God allowed us to go
through our lives without any obstacles, it would cripple us.
We
would not be as strong as what we could have been. We could never fly!
I
asked for Strength......... And
God gave me Difficulties to make me strong.
I
asked for Wisdom......... And
God gave me Problems to solve.
I
asked for Prosperity......... And
God gave me Brain and Brawn to work.
I
asked for Courage......... And
God gave me Danger to overcome.
I
asked for Love......... And
God gave me Troubled people to help.
I
asked for Favors......... And
God gave me Opportunities.
I
received nothing I wanted ........ I
received everything I needed!
ZERO : The very idea of zero has not been
with us for very long.
Zero
did not exist during the Roman Empire.It came to Europe
from the great Arabic mathematicians.
0
was invented by a Indian and it goes back to Aryan civilisation.
"If
the Indians had not invented zero and counting
we would not have developed such complex computational
machines."Bill Clinton (said while visiting India )
The
arithmetical symbol 0, denoting the absence of all magnitude.
Zero
(n.) - A totally insignificant person:
• a nonentity, a nobody
•
any Tom, Dick, or Harry
•
nebbish (Jewish slang)
The lowest point • Nadir
Having
no measurable or otherwise determinable worth
DURERS Praying Hands
It
tells of DURER doing his creation in appreciation of a brother who went to work
in the mines to support Albrecht's education.
Back
in the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg , lived a family with eighteen
children. Eighteen! In order merely to keep food on the table for this mob, the
father and head of the household, a goldsmith by profession, worked almost
eighteen hours a day at his trade and any other paying chore he could find in
the neighborhood. Despite their seemingly hopeless condition, two of Albrecht
Durer the Elder's children had a dream. They both wanted to pursue their talent
for art, but they knew full well that their father would never be financially
able to send either of them to Nuremberg
to study at the Academy.
After many long discussions at night in
their crowded bed, the two boys finally worked out a pact. They would toss a
coin. The loser would go down into the nearby mines and, with his earnings,
support his brother while he attended the academy. Then, when that brother who
won the toss completed his studies, in four years, he would support the other
brother at the academy, either with sales of his artwork or, if necessary, also
by laboring in the mines.
They tossed a coin on a Sunday morning
after church. Albrecht Durer won the toss and went off to Nuremberg . Albert went down into the dangerous
mines and, for the next four years, financed his brother, whose work at the
academy was almost an immediate sensation. Albrecht's etchings, his woodcuts,
and his oils were far better than those of most of his professors, and by the
time he graduated, he was beginning to earn considerable fees for his
commissioned works.
When the young artist returned to his
village, the Durer family held a festive dinner on their lawn to celebrate
Albrecht's triumphant homecoming. After a long and memorable meal, punctuated
with music and laughter, Albrecht rose from his honored position at the head of
the table to drink a toast to his beloved brother for the years of sacrifice
that had enabled Albrecht to fulfill his ambition. His closing words were,
"And now, Albert, blessed brother of mine, now it is your turn. Now you
can go to Nuremberg
to pursue your dream, and I will take care of you."
All heads turned in eager expectation
to the far end of the table where Albert sat, tears streaming down his pale face,
shaking his lowered head from side to side while he sobbed and repeated, over
and over, "No ...no ...no ...no."
Finally, Albert rose and wiped the
tears from his cheeks. He glanced down the long table at the faces he loved,
and then, holding his hands close to his right cheek, he said softly, "No,
brother. I cannot go to Nuremberg .
It is too late for me. Look ... look what four years in the mines have done to
my hands! The bones in every finger have been smashed at least once, and lately
I have been suffering from arthritis so badly in my right hand that I cannot
even hold a glass to return your toast, much less make delicate lines on
parchment or canvas with a pen or a brush. No, brother ...
for
me it is too late."
More than 450 years have passed. By
now, Albrecht Durer's hundreds of masterful portraits, pen and silver-point
sketches, watercolors, charcoals, woodcuts, and copper engravings hang in every
great museum in the world, but the odds are great that you, like most people,
are familiar with only one of Albrecht Durer's works. More than merely being
familiar with it, you very well may have a reproduction hanging in your home or
office.
One day, to pay homage to Albert for
all that he had sacrificed, Albrecht Durer painstakingly drew his brother's
abused hands with palms together and thin fingers stretched skyward. He called
his powerful drawing simply "Hands," but the entire world almost
immediately opened their hearts to his great masterpiece and renamed his tribute
of love "The Praying Hands."
The next time you see a copy of that
touching creation, take a second look. Let it be your reminder, if you still
need one, that no one - no one - - ever makes it alone!
Mothers
day - inspiring story about mother ( an inspiring motivational story )
A
man stopped at a flower shop to order some flowers to be wired to his mother
who lived two hundred miles away.
As
he got out of his car he noticed a young girl sitting on the curb sobbing.
He
asked her what was wrong and she replied, "I wanted to buy a red rose for
my mother.
But
I only have seventy-five cents, and a rose costs two dollars."
The
man smiled and said, "Come on in with me. I'll buy you a rose."
He
bought the little girl her rose and ordered his own mother's flowers.
As
they were leaving he offered the girl a ride home.
She
said, "Yes, please! You can take me to my mother."
She
directed him to a cemetery, where she placed the rose on a freshly dug grave.
The
man returned to the flower shop, canceled the wire order, picked up a bouquet
and drove the two hundred miles to his mother's house.
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