Conquerors Never Quit

Posted by Unknown On Sunday, June 17, 2012 0 comments

This is a true story of a young woman who went through the most gruesome fire. When you read her story, you’ll realize that your trials are absolutely nothing compared to what this young girl went through.

It was September 25, 2000. Maricel Apatan was an 11-year old girl in Zamboanga. On that day, this little girl went with her uncle to draw water.

Along the way, four men met them. They were carrying long knives. They told her uncle to face down on the ground, and they hacked him on the neck and killed him.

Maricel was in total shock, especially that the men were their neighbors. She tried to escape, but the men ran after her.

She cried, “Kuya, ‘wag po, ‘wag n’yo akong tagain! Maawa po kayo sa akin!” (“Don’t kill me! Have mercy on me!”)

But they weren’t listening. With a long knife, a man slashed her on the neck too.

Maricel fell to the ground and lost consciousness.

When she woke up, she saw a lot of blood. She also saw the feet of the men around her, but she pretended to be dead.

When they walked away, Maricel ran back home.

But along the way, she saw that both her hands were falling off because the men hacked them too. She cried but she kept running.

Sometimes, she would faint and fall to the ground. But she’d regain consciousness and run again.

When she was near her home, Maricel called her mother.

Upon seeing her daughter, her mother screamed in terror. She wrapped her bloodied child in a blanket and carried her to the hospital.

Here was the problem: From her house to the highway, it was a 12-kilometer walk. It took them 4 hours just to reach the highway.

When they arrived in the hospital, the doctors thought Maricel was going to die. But for 5 hours, they operated on her. It took 25 stitches to stitch together the long knife wound in her neck and back.

Maricel barely survived. And she lost both of her hands.

Ironically, the next day was Maricel’s birthday. She was 12 years old.

But tragedy didn’t end there. When they went home, they saw their home was gone. It was ransacked and burned down by the goons.

Being very poor, Maricel’s family also didn’t have P50,000 for their hospital bills.

But God sent many angels along the way to help them.

Archbishop Antonio Ledesma, a distant relative, paid for hospital bills and helped them bring the criminals to court. They were sentenced to prison.

Today, she’s staying with the nuns at Regina Rosarii with Sr. Eppie Brasil, O.P.

But this is the incredible miracle. Instead of staying down, Maricel kept running.

Instead of cursing God why she had no hands, she now uses her wrists in incredible ways that will boggle your mind.

Maricel was cited as the most industrious, best in computer, and most courteous in the School for Crippled Children.

In 2008, she graduated from a course in Hotel and Restaurant Management. She even received a Gold medal for Arts and Crafts.

In 2011, she finished her education to be a chef. Yes, a Chef without hands.

Nothing can stop this young lady from reaching her dreams.



Real Winners Don’t Give Up!


-Author Unknown-

This story has been featured in many websites. You can Google for Maricel Apatan and see for yourself.

Watch this amazing video of Maricel Apatan and be inspired! CLICK HERE for the video. 


You will be inspired! Take care and God bless you!


Do You Need A Sandpiper Today?

Posted by Unknown On 0 comments

Some of my close friends know of the many senior moments I have been having. For instance, three days ago, when I was making a loaf of wholemeal bread, I was talking to my son in the kitchen and lost count of the number of cups of flour I had put into the mixing bowl. When the bread was almost done, I peeped and to my horror, it looked like a volcanic crater. Something had gone awry. Later on, I realized I had put in only three cups, instead of four cups of flour.

This morning, I came across this true story by Robert Peterson called A Sandpiper To Bring You Joy. Off I went on a stream-of-consciousness thinking spree and thought about the mythical character - the sandman- and also Neil Gaiman's comic book series of the same name.

After jumping here and there, I was engrossed in the story and was hit by an wave of sentimental feelings because of the unexpected twist in this beautiful write-up. May this story inspire you to take time off to enjoy living, to appreciate life with your loved ones for tomorrow might never come! Have a beautiful day!

_____________________________________

A Sandpiper to Bring You Joy 
by Mary Sherman Hilbert
in Reader's' Digest, 1980

She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to close in on me. She was building a sandcastle or something and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.



"Hello," she said. I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.

"I'm building," she said.

"I see that. What is it?" I asked, not caring.

"Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand."

That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper glided by.



"That's a joy," the child said.

"It's a what?"

"It's a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy." 

The bird went gliding down the beach.

"Good-bye joy," I muttered to myself, "Hello pain," and turned to walk on. 

I was depressed; my life seemed completely out of balance.

"What's your name?" She wouldn't give up.

"Robert," I answered. "I'm Robert Peterson."

"Mine's Wendy... I'm six."

"Hi, Wendy."

She giggled. "You're funny," she said.

In spite of my gloom I laughed too and walked on. Her musical giggle followed me.

"Come again, Mr. P," she called. "We'll have another happy day."

The days and weeks that followed belonged to others: a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, and an ailing mother. The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwater.

"I need a sandpiper," I said to myself, gathering up my coat.

The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly, but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed. I had forgotten the child and was startled when she appeared.

"Hello, Mr. P," she said. "Do you want to play?"

"What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.

"I don't know, you say."

"How about charades?" I asked sarcastically.

The tinkling laughter burst forth again. "I don't know what that is."

"Then let's just walk."

Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face.

"Where do you live?" I asked.

"Over there." She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.

Strange, I thought, in winter.

"Where do you go to school?"

"I don't go to school. Mommy says we're on vacation."

She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was on other things. When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day. Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.

Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I was in no mood to even greet Wendy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt like demanding she keep her child at home.

"Look, if you don't mind," I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, "I'd rather be alone today."

She seems unusually pale and out of breath. "Why?" she asked.

I turned to her and shouted, "Because my mother died!" and thought, "My God, why was I saying this to a little child?"

"Oh," she said quietly, "then this is a bad day."

"Yes," I said, "and yesterday and the day before and-oh, go away!"

"Did it hurt? " she inquired.

"Did what hurt?" I was exasperated with her, with myself.

"When she died?"

"Of course it hurt!" I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in myself. I strode off.

A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there. Feeling guilty, ashamed and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn looking young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.

"Hello," I said. "I'm Robert Peterson. I missed your little girl today and wondered where she was."

"Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy spoke of you so much. I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance, please, accept my apologies."

"Not at all-she's a delightful child," I said, suddenly realizing that I meant what I had just said.

"Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson. She had leukemia. Maybe she didn't tell you."

Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. I had to catch my breath.

"She loved this beach; so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no.

She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days. But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly ...

Her voice faltered, "She left something for you ... if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I look?"

I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something, to say to this lovely young woman.

She handed me a smeared envelope, with MR. P printed in bold childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues - a yellow beach, a blue sea, and a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed:



Tears welled up in my eyes and a heart that had almost forgotten to love opened wide. I took Wendy's mother in my arms.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," I muttered over and over, and we wept together.

The precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study.

Six words - one for each year of her life - that speak to me of harmony, courage, and undemanding love.

A gift from a child with sea-blue eyes and hair the color of sand - who taught me the gift of love.

-Written by Mary Sherman Hilbert-






The Parrot, The Rottweiler And The Repairman

Posted by Unknown On 1 comments

Mrs. Broomfield's dishwasher quit working, so she called a repairman. He couldn't accommodate her with an evening appointment, and since she had to go to work the next day, she told him: "I'll leave the key under the mat. Fix the dishwasher, leave the bill on the counter, and I'll mail you the check. By the way, don't worry about my Rottweiler. He won't bother you. But, whatever you do, do not under any circumstances talk to my parrot!"

When the repairman arrived at Mrs. Broomfield's apartment the next day, he discovered the biggest and meanest looking Rottweiler he had ever seen.


But, just like she had said, the dog just lay there on the carpet, watching the repairman go about his business.

However, the whole time he was there, the parrot drove him nuts with his incessant squawking and talking.



Finally the repairman couldn't contain himself any longer and yelled, "Shut up, you stupid bird!"

To which the parrot replied: "Get him, Brutus!



Lesson: Instructions are provided for a reason. You may save yourself tons of grief and pain if you follow them.


-Author Unknown-


*Posted for laughs


Have a great week ahead!




Specially For Fathers

Posted by Unknown On 2 comments

My father gave me the greatest gift anyone could give another person, he believed in me.
Jim Valvano

I've had a hard life, but my hardships are nothing against the hardships that my father went through in order to get me to where I started.
Bartrand Hubbard

He didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it.
Clarence Budington Kelland

My father used to play with my brother and me in the yard. Mother would come out and say,
"You're tearing up the grass." "We're not raising grass," Dad would reply. "We're raising
boys." Harmon Killebrew

Fatherhood is pretending the present you love most is soap-on-a-rope.
Bill Cosby

It is not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us fathers and sons.
Johann Schiller

A father carries pictures where his money used to be.
Unknown

Blessed indeed is the man who hears many gentle voices call him father!
Lydia M. Child, Philothea: A Romance, 1836

When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he had learned in seven years.
Mark Twain, "Old Times on the Mississippi" Atlantic Monthly, 1874

Old as she was, she still missed her daddy sometimes.
Gloria Naylor

Never raise your hand to your kids. It leaves your groin unprotected.
Red Buttons

I don't care how poor a man is; if he has family, he's rich.
M*A*S*H, Colonel Potter

He didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it.
Clarence Budington Kelland

A man knows when he is growing old because he begins to look like his father.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez


Don't make a baby if you can't be a father.
National Urban League Slogan


The father who does not teach his son his duties is equally guilty with the son who neglects them.
Confucius

He who is taught to live upon little owes more to his father's wisdom than he who has a great deal left him does to his father's care.
William Penn

By the time a man realizes that maybe his father was right, he usually has a son who thinks he's wrong.
Charles Wadworth

Small boys become big men through the influence of big men who care about small boys.
AuthorUnknown

It is a wise father that knows his own child.
William Shakespeare

The father who does not teach his son his duties is equally guilty with the son who neglects them.
Confucius

Fathers, like mothers, are not born. Men grow into fathers and fathering is a very important stage in their development.
David Gottesman

I cannot think of any need in childhood as strong as the need for a father's protection.
Sigmund Freud

When a father gives to his son, both laugh; when a son gives to his father, both cry.
Jewish Proverb

You fathers will understand. You have a little girl. She looks up to you. You're her oracle. You're her hero. And then the day comes when she gets her first permanent wave and goes to her first real party, and from that day on, you're in a constant state of panic.
Stanley T. Banks in the movie 'Father of the Bride'

There must always be a struggle between a father and son, while one aims at power and the other at independence.
Samuel Johnson

My son, a perfect little boy of five years and three months, had ended his earthly life. You can never sympathize with me; you can never know how much of me such a young child can take away. A few weeks ago I accounted myself a very rich man, and now the poorest of all.
Ralph Waldo Emerson, on the death of his son

A man never stands as tall as when he kneels to help a child.
Knights of Pythagoras

"When a child is born, a father is born. A mother is born, too of course, but at least for her it's a gradual process. Body and soul, she has nine months to get used to what's happening. She becomes what's happening. But for even the best-prepared father, it happens all at once. On the other side of a plate-glass window, a nurse is holding up something roughly the size of a loaf of bread for him to see for the first time.
Frederick Buechner, 'Whistling in the Dark'

I watched a small man with thick calluses on both hands work fifteen and sixteen hours a day. I saw him once literally bleed from the bottoms of his feet, a man who came here uneducated, alone, unable to speak the language, who taught me all I needed to know about faith and hard work by the simple eloquence of his example.
Mario Cuomo

My father was frightened of his mother. I was frightened of my father and I am damned well going to see to it that my children are frightened of me.
King George V

4 years: My Daddy can do anything!
7 years: My Dad knows a lot…a whole lot.
8 years: My father does not know quite everything.
12 years: Oh well, naturally Father does not know that either.
14 years: Oh, Father? He is hopelessly old-fashioned.
21 years: Oh, that man-he is out of date!
25 years: He knows a little bit about it, but not much.
30 years: I must find out what Dad thinks about it.
35 years: Before we decide, we will get Dad's idea first.
50 years: What would Dad have thought about that?
60 years: My Dad knew literally everything!
65 years: I wish I could talk it over with Dad once more.
-Author Unknown-


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