"I AM METH"
 
This was written by a young Indian girl who was in jail for
drug charges, and was addicted to meth.  She wrote this while in jail.  As
you will soon read, she fully grasped the horrors of the drug, as she tells in
this simple, yet profound poem.  She was released from jail, but, true to her
story, the drug owned her.
 
They found her dead not long after, with the needle still in  her arm. Please
keep praying for our Children, Teens, Young adults.
Understand, this thing is worse than any of us realize...
 
           My Name: "Is Meth"
 
         I destroy homes, I tear families apart,
         take your children, and that's just the start.
         I'm more costly than diamonds, more precious than gold,
         The sorrow I bring is a sight to behold.
 
         If you need me, remember I'm easily found, I live all around
         you -  in schools and in town
         I live with the rich; I live with the poor, I live down the
         street, and maybe next door.
 
         I'm made in a lab, but not like you think,
         I can be easily made under the kitchen sink;
         In your child's closet; even in the woods,
         If this scares you to death, it certainly should.
         I have many names, but there's one you know best,
         I'm sure you've heard of me, my name is meth.
 
         My power is awesome; try me you'll see,
         But if you do, you may never break free.
         Just try me once and I might let you go,
         But try me twice, and I'll own your soul.
 
        When I possess you, you'll steal and you'll lie,
        You do what you have to -- just to get high.
        The crimes you'll commit for my narcotic charms
        Will be worth the pleasure you'll feel through your lungs,
        nose, and arms.
 
       You'll lie to your mother; you'll steal from your dad,
       When you see their tears, you should feel sad.
       But you'll forget your morals and how you were raised,
       I'll be your conscience, I'll teach you my ways.
 
       I take kids from parents, and parents from kids,
       I turn people from God, and separate friends.
       I'll take everything from you, your looks and your pride,
       I'll be with you always -- right by your side.
       You'll give up everything - your family, your home,
       Your friends, your money, then you'll be alone.
       I'll take and take, till you have nothing more to give,
       When I'm finished with you, you'll be lucky to live.
 
      If you try me be warned - this is no game,
      If given the chance, I'll drive you insane.
      I'll ravish your body, I'll control your mind,
      I'll own you completely, your soul will be mine.
      The nightmares I'll give you while lying in bed,
      The voices you'll hear, from inside your head.
      The sweats, the shakes, the visions you'll see,
      I want you to know, these are all gifts from me.
      But then it's too late, and you'll know in your heart,
      That you are mine, and we shall not part.
      You'll regret that you tried me, they always do,
      But you came to me, not I to you.
 
      You knew this would happen, many times you were told,
      But you challenged my power, and chose to be bold.
      You could have said no, and just walked away,
      If you could live that day over, now what would you say?
      I'll be your master, you will be my slave,
      I'll even go with you, when you go to your grave.
 
      Now that you have met me, what will you do?
      Will you try me or not?  It's all up to you.
      I can bring you more misery than words can tell,
      Come take my hand, let me lead you to hell.
 
If you care enough, please forward this profound poem and
share the deadly outcome of this drug that is killing our young people &
even our old.

Puppies For Sale!!   thPuppyandbutterfly1.gif

A farmer had some puppies he needed to sell. He painted a sign advertising the 4 pups. And set about nailing it to a post on the edge of his yard. As he was driving the last nail into the post, he felt a tug on his overalls. He looked down into the eyes of little boy.

"Mister," he said, "I want to buy one of your puppies."

"Well," said the farmer, as he rubbed the sweat off the back of his neck, "These puppies come from fine parents and cost a good deal of money."

The boy dropped his head for a moment. Then reaching deep into his pocket, he pulled out a handful of change and held it up to the farmer.

"I've got thirty-nine cents. Is that enough to take a look?"

"Sure," said the farmer. And with that he let out a whistle. "Here, Dolly!" he called. Out from the doghouse and down the ramp ran

Dolly followed by four little balls of fur.

The little boy pressed his face against the chain link fence. His eyes danced with delight.

As the dogs made their way to the fence, the little boy noticed something else stirring inside the doghouse.
Slowly another little ball appeared, this one noticeably smaller. Down the ramp it slid. Then in a somewhat awkward manner, the little pup began hobbling toward the others, doing its best to catch up....

"I want that one," the little boy said, pointing to the runt. The farmer knelt down at the boy's side and said, "Son, you don't want that puppy. He will never be able to run and play with you like these other dogs would."

With that the little boy stepped back from the fence, reached down, and began rolling up one leg of his trousers.

In doing so he revealed a steel brace running down both sides of his leg attaching itself to a specially made shoe.

Looking back up at the farmer, he said, "You see sir, I don't run too well myself, and he will need someone who understands."

With tears in his eyes, farmer reached down and picked up the little pup.

Holding it carefully handed it to the little boy.

"How much?" asked the little boy. "No charge," answered the farmer, "There's no charge for love."

Please click on the link below where you can visit a group of hand selected, gifted psychics

MyGiftedPsychicsGroup

Anna Quindlen, Newsweek Columnist and Author 

All my babies are gone now. I say this not in sorrow but in 
disbelief. I take great satisfaction in what I have 
today: three almost-adults, two taller than I am, 
one closing in fast. Three people who read the same 
books I do and have learned not to be afraid of 
disagreeing with me in their opinion of them, who 
sometimes tell vulgar jokes that make me laugh 
until I choke and cry, who need razor blades and 
shower gel and privacy, who want to keep their doors 
closed more than I like. Who, miraculously, go to 
the bathroom, zip up their jackets and move food 
from plate to mouth all by themselves. Like the 
trick soap I bought for the bathroom with a rubber 
ducky at its center, the baby is buried deep within 
each, barely discernible except through the 
unreliable haze of the past. 

Everything in all the books I once pored over is 
finished for me now. Penelope Leach., T. Berry 
Brazelton, Dr. Spock. The ones on sibling rivalry 
and sleeping through the night and early-childhood 
education, all grown obsolete. Along with Goodnight 
Moon and Where the Wild Things Are, they are 
battered, spotted, well used. But I suspect that if 
you flipped the pages dust would rise like memories. 
What those books taught me, finally, and what the 
women on the playground taught me, and the 
well-meaning relations --what they taught me, was 
that they couldn't really teach me very much at all. 

Raising children is presented at first as a 
true-false test, then becomes multiple choice, until 
finally, far along, you realize that it is an 
endless essay. No one knows anything. One child 
responds well to positive reinforcement, another can 
be managed only with a stern voice and a timeout. 
One child is toilet trained at 3, his sibling at 2. 

When my first child was born, parents were told to 
put baby to bed on his belly so that he would not 
choke on his own spit-up. By the time my last 
arrived, babies were put down on their backs because 
of research on sudden infant death syndrome. To a 
new parent this ever-shifting certainty is 
terrifying, and then soothing. Eventually you must 
learn to trust yourself. 
Eventually the research will follow.

 

I remember 15 years ago poring over one of Dr. Brazelton's 
wonderful books on child development, in which he 
describes three different sorts of infants: average, 
quiet, and active. I was looking for a sub-quiet 
codicil for an 18-month old who did not walk. Was 
there something wrong with his fat little legs? Was 
there something wrong with his tiny little mind? Was 
he developmentally delayed, physically challenged? 
Was I insane? Last year he went to China . Next year 
he goes to college. He can talk just fine. He can 
walk, too. 

Every part of raising children is humbling, too. 
Believe me, mistakes were made. They have all been 
enshrined in the, "Remember-When- Mom -Did Hall of 
Fame." The outbursts, the temper tantrums, the bad 
language, mine, not theirs. The times the baby fell 
off the bed. The times I arrived late for preschool 
pickup. The nightmare sleepover. The horrible summer 
camp. The day when the youngest came barreling out 
of the classroom with a 98 on her geography test, 
and I responded, "What did you get wrong?". (She 
insisted I include that.) The time I ordered food at 
the McDonald's drive-through speaker and then drove 
away without picking it up from the window. (They 
all insisted I include that.) I did not allow them 
to watch the Simpsons for the first two seasons. 
What was I thinking? 

But the biggest mistake I made is the one that most 
of us make while doing this. I did not live in the 
moment enough. This is particularly clear now that 
the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. 
There is one picture of the three of them, sitting 
in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing 
set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I wish I 
could remember what we ate, and what we talked 
about, and how they sounded, and how they looked 
when they slept that night. 

I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to 
the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I 
had treasured the doing a little more and the 
getting it done a little less. 

Even today I'm not sure what worked and what didn't, 
what was me and what was simply life. When they were 
very small, I suppose I thought someday they would 
become who they were because of what I'd done. Now I 
suspect they simply grew into their true selves 
because they demanded in a thousand ways that I back 
off and let them be. The books said to be relaxed 
and I was often tense, matter-of-fact and I was 
sometimes over the top. And look how it all turned 
out. I wound up with the three people I like best in 
the world, who have done more than anyone to 
excavate my essential humanity. That's what the 
books never told me. I was bound and determined to 
learn from the experts. It just took me a while to 
figure out who the experts were




______________________

The Mayonnaise Jar and 2 Cups of Coffee


When things in your life seem almost too much to handle, when 24 Hours in a
day is not enough, remember the mayonnaise jar and 2 cups of coffee.

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him.
When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise
jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls.

He then asked the students if the jar was full.
They agreed that it was.

The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar.
He shook the jar lightly.
The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls.

He then asked the students again if the jar was full.
They agreed it was.

The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar.
Of course, the sand filled up everything else.
He asked once more if the jar was full.

The students responded with a unanimous "yes."

The professor then produced two cups of coffee from under the table and poured the
entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the sand.
The students laughed.

"Now," said the professor, as the laughter subsided, "I want you to recognize that this
jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things -God, family, children,
health, friends, and favorite passions --things that if everything else was lost and only
they remained, your life would still be full.

The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, house, and car.

The sand is everything else --the small stuff.

"If you put the sand into the jar first, "he continued," there is not enough room for all
the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life.

If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for
all the things that are important to you.

So...

Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness.
Play With your children.
Take time to get medical checkups.
Take your partner out to dinner.
Play another 18.

There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal.

"Take care of the golf balls first --the things that really matter.
Set your priorities.
The rest is just sand."

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the coffee represented.

The professor smiled.
"I'm glad you asked."

“It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there's always room for
a couple cups of coffee with a friend."