Two Faces of Halloween

Cute (the fairy tale face)

Scary (the horror face)

How to change the world

Protect your furry loved ones

Happy Halloween!

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Stop playing small

A message from a bird

No old roads

Time to relax!

Be the ONE!

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Remember vs Forget

Light spark flame

Stop!

A message in every crisis

Halloween approaches...

Nothing vs Everything

Blessings vs Problems

A single step

An oldie, but so true!

We are all connected

About the storm...

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Wonderful! 34 000 visits and counting!

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Loving nature...

You were born with wings

Be selective...

Peace

Robert Frost: On life

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When women were birds

Pick wisely

Seeking with new eyes

Quiet People

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Delaying is not Forgetting

DELAYING IS NOT FORGETTING

THERE was an old mansion surrounded by a marshy ditch with

a drawbridge which was but seldom let down:- not all guests

are good people. Under the roof were loopholes to shoot

through, and to pour down boiling water or even molten lead on

the enemy, should he approach. Inside the house the rooms were

very high and had ceilings of beams, and that was very useful

considering the great deal of smoke which rose up from the

chimney fire where the large, damp logs of wood smouldered. On

the walls hung pictures of knights in armour and proud ladies

in gorgeous dresses; the most stately of all walked about

alive. She was called Meta Mogen; she was the mistress of the

house, to her belonged the castle.

Towards the evening robbers came; they killed three of her

people and also the yard-dog, and attached Mrs. Meta to the

kennel by the chain, while they themselves made good cheer in

the hall and drank the wine and the good ale out of her

cellar. Mrs. Meta was now on the chain, she could not even

bark.

But lo! the servant of one of the robbers secretly

approached her; they must not see it, otherwise they would

have killed him.

"Mrs. Meta Mogen," said the fellow, "do you still remember

how my father, when your husband was still alive, had to ride

on the wooden horse? You prayed for him, but it was no good,

he was to ride until his limbs were paralysed; but you stole

down to him, as I steal now to you, you yourself put little

stones under each of his feet that he might have support,

nobody saw it, or they pretended not to see it, for you were

then the young gracious mistress. My father has told me this,

and I have not forgotten it! Now I will free you, Mrs. Meta

Mogen!"

Then they pulled the horses out of the stable and rode off

in rain and wind to obtain the assistance of friends.

"Thus the small service done to the old man was richly

rewarded!" said Meta Mogen.

"Delaying is not forgetting," said the fellow.

The robbers were hanged.

There was an old mansion, it is still there; it did not

belong to Mrs. Meta Mogen, it belonged to another old noble

family.

We are now in the present time. The sun is shining on the

gilt knob of the tower, little wooded islands lie like

bouquets on the water, and wild swans are swimming round them.

In the garden grow roses; the mistress of the house is herself

the finest rose petal, she beams with joy, the joy of good

deeds: however, not done in the wide world, but in her heart,

and what is preserved there is not forgotten. Delaying is not

forgetting!

Now she goes from the mansion to a little peasant hut in

the field. Therein lives a poor paralysed girl; the window of

her little room looks northward, the sun does not enter here.

The girl can only see a small piece of field which is

surrounded by a high fence. But to-day the sun shines here-

the warm, beautiful sun of God is within the little room; it

comes from the south through the new window, where formerly

the wall was.

The paralysed girl sits in the warm sunshine and can see

the wood and the lake; the world had become so large, so

beautiful, and only through a single word from the kind

mistress of the mansion.

"The word was so easy, the deed so small," she said, "the

joy it afforded me was infinitely great and sweet!"

And therefore she does many a good deed, thinks of all in

the humble cottages and in the rich mansions, where there are

also afflicted ones. It is concealed and hidden, but God does

not forget it. Delayed is not forgotten!

An old house stood there; it was in the large town with

its busy traffic. There are rooms and halls in it, but we do

not enter them, we remain in the kitchen, where it is warm and

light, clean and tidy; the copper utensils are shining, the

table as if polished with beeswax; the sink looks like a

freshly scoured meatboard. All this a single servant has done,

and yet she has time to spare as if she wished to go to

church; she wears a bow on her cap, a black bow, that

signifies mourning. But she has no one to mourn, neither

father nor mother, neither relations nor sweetheart. She is a

poor girl. One day she was engaged to a poor fellow; they

loved each other dearly.

One day he came to her and said:

"We both have nothing! The rich widow over the way in the

basement has made advances to me; she will make me rich, but

you are in my heart; what do you advise me to do?"

"I advise you to do what you think will turn out to your

happiness," said the girl. "Be kind and good to her, but

remember this; from the hour we part we shall never see each

other again."

Years passed; then one day she met the old friend and

sweetheart in the street; he looked ill and miserable, and she

could not help asking him, "How are you?"

"Rich and prospering in every respect," he said; "the

woman is brave and good, but you are in my heart. I have

fought the battle, it will soon be ended; we shall not see

each other again now until we meet before God!"

A week has passed; this morning his death was in the

newspaper, that is the reason of the girl's mourning! Her old

sweetheart is dead and has left a wife and three

step-children, as the paper says; it sounds as if there is a

crack, but the metal is pure.

The black bow signifies mourning, the girl's face points

to the same in a still higher degree; it is preserved in the

heart and will never be forgotten. Delaying is not forgetting!

These are three stories you see, three leaves on the same

stalk. Do you wish for some more trefoil leaves? In the little

heartbook are many more of them. Delaying is not forgetting!

THE END

Every leaf speaks bliss...

Millions of flowers...

The words you speak

Approve of yourself

Time is like a river

Maturity

Wow - 31 000+!!!

So, we're off air for a few weeks due to internet problems...and still you stopped by!

31 000 and counting!

THANK YOU!

xxx