All it takes is one person to make a difference. This video is going viral and I would love to share it with everybody, who is following my blog.
Tag: <span>religion</span>
To everything there is a season, these words – originally from Ecclesiastes, made into a song by Pete Seeger, became in the 60’s a big hit for “The Byrds.” Now those words are beginning to resonate for me more than ever before.
The elected country clerk, three time divorcee and newborn Christian, Kim Davis, who had spend five days in jail, because she refused to issue marriage licenses to gay couples, met the Pope in a private meeting. I read the headline in disbelieve…of all the people in this country, why in the world would Pope Francis meet with Ms. Davis in a private meeting? Don’t we have better hypocrites than her?
The daily prompt is asking about my daily ritual, you mean there is something else, than reading blogs like it would be the Holy Grail? I have a ritual, a daily routine that I do, because it balances me. It helps me to be the person I want to be.
In a landmark victory for supporters of assisted suicide, the California State Legislature on Friday gave its final approval to a bill, that would allow doctors to help terminally ill people end their lives. California would be the fifth state, beside Vermont, Montana, Washington and Oregon to allow people to have a choice.
…and who is going to win? Has this country gone mad? I am sickened about what is going on in Kentucky, it makes me shake my head in disbelieve. I feel like we are thrown back into middle age believes, at least part of the country.
“Hate” can be found on every corner these days, often accompanied by fear; it seems these two go hand in hand. Fear of the unknown, hate toward a stranger. “He can’t have what is mine”, like we all would be still sitting in a big sandbox building sand castles. “Don’t touch me,” “Don’t invade my space.” We do sound like children, what are we scared off?
Regardless if one prays or not, this prayer -written by an abbess- is a must read for all of us, who are getting older (and older).
I wrote to my Mother years ago, a letter that I never send, a letter that she never read. There was no need to send it, it wasn’t meant for her in the first place. I didn’t know if she was still alive or not, I didn’t know where she was and didn’t want to know.
I remember it very well. The year was 1975 and I was sitting in school and listened to our history professor. The new school year had just begun; we all had spent summer time with our families, either in Italy, Austria or Germany and now we were back to school.