BUTCHARD GARDENS, VICTORIA,
D.C., CANADA! GOD IS GOOD ALL
THE TIME; HE PROVIDES DELIGHT
FOR OUR SIGHT! THANKS TO TOM
AND KATHIE. NEW WORLD
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Saturday, February 16, 2019
BUTCHARD GARDENS 3 FORWARDED BY TOM KALLAPURA AND KATHIE I.
BUTCHARD GARDENS, VICTORIA,
D.C., CANADA! GOD IS GOOD ALL
THE TIME; HE PROVIDES DELIGHT
FOR OUR SIGHT! THANKS TO TOM
AND KATHIE. NEW WORLD
Friday, February 15, 2019
Sr Elsie Baby: Journalist of the Decade (New World)
There are times that we encounter people with rare talent in journalism. A journalist is not an easy task. It takes a balance of accuracy with a flair of creativity.
An analyses of Sr Elsie Baby’s writings for the past ten years will astound us. She does not only have a knack for finding amusing stories but she can write superb ones too. From serious matter to light- hearted moments, it is a delight to read her contributions to New World.
As we are all aware of, George Kurian (RIP) was the former Editor-in-Chief. George, when he was alive, recognise the talents of Sr Elsie Baby. As such, she is one of the icons of New World aside from Abraham G and Thomas Philip Ranni.
Sr Elsie Baby, a journalist par excellence. As Acting Editor in behalf of our very young Editor-in-Chief, Arianna Kurian- Philip, I congratulate our Journalist of the Decade, Sr Elsie Baby. We will republish some of her stories and contributions next week.
WITHOUT YOU/BY CYNTHIA ABEGAIL
This is a love poem dedicated to couples and lovers, young and old alike...
WITHOUT YOU Without you, summer seems winter so icy Much a spring barren of flowers like a lily Autumn that sweeps the leaves of colour Like cold season, dreary O' dark at lore! Without you, tears flow as drops of sienna,
Gasping for breath, drenched by raw olives My heart so sullen as the sea that bid adiu And mind so frigid as the Antarctic deluge! Without you, the moon doesn't rise anew,
The stars cease twinkling, so plain of view The clouds hide by the black fog ensnare The sun does not set with hues that dare!
Without you, the day seems many years
And twilight is bleak, no comet endears The valleys not green and hills are dry The mounts with no springs that sighs! Come back my love, do not run away, Lest my life will be empty near May Let's run again to the top of the hill, I love you, this true O' gentle and real! All rights reserved: Cynthia Abegail (Thanks Cynthia for this wonderful poem. Only a poet/poetess who possesses the God given talent can come up with such a poem, a very melodious and a meaningful one.)New World Republished
The Lord your God is in your midst: Reflection by Prayer Aid
“Sing aloud, O daughter Zion; shout, O Israel! Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem!......The Lord your God, is in your midst, a warrior who gives victory; He will rejoice over you with gladness, He will renew you in His love;” Zep 3:14 & 17
The Lord our God is in our midst! Let us sing! Let us be happy! Let us not worry! Let us continue to celebrate for He is with us.
Let us put our burdens down, He is with us! Let us not give into discouragement and depression, even though we are feeling weighed down. God is WITH each of us! He is rejoicing over us, let us rejoice too. Let us begin this week rejoicing and remembering that our God is with us today and always.
(Thanks to Jane Pimenta, for her brilliant reflection on the Book of Zephaniah. Superb). New World.
Green Willow of Hope: Poem by Cynthia Abegail
Green myriads of colour, light and dark hues
Fascinates the cherubic young and the mews
As the forests teem with green trees a standing
With green moss thirst for moisture landing!
Remembered the emerald I kept on my pillow,
Sparkling like jade and sapphire by the willow
As green as the rainbow encircling the throne
Of the Most High with diamond, rubies' dome.
As the grasses are green before it dries brownish,
Living water nourishes in the night of darkness
His love sustains me in the sad day of bleakness.
Hope is coloured green as far as the horizon,
Yonder in paradise while the brook summon
RED MARBLES: STORY FORWARDED BY SR ELSIE BABY
STORY:
RED MARBLES:
BY SR. ELSIE BABY
HI I think this is a very good one and is very true too.
Please if you can spare a few minutes do go through this.
This is a beautiful story that helps put into perspective what should be
important in our short life!
RED MARBLES
I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes. I noticed
a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily
apprizing a basket of freshly picked green peas.
I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green
peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.
Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation
between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next to me.
"Hello Barry, how are you today?"
"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas. They sure
look good."
"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"; "Fine. Gittin' stronger all the' time."
"Good. Anything I can help you with?"
"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."
"Would you like to take some home?" asked Mr. Miller.
"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."
"Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?"
"All I got's my prize marble here."
"Is that right? Let me see it" said Miller.
"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."
"I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of
go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?" the store owner asked.
"Not zackley but almost."
"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this
way let me look at that red marble". Mr. Miller told the boy.
"Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller."
Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to he lp me. With a
smile she said, "There are two other boys like him in our community, all
three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them
for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever. When they come back with their red
marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he
sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one,
when they come on their next trip to the store."
I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man A short time
later I moved to Colorado , but I never forgot the story of this man, the
boys, and their bartering for marbles.
Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently
I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I
was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his visitation
that eve ning and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany
them. Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives
of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.
Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the
other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts...all very
professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and
smiling by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed
her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket.
Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man
stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the
casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes. Our turn came to
meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and remin ded her of the story from
those many years ago and what she had told me about her husband's bartering
for marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the
casket.
"Those three young men who just left were the boys I tol d you about. They
just told me how they appreciated the things Jim "traded" them. Now, at
last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size....they came to
pay their debt."
"We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world," she confided,
"but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho ." With
loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband.
Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.
The Moral: We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds.
Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take
our breath.
Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles ~ A fresh pot of coffee you
didn't make yourself...An unexpected phone call from an old friend...Green
stoplights on your way to work...The fastest line at the grocery store...A
good sing-along song on the radio...Your keys found right where you left
them.
Send this to the people you'll never forget. I just Did...
If you don't send it to anyone, it means you are in way too much of a hurry
to even notice the ordinary miracles when they occur.
IT'S NOT WHAT YOU GATHER, BUT WHAT YOU SCATTER THAT TELLS WHAT KIND
OF LIFE YOU HAVE LIVED!
Labels: SR. ELSIE BABY draft 1/10/11 by georgekurian Republished
RED MARBLES:
BY SR. ELSIE BABY
HI I think this is a very good one and is very true too.
Please if you can spare a few minutes do go through this.
This is a beautiful story that helps put into perspective what should be
important in our short life!
RED MARBLES
I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes. I noticed
a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily
apprizing a basket of freshly picked green peas.
I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green
peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.
Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation
between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next to me.
"Hello Barry, how are you today?"
"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas. They sure
look good."
"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"; "Fine. Gittin' stronger all the' time."
"Good. Anything I can help you with?"
"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."
"Would you like to take some home?" asked Mr. Miller.
"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."
"Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?"
"All I got's my prize marble here."
"Is that right? Let me see it" said Miller.
"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."
"I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of
go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?" the store owner asked.
"Not zackley but almost."
"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this
way let me look at that red marble". Mr. Miller told the boy.
"Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller."
Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to he lp me. With a
smile she said, "There are two other boys like him in our community, all
three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them
for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever. When they come back with their red
marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he
sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one,
when they come on their next trip to the store."
I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man A short time
later I moved to Colorado , but I never forgot the story of this man, the
boys, and their bartering for marbles.
Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently
I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I
was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his visitation
that eve ning and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany
them. Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives
of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.
Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the
other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts...all very
professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and
smiling by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed
her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket.
Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man
stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the
casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes. Our turn came to
meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and remin ded her of the story from
those many years ago and what she had told me about her husband's bartering
for marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the
casket.
"Those three young men who just left were the boys I tol d you about. They
just told me how they appreciated the things Jim "traded" them. Now, at
last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size....they came to
pay their debt."
"We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world," she confided,
"but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho ." With
loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband.
Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.
The Moral: We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds.
Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take
our breath.
Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles ~ A fresh pot of coffee you
didn't make yourself...An unexpected phone call from an old friend...Green
stoplights on your way to work...The fastest line at the grocery store...A
good sing-along song on the radio...Your keys found right where you left
them.
Send this to the people you'll never forget. I just Did...
If you don't send it to anyone, it means you are in way too much of a hurry
to even notice the ordinary miracles when they occur.
IT'S NOT WHAT YOU GATHER, BUT WHAT YOU SCATTER THAT TELLS WHAT KIND
OF LIFE YOU HAVE LIVED!
Labels: SR. ELSIE BABY draft 1/10/11 by georgekurian Republished
NAGALAND CHRONICLE: OVER THE HILLS AND DOWN THE VALLEYS: NOVEL BY GEORGE KURIAN
This novel was published in Malayalam Language of Kerala state,India in July 2011with the title "Malakalum Thazhvarakalum" by the famous publishers NBS,Kottayam. It can be bought as an e-book or as a hard copy. Available in www.amazon.com
(Please support the novel of our former Chief Editor, George Kurian (RIP). It is an outstanding book about the Nagas). New World
(Please support the novel of our former Chief Editor, George Kurian (RIP). It is an outstanding book about the Nagas). New World
SEASONS CHANGE BY MARIA CASSIA
SEASONS CHANGE
One year of winter will be drab lo--
A year of summer; painstaking heat
Nor a year of spring where essence
Of flower's beauty gone of decadence!
Love the seasons change from time
To another time of reckoning; like man
Once so sweet spring becomes bitter
And harsh winter, so cold and severe.
The drought of summer gives a quest
For the coming of brownish leaves
That fall iridiscent of the past glee,
To welcome the dewy, dreary winter.
Remember your sweetness that savors
But today, it's gone, when will it come?
Hope it's not like a season that's fickle
A gentle demeanor that reach the skies!
All rights reserved: Maria Cassia Austero
One year of winter will be drab lo--
A year of summer; painstaking heat
Nor a year of spring where essence
Of flower's beauty gone of decadence!
Love the seasons change from time
To another time of reckoning; like man
Once so sweet spring becomes bitter
And harsh winter, so cold and severe.
The drought of summer gives a quest
For the coming of brownish leaves
That fall iridiscent of the past glee,
To welcome the dewy, dreary winter.
Remember your sweetness that savors
But today, it's gone, when will it come?
Hope it's not like a season that's fickle
A gentle demeanor that reach the skies!
All rights reserved: Maria Cassia Austero
A SCENE AFTER THE RAIN IN KERALA; PICTURE FORWARDED BY SR ELSIE BABY
A SCENE AFTER THE RAIN IN KERALA, INDIA: FORWARDED BY SR. ELSIE BABY
IT is beautiful. No more heat and plenty of comfort. Great time to sit,relax and think !! Nature at it's best.
Ref: www. Malayalamfun.com.Thanks
New World
Ref: www. Malayalamfun.com.Thanks
New World
SWEETEST LOVE BY JOHN DONNE
SWEETEST LOVE
SWEETEST LOVE
Nor in hope the world can show Sweetest love, I do not go,
For weariness of thee,A fitter love for me;
By feigned deaths to die.But since that I
at the last must part, 'tis best,
Thus to use myself in jest.Yesternight the sun went hence,
And yet is here to-day;
He hath no desire nor sense,
Nor half so short a way;
Then fear not me,
But believe that I shall make
Speedier journeys, since I take
More wings and spurs than he.
When though sigh'st, thou sigh'st
not wind,
But sigh'st my soul away;
When thou weep'st, unkindly kind,
My life's blood doth decay.
It cannot be
That thou lovest me, as thou say'st,
If in thine my life thou waste,
Thou art the best of me.
BY
John Donne
John Donne
I Remembered the Lord: Testimony by Maria Cassia
Suddenly, I remembered the Lord! There were many distractions in the world. Here and there, the busyness caught me off guard. I always offer roses 🥀 to the Lord weekly but I have neglected it. Daily before, I have solemn conversation with the Lord, I praise Him and thank Him. But now, I am content with those prayers which you just listen too.
As we are creatures of habit, we tend to do things that we get used too, forgetting the fact that prayer is something personal. It should be deep, gentle and fulfilling.
Where are the days when our relationship is quite spot-on? I yearn for you, you are the very centre of my life?
I resolve to regain our great relationship. I like to revitalise my relationship with the Lord. The time starts now...
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