Disney Live will be preforming in Johnson City March 2, 2012.  And, the WXBQ Rabbit has tickets to giveaway for the show at Freedom Hall.  It will be a show that kids of all ages will love. Keep listening for your chance to win from 96.9 WXBQ!

Each year he sent her roses, and the note would always say, “I love you even more this year, than last year on this day.” “My love for you will always grow, with every passing year.” She knew this was the last time that the roses would appear.

She thought, he ordered roses in advance before this day. Her loving husband did not know that he would pass away. He always liked to do things early, way before the time. Then, if he got too busy, everything would work out fine.

She trimmed the stems and placed them in a very special vase. Then, sat the vase beside the portrait of his smiling face. She would sit for hours, in her husband’s favourite chair. While staring at his picture and the roses sitting there.

A year went by and it was hard to live without her mate. With the loneliness and solitude that had become her fate. Then, the very hour, as on Valentines before, the doorbell rang and there were roses sitting by her door.

She brought the roses in and then just looked at them in shock. Then went to get the telephone to call the florist shop. The owner answered and she asked him if he would explain, why would someone do this to her causing her such pain?

“I know your husband passed away more than a year ago,” the owner said, “I knew you’d call and you would want to know.” “The flowers you received today were paid for in advance.” “Your husband always planned ahead he left nothing to chance.”

“There is a standing order that I have on file down here, and he has paid well in advance. You’ll get them every year. There also is another thing that I think you should know, he wrote a special little card…he did this years ago.”

“Then should ever I find out that he’s no longer here, that the card…that should be sent to you the following year.” She thanked him and hung up the phone her tears now flowing hard. Her fingers shaking as she slowly reached to get the card.

Inside the card she saw that he had written her a note. Then as she stared in total silence this is what he wrote… “Hello my love, I know it’s been a year since I’ve been gone. I hope it hasn’t been too hard for you to overcome.”

“I know it must be lonely and the pain is very real. For if it was the other way I know how I would feel. The love we shared made everything so beautiful in life. I loved you more than words can say. You were the perfect wife.”

“You were my friend and lover; you fulfilled my every need. I know it’s only been a year but please try not to grieve. I want you to be happy even when you shed your tears. That is why the roses will be sent to you for years.”

“When you get these roses think of all the happiness that we had together and how both of us were blessed. I have always loved you and I know I always will. But, my love, you must go on, you have some living still.” “Please…try to find happiness, while living out your days. I know it is not easy but I hope you find some ways. The roses will come every year and they will only stop, when your door’s not answered when the florist stops to knock.”

“He will come five times that day in case you have gone out. But after his last visit he will know without a doubt, to take the roses to the place where I’ve instructed him, and place the roses where we are, together once again.”

“Hmmm,” he said quietly. “Are you a model?”

Is this a joke? Is he kidding? I asked myself, and I searched his handsome face for signs of mockery. No way would anyone ever confuse me with a fashion model. I was ugly. My mother casually referred to my sister as her pretty child. Anyone could see I was homely. After all, I had the scar to prove it.

The accident happened in fourth grade, when a neighbor boy picked up a hunk of concrete and heaved the mass through the side of my face. An emergency room doctor stitched together the shreds of , pulling cat-gut through the tattered outside of my face and then suturing the shards of flesh inside my mouth. For the rest of the year, a huge bandage from cheekbone to jaw covered the raised angry welt.

A few weeks after the accident, an eye exam revealed I was nearsighted. Above the ungainly bandage sat a big, thick pair of glasses. Around my head, a short fuzzy glob of curls stood out like mold growing on old bread. To save money, Mom had taken me to a school where a student cut my hair. The overzealous girl hacked away cheerfully. Gobs of hair piled up on the floor. By the time her instructor wandered over, the damage was done. A quick conference followed, and we were given a coupon for a free styling on our next visit.

“Well,” sighed my father that evening, “you’ll always be pretty to me,” and he hesitated, “even if you aren’t to the rest of the world.”

Right. Thanks. As if I couldn’t hear the taunts of the other kids at school. As if I couldn’t see how different I looked from the little girls whom the teachers fawned over. As if I didn’t occasionally catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. In a culture that values beauty, an ugly girl is an outcast. My looks caused me no end of pain. I sat in my room and sobbed every time my family watched a beauty pageant or a “talent” search show.

Eventually I decided that if I couldn’t be pretty, I would at least be well-groomed. Over the course of years, I learned to style my hair, wear contact lenses and apply make-up. Watching what worked for other women, I learned to dress myself to best advantage. And now, I was engaged to be married. The scar, shrunken and faded with age, stood between me and a new life.

“Of course, I’m not a model,” I replied with a small amount of indignation.

The plastic surgeon crossed his arms over his chest and looked at me appraisingly. “Then why are you concerned about this scar? If there is no professional reason to have it removed, what brought you here today?”

Suddenly he represented all the men I’d ever known. The eight boys who turned me down when I invited them to the girls-ask-boys dance. The sporadic dates I’d had in college. The parade of men who had ignored me since then. The man whose ring I wore on my left hand. My hand rose to my face. The scar confirmed it; I was ugly. The room swam before me as my eyes filled with tears.

The doctor pulled a rolling stool up next to me and sat down. His knees almost touched mine. His voice was low and soft.

“Let me tell you what I see. I see a woman. Not a perfect woman, but a beautiful woman. Lauren Hutton has a gap between her front teeth. Elizabeth Taylor has a tiny, tiny scar on her forehead,” he almost whispered. Then he paused and handed me a mirror. “I think to myself how every remarkable woman has an imperfection, and I believe that imperfection makes her more remarkable because it assures us she is human.”

He pushed back the stool and stood up. “I won’t touch it. Don’t let anyone fool with your face. You are delightful just the way you are. Beauty really does come from within a woman. Believe me. It is my business to know.”

Then he left.

I turned to the face in the mirror. He was right. Somehow over the years, that ugly child had become a beautiful woman. Since that day in his office, as a woman who makes her living speaking before hundreds of people, I have been told many times by people of both sexes that I am beautiful. And, I know I am.

When I changed how I saw myself, others were forced to change how they saw me. The doctor didn’t remove the scar on my face; he removed the scar on my heart.

Still, he did his best and was able to re-start her heart. Mary regained consciousness, but she was permanently blind, paralyzed and unable to talk. She lived for 16 years in this state. Jake often brooded about his decision. Had he been wrong to save her? Had he imposed a terrible burden on her family and traded eternal peace for years of suffering and humiliation?

His uncertainty and guilt were especially strong on the day of her funeral. He was weeping when Ron, Mary’s son, put a hand on his shoulder and said, “I want to thank you for giving me those years with my mom. I can’t tell you how comforting it was to talk to her and hold her hand. I loved feeling her pulse. No matter what troubles I had, she sent me love and support with every heartbeat.”

For the first time in 16 years, Jake felt pride about what he had done.

We can’t always know what’s right. All we can do is act on moral principles with pure intentions. Jake was lucky that Ron was able to appreciate his mother and was willing to express his gratitude. But what if Ron had felt no gratitude? Sometimes things work out well; sometimes they don’t. Either way, it’s never wrong to do your best to help another human being.

Please put back a dollar or two and donate that money for a child who needs their wish to come true.  Every penny you can spare will go for that

great cause.

Stay tuned to win tickets to see Brad Paisley with The Band Perry and Scotty McCreery on Friday, March 2nd at the Thompson Boiling Arena!!

With a deep sense of guilt, I drafted a divorce agreement which she glanced at and then tore it into pieces. The woman who had spent ten years of her life with me had become a stranger.

The next day, I came back home late and found her at the table writing something. I didn’t have supper, just went straight to sleep.  The next morning she presented her divorce conditions: she didn’t want anything from me, but needed a month’s notice before the divorce.  She requested that in that one month we both try to live as normal a life as possible for our son.

I agreed, but she had something more.  She asked me to recall how I had carried her into our bridal room on our wedding day, and she requested that every morning for the month’s duration, I carry her out of our bedroom to the front door.  I thought she was going crazy.  But to make our last days together bearable, I accepted.

When I told Donna about the agreement, she seemed unthreatened and actually quite amused by my wife’s request.

My wife and I hadn’t had any body contact for months so when I carried her out on the first day, we both appeared clumsy.  Our son clapped behind us, daddy is holding mommy.  His words brought me a sense of pain.  From the bedroom to the den, then to the door, I walked with her in my arms.  She closed her eyes and said softly; don’t tell our son about the divorce. I nodded in agreement.

The second day seemed a little more comfortable.  She leaned on my chest.  I could smell her perfume.  I realized that I hadn’t looked at this woman closely for a long time.  Sure, there were fine wrinkles on her face and her hair was graying a bit.  But she was beautiful.   Our marriage had obviously taken its toll on her.

On the fourth day, when I lifted her up, I felt a sense of intimacy returning.  This was the woman who had given ten years of her life to me.  On the fifth and sixth day, I realized that our sense of intimacy was growing again.  I didn’t tell Donna about this.

As we prepared for our new morning ritual, our son came in and said, Dad, it’s time to carry mom out.  To him, seeing his father carrying his mother out had become an essential part of his life.

I took her in my arms, her hand surrounded my neck softly.  I held her body tightly; it was just like our wedding day.

On the last day, when I held her in my arms I could hardly move a step. Our son had gone to school. I held her tightly and told her that I hadn’t noticed that our life lacked intimacy.  She admitted that she hadn’t either.

As I drove to office I had to take a detour.  I realized I needed to talk to Donna so I could tell her that I didn’t want a divorce anymore.  She looked at me, astonished, touched my forehead and asked,  Do you have a fever?  I apologized and explained that my marriage life had become boring probably because she and I didn’t value the details of our lives and not because we didn’t love each other anymore.  Now I realize that I am supposed to hold her every day.  Donna gave me a loud slap and then slammed the door.

On my way to work I stopped by the floral shop, I ordered a bouquet of flowers for my wife. On the card I wrote: “I’ll carry you out every morning until death do us part”

The small details of our lives are what really matter in a relationship. It is not the mansion, the car, the property, the bank balance that matters. These create an environment conducive for happiness but cannot give happiness in themselves.  So find time to be your spouse’s friend and do those little things for each other that build intimacy.  The little things that make for a happy marriage.

Louise Redden, a poorly dressed lady with a look of defeat on her face, walked into a grocery store.

She approached the owner of the store in a most humble manner and asked if he would let her charge a few groceries.

She softly explained that her husband was very ill and unable to work, they had seven children and they needed food.

John Longhouse, the grocer, scoffed at her and requested that she leave his store at once.

Visualizing the family needs, she said: ‘Please, sir! I will bring you the money just as soon as I can.’

John told her he could not give her credit, since she did not have a charge account at his store.

Standing beside the counter was a customer who overheard the conversation between the two The customer walked forward and told the grocer that he would stand good for whatever she needed for her family. The grocer said in a very reluctant voice, ‘Do you have a grocery list?’

Louise replied, ‘Yes sir.’ ‘O.K’ he said, ‘put your grocery list on the scales and whatever your grocery list weighs, I will give you that amount in groceries.’

Louise hesitated a moment with a bowed head, then she reached into her purse and took out a piece of paper and scribbled something on it. She then laid the piece of paper on the scale carefully with her head still bowed.

The eyes of the grocer and the customer showed amazement when the scales went down and stayed down..

The grocer, staring at the scales, turned slowly to the customer and said begrudgingly, ‘I can’t believe it.’

The customer smiled and the grocer started putting the groceries on the other side of the scales. The scale did not balance so he continued to put more and more groceries on them until the scales would hold no more.

The grocer stood there in utter disgust. Finally, he grabbed the piece of paper from the scales and looked at it with greater amazement.

It was not a grocery list, it was a prayer, which said:

‘Dear Lord, you know my needs and I am leaving this in your hands.’

The grocer gave her the groceries that he had

Gathered and stood in stunned silence.

Louise thanked him and left the store. The other customer handed a fifty-dollar bill to the grocer and said; ‘It was worth every penny of it. Only God Knows how much a prayer weighs.’

After hearing him pray that prayer many times, someone asked him why he prayed that prayer so fervently.

He answered, ‘Well sir, you see, it’s like this….I got an old barn out back. It’s been there a long time, it’s withstood a lot of weather, it’s  gone through a lot of storms, and it’s stood for many years.

It’s still standing, but one day I noticed it was leaning to one side a bit. So I went and got some pine poles and propped it up on its leaning side so it wouldn’t fall.

Then I got to thinking ’bout that and how much I was like that old barn. I been around a long time, I’ve withstood a lot of life’s storms, I’ve withstood a lot of bad weather in life, I’ve withstood a lot of hard times, and I’m still standing too.

But I find myself leaning to one side from time to time, so I like to ask the Lord to prop us up on our leaning side, ’cause

I figure a lot of us get to leaning, at times.’

Sometime we get to leaning toward anger, leaning toward bitterness, leaning toward hatred, leaning toward cussing, leaning toward a lot of things that we shouldn’t, so we need to pray, ‘Lord, prop us up on our leaning side,’ so we will stand straight and tall again, to glorify the Lord.