Sunday Morning Sunshine: Christmas Peace

Merry Christmas all year round! 

 

Sunday Morning Sunshine: Christmas Joy!

 Merry Christmas!

Rambling Friday: Hobbies

Through the years, I've had several hobbies, some I still enjoy, others, I've discarded or lost interest, while still finding new creative ways to enjoy life.

Some that I've enjoyed through the past few years include:

• quotes. Love to collect them, and this is still a keen hobby of mine. I have several journals filled with quotes.
• photography. Can't get away from this one. If I'd chosen a different vocation, it'd be photography.
• angels. Although I still quite a few, I've slowed down on gaining anymore. I'm borderline on this one, wondering if I should sell out. Smile.
• coloring books for adults. This one is a new one for me, and I still enjoy it when I have time.
• scrapbooking. I enjoy this one quite a bit, but seldom find the time to work on it regularly.

Why should you have a hobby? Here's a few thoughts:

• Creativity: hobbies create creativity which also benefits one in their daily work habits. It also gives insight into what kind of person you are.
• Confidence. When you enjoy doing something, such as a hobby, you usually are fairly good at it. We learn, grow in different ways and gain from challenges.
• Hobbies help to reduce stress. Focusing on a hobby gives the body and mind something besides the stress in your life to focus on, thus a time of rest. 
• Socialize. When you find something you enjoy doing, it's always great to find others who enjoy the same hobby, share techniques, and experiences. 

So give it a chance. If you don't already enjoy a hobby, search for one. What do you love to do? Walking? Try new paths, take pictures, draw a picture, write down your thoughts in a journal. Traveling? Make sure to record your journey. Cooking? Quilting? Gardening? Woodworking? Whatever you choose, relax and allow the time you spend on your hobby to help build strength in your body, mind, and soul.


Happy Hobby Day!

Sunday Morning Peace . . . and CONTEST RULES!

Glory to God in the Highest.

Peace.

Goodwill

Toward men.

--the angels.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NEW CONTEST!

Sabotaged Christmas

Sabotaged Christmas just released recently! 

I want everyone to have a copy of this book,

and there will be plenty of opportunities this month.

On Facebook, 

I'm participating in THREE promotions 

during December.

DECEMBER 11th (Friday) here:

WinterWonderland Promotion!

My hour will be from 12 noon till 1 p.m.

I'll be giving away:  
Winner: A kindle copy of Sabotaged Christmas

and two beautiful Snowman hand towels!

Runner up: A kindle copy of Sabotaged Christmas

There will be lots of opportunities to win points 

for the BIG prize before Christmas!!!

Don't miss out!

DECEMBER 15th (Tuesday) here:

The Ides of Books Promotion

(Hour will be posted asap)

I'll be giving away: 
Winner:  kindle copy of the book

and Two beautiful Snowman hand towels!

Runner up: A kindle copy of Sabotaged Christmas

There will be lots of opportunities to win points

for the BIG prize before Christmas!!!

Don't miss out!

DECEMBER 17th (Thursday) here:

Celebrate Lit Christmas Promotion!

My hour will be from 2 p.m. through 3 p.m.

I'll be giving away:
Winner: a print copy (or kindle, winner's choice) of 
Sabotaged Christmas and 
a beautiful Snowman/bear recipe box with recipe cards!

Runner up: A print copy (or kindle, your choice) of 
Sabotaged Christmas

There will be lots of opportunities to win points

for the BIG prize before Christmas!!!

BUT HOW?
Here's a few suggestions, and if I think of more, will post them!

* Participate in my three promotions this month.
* Share my book posts from Facebook 
(or tweet! I love both methods!)
*  Follow me here, on my blog! Easy.
* Follow me on Twitter:
https://twitter.com/browncarole212
* Follow me on my Author Facebook page:
https://facebook.com/CaroleBrown.author
Or send me your email addy to sign up for 
my upcoming NEWSLETTER. 


And what is the BIG PRIZE for the month?
A Kindle Fire!

Don't miss out!

Now to get down to brass tacks . . . errrr, the rules :)  :

1. Prizes are subject to change (but not likely).
2. All winners chosen are randomly selected, and are the final decision of Author Carole Brown.
3. All selected winners must notify Author Carole Brown (or other designated helper) by midnight of the same day as winner announcements, by either blog post comment here, private message on Facebook, or by email. 
4. Winning Prizes from each separate promotion will not affect choosing the BIG winner of the BIG prize before Christmas.
5. Opportunities for points will include but not limited to: answering questions, participation in games, following Author Carole Brown on different sites, sharing posts, and other suggestions.
6. Reviewing of the books are not required but encouraged, and will gain you an extra point! Reviews are gold for authors. Be kind. Be loving. Give back. Authors work hard. Do your part in sharing the love! :)

That's it for now. These rules may be adjusted or changed as needed or wanted. Please keep checking back for new items or thoughts by this author. Best wishes, and I hope you'll join me as I celebrate the release of another book, Sabotaged Christmas, and the talent that God has blest me with! 

Loving my readers!

A Girl With An Apple
(This is a true story and you can find out more by Googling Herman Rosenblat.
He was Bar Mitzvahed at age 75)
August 1942. Piotrkow, Poland.
The sky was gloomy that morning as we waited anxiously. All the men, women and children of Piotrkow's Jewish ghetto had been herded into a square. Word had gotten around that we were being moved. My father had only recently died from typhus, which had run rampant through the crowded ghetto. My greatest fear was that our family would be separated.

"Whatever you do," Isidore, my eldest brother, whispered to me, "don't tell them your age. Say you're sixteen."

I was tall for a boy of 11, so I could pull it off. That way I might be deemed valuable as a worker. An SS man approached me, boots clicking against the cobblestones. He looked me up and down, and then asked my age.

"Sixteen," I said. He directed me to the left, where my three brothers and other healthy young men already stood. My mother was motioned to the right with the other women, children, sick and elderly people.

I whispered to Isidore, "Why?"

He didn't answer. I ran to Mama's side and said I wanted to stay with her.
"No, "she said sternly. "Get away. Don't be a nuisance. Go with your brothers."
She had never spoken so harshly before. But I understood: She was protecting me. She loved me so much that, just this once, she pretended not to. It was the last I ever saw of her.

My brothers and I were transported in a cattle car to Germany . We arrived at the Buchenwald concentration camp one night weeks later and were led into a crowded barrack. The next day, we were issued uniforms and identification numbers.

"Don't call me Herman anymore," I said to my brothers, "Call me 94983."
I was put to work in the camp's crematorium, loading the dead into a hand-cranked elevator.
I, too, felt dead. Hardened, I had become a number. Soon, my brothers and I were sent to Schlieben, one of Buchenwald's sub-camps near Berlin.

One morning I thought I heard my mother's voice. "Son," she said softly but clearly, "I am going to send you an angel."
Then I woke up. Just a dream. A beautiful dream. But in this place there could be no angels. There was only work. And hunger. And fear.

A couple of days later, I was walking around the camp, around the barracks, near the barbed-wire fence where the guards could not easily see. I was alone. On the other side of the fence, I spotted someone: a little girl with light, almost luminous curls. She was half-hidden behind a birch tree.
I glanced around to make sure no one saw me. I called to her softly in German. "Do you have something to eat?"

She didn't understand.
I inched closer to the fence and repeated the question in Polish. She stepped forward. I was thin and gaunt, with rags wrapped around my feet, but the girl looked unafraid. In her eyes, I saw life. She pulled an apple from her woolen jacket and threw it over the fence.
I grabbed the fruit and, as I started to run away, I heard her say faintly, "I'll see you tomorrow."
I returned to the same spot by the fence at the same time every day. She was always there with something for me to eat - a hunk of bread or, better yet, an apple. We didn't dare speak or linger. To be caught would mean death for us both.

I didn't know anything about her, just a kind farm girl, except that she understood Polish. What was her name? Why was she risking her life for me? Hope was in such short supply, and this girl on the other side of the fence gave me some, as nourishing in its way as the bread and apples.

Nearly seven months later, my brothers and I were crammed into a coal car and shipped to Theresienstadt camp in Czechoslovakia . "Don't return," I told the girl that day, "We're leaving."

I turned toward the barracks and didn't look back, didn't even say good-bye to the little girl whose name I'd never learned, the girl with the apples.
We were in Theresienstadt for three months. The war was winding down and Allied forces were closing in, yet my fate seemed sealed. On May 10, 1945, I was scheduled to die in the gas chamber at 10:00 AM. In the quiet of dawn, I tried to prepare myself. So many times death seemed ready to claim me, but somehow I'd survived. Now, it was over. I thought of my parents. At least, I thought, we will be reunited.

But at 8 A.M. there was a commotion. I heard shouts, and saw people running every which way through camp. I caught up with my brothers. Russian troops had liberated the camp! The gates swung open. Everyone was running, so I did too. Amazingly, all of my brothers had survived; I'm not sure how. But I knew that the girl with the apples had been the key to my survival.

In a place where evil seemed triumphant, one person's goodness had saved my life, had given me hope in a place where there was none.
My mother had promised to send me an angel, and the angel had come.

Eventually I made my way to England where I was sponsored by a Jewish charity, put up in a hostel with other boys who had survived the Holocaust and trained in electronics. Then I came to America , where my brother Sam had already moved. I served in the U. S. Army during the Korean War, and returned to New York City after two years. By August 1957, I'd opened my own electronics repair shop. I was starting to settle in.

One day, my friend Sid who I knew from England called me. "I've got a date. She's got a Polish friend. Let's double date."

A blind date? Nah, that wasn't for me. But Sid kept pestering me, and a few days later we headed up to the Bronx to pick up his date and her friend Roma. I had to admit, for a blind date this wasn't so bad. Roma was a nurse at a Bronx hospital. She was kind and smart. Beautiful, too, with swirling brown curls and green, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with life.

The four of us drove out to Coney Island. Roma was easy to talk to, easy to be with. Turned out she was wary of blind dates too! We were both just doing our friends a favor. We took a stroll on the boardwalk, enjoying the salty Atlantic breeze, and then had dinner by the shore. I couldn't remember having a better time. We piled back into Sid's car, Roma and I sharing the backseat.

As European Jews who had survived the war, we were aware that much had been left unsaid between us. She broached the subject, "Where were you," she asked softly, "during the war?"

"The camps," I said. The terrible memories still vivid, the irreparable loss. I had tried to forget. But you can never forget.

She nodded. "My family was hiding on a farm in Germany, not far from Berlin," she told me. "My father knew a priest, and he got us Aryan papers."
I imagined how she must have suffered too, fear, a constant companion. And yet here we were both survivors, in a new world.

"There was a camp next to the farm." Roma continued. "I saw a boy there and I would throw him apples every day."

What an amazing coincidence that she had helped some other boy. "What did he look like? I asked.

"He was tall, skinny, and hungry. I must have seen him every day for six months."

My heart was racing. I couldn't believe it. This couldn't be. "Did he tell you one day not to come back because he was leaving Schlieben?"

Roma looked at me in amazement. "Yes!"

"That was me!" I was ready to burst with joy and awe, flooded with emotions. I couldn't believe it! My angel. "I'm not letting you go." I said to Roma. And in the back of the car on that blind date, I proposed to her. I didn't want to wait.

"You're crazy!" she said. But she invited me to meet her parents for Shabbat dinner the following week.

There was so much I looked forward to learning about Roma, but the most important things I always knew: her steadfastness, her goodness. For many months, in the worst of circumstances, she had come to the fence and given me hope. Now that I'd found her again, I could never let her go.
That day, she said yes. And I kept my word. After nearly 50 years of marriage, two children and three grandchildren, I have never let her go.
Herman Rosenblat of Miami Beach, Florida

Quote:
Lord, when I am wrong, make me willing to change;
When I am right, make me easy to live with.
So strengthen me so that the power of my example will far exceed the authority of my rank. --Pauline H. Peters

Blessings

Ah, Those Sweet Angels

Yeah, right!

Now, up front, I'm not against angels, not against collecting them. I've got several myself, one tops my Christmas tree every year.

But are angels the sweet things portrayed?

Here's what the Bible says:

Luke 20: They don't marry
Acts 7: They reveal the law
Zechariah 1: They bring messages from God
Hebrews 1 & Revelation 5: They praise God
Daniel 6 & Acts 12: They protect God's people

Some angels rebelled, some tempt us to sin, work through false teachers, and attempt to separate believers from God.

Angels are not sweet beings, they are powerful, used by God to work in the world (Hebrews 1).

Our focus should not be on them, but on God. God sends them, uses them, orders them.

Now, to throw a cog in the wheel: Have you heard any old timers talk about seeing angels? My grandmother said she saw two of them with my grandfather between them, leading him away, when he died. True? I don't know.


Hints:
It's so-o-o easy to procrastinate doing things we don't want to do. Anyone else suffer from this? This doesn't mean we're not normal. Lots of people procrastinate. But it can be addictive. It's messes up your schedule (day) and you can find at the end of the day, you feel worse or depressed by not accomplishing what you'd wanted done. Here's a few hints to help us get to the bottom of this procrastination-thing:

1) Accept the job at hand. Learn to make lists (waving hand madly, because I do do this! Yeah!) Write it down. Accept that you should be responsible. Tackle that list one thing at a time. Don't look at it as a whole, but as individual items to be checked off.

2) Think of the end result. What happens if you don't get No. 1 checked off? Who's disappointed? How will you feel? How will you feel when it's accomplished?

3) Remember your reward. It doesn't matter whether you get a trophy, a raise, or a pat on the back. It's YOUR satisfaction that matters. You succeeded. A powerful emotion.

4) Make no room for excuses. Push them away. They will always be there. "I don't feel like it." or "I can't do it right anyway." If its your task, if you're responsible for it, if its important and/or urgent, then do it. Don't allow yourself the temptation to postpone.

5) Get to the bottom of your procrastination. There has to be a reason for why you want to procrastinate that job. Example: I hate getting started on many things (research being one), but actually I love research. I enjoy--and probably over research--on things--once I get started. If it's too hard for you, you don't have the expertise (repairing), get someone else to do it.


Quote:
Live as though you believe that the power behind the universes is a power of love, a personal power of love, a love so great that all of us really do matter to Him. --Madeleine L'Engle


Blessings.