Story

In the Valley



It’s in The Valley I Grow Sometimes life seems hard to bear, Full of troubles, sorrows and of woe, It’s then I have to remember, That it is in the valley I grow.  If I always stayed on the mountain tops, And never experience pain, I would never appreciate God’s love And would be living in vain.  I have so much to learn, And my growth is very slow, Sometime I need the mountain tops But it is in the valley I grow.  I do not always understand, Why things happen as they do, But I am very sure of one thing My Lord will see me through.  My little valleys are nothing, When I picture Christ on the cross, He went through the valley of death, His victory was Satan loss.  Forgive me Lord, for complaining, When I am feeling very low, Just give me a gentle reminder, That is in the valley I grow.  Continue to strengthen me , Lord, And use my life each day, To show your love with others, And help them find their way.  Thank you for the valleys Lord, For this one thing I know, The mountain tops are glorious, But it is in the valley I grow.  

THE TEN COMMANDANDMENTS OF “HOW TO GET ALONG WITH PEOPLE”

Keep skid chains on your tongue.  Always say less than you think. Cultivate a low, persuasive voice. How you say things often counts more than what you say.

Make promises sparingly, and keep them faithfully, no matter what the cost.

Never let an opportunity pass to say a king and encouraging word to or about somebody. Praise good work, regardless of who did it. If criticism is needed, offer it gently, never harshly.

Be interested in others-their pursuits, their work, their homes and families. Make merry with those who rejoice and weep with those that mourn. Let everyone you meet, however humble feel that you regard him or her as a person of importance.

Be careful. Don’t burden or depress those around you by dwelling on your minor aches and pain and small disappointments. Remember that everyone is caring some kind of burden and often heavier than your own.

Keep an open mind, discuss don’t argue. It’s a mark of a superior mind to able to disagree without being disagreeable.

Let your virtues, if you have any, speak for them selves, and refuse to talk of another’s vices. Discourage gossip. It is a waste of valuable time and can be extremely destructive.

Be careful of another’s feelings. Wit and humor at another person’s expense may do more damage than you will ever know.

Learn to work on and acknowledge your own faults and shortcomings before you criticize others of theirs.

Pay attention to disparaging remarks. Remember the person who carries the message may not be the most accurate reporter in the world and things become twisted in retelling. Live so that nobody will believe them. Nervous tension and bad digestion are common cause of backbiting.


I found this poem an thought I would dedicate it to my son 

CPL Allicock Nigel. S

‘SEMPER FI’ MY SON 


A Serviceman’s Night Before Christmas

  

T’was the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,

In a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone

 I had come down the chimney with presents to give and to see just who in this house live.

As I looked all about a strange sight I did see, no tinsel, no presents, not even a tree, No stocking by the fire, just boots filled with sand, on the wall hung pictures of far away land.

With metals and badges, awards of all kind, a sobering thought soon came to mind, for this house was different, unlike any I’d seen, this was the home of a U.S Marine.

I heard stories about them, I had to see more, so I walked down the hall and pushed open a door, and there he lay sleeping, silent alone curled up on the floor in his one bedroom home.

He seem so gentle, his face so serene, not how I pictured a U.S Marine, was this the hero of whom I’d just read? Curled up in his poncho, a floor for his bed?

His head was clean-shaven, his weather face tan, I soon understood, that this was more than a man, for I realized the families that I saw that night owed their lives to these men who were willing to fight.

Soon round the world the children would play the grown-ups would celebrate a bright Christmas day, they all enjoyed freedom each moment and all year, because of Marines like the one laying here.

I couldn’t help wonder how many lay alone, on a cold Christmas eve in land far away from home, the very thought brought a tear to my eye, I dropped to my knees and started to cry.

He must have awoken for I heard a rough voice, Santa don’t cry, this life is my choice, I fight for freedom, I don’t ask for more, my life is my God, my country, my Corps.

With that he rolled over and drifted off to sleep, I couldn’t control it, I continued to weep, I watched him for hours, so silent and still, we both shivered from the night’s cold chill.

So I took off my jacket, the one made of red, and cover this Marine from his knees to his head, then I put on his t-shirt of scarlet and gold, with an eagle globe and anchor emblazoned so bold.

And although is barley fit me, I began to swell with pride, and for one shinning moment, I was a Marine Corps inside.

I didn’t want to leave him so quiet in the night, this guardian of honor so willing to fight, but half asleep he rolled over, and In a voice clean and pure said, Carry on Santa it’s Christmas day=all secure.

One look at my watch and I knew he was right, merry Christmas my friend, ‘Semper Fi’ and good night.

 







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