The Birthday Gift

Today was her birthday.  It was a sunny, pleasant day, not as muggy as yesterday. Too bad she couldn’t treat herself an iced tea.  She was late, thanks to a delay on the tube. It was ten minutes after nine.  She hurried down the sidewalk and arrived at the office building seven minutes later.  She took the lift instead of the stairs.  As she walked through the work area to her cubicle, she caught a few people staring and smiling at her.

She stopped short when she got to her desk and saw the white box tied with a red ribbon lying in the center.  There was an envelope tucked underneath the ribbon.  She pulled it out and opened it.  She took out the card.  It was a pretty card with a bird and flowers on it with the words, “Happy Birthday.” She opened it and read the neat handwriting which simply said, “Best wishes on your birthday”.  There was no name.  Curious, she opened the box and gasped when she saw a dozen beautiful orange roses.  She had never seen roses this color before.  Their sweet scent filled the air.

By now, a few of her co-workers had gathered around her desk, admiring the roses and teasing her about having a secret admirer when she told them that she had no clue who gave them to her.  “Are you absolutely sure that you don’t know who sent you these?” Stella asked.

She shook her head.  “I honestly don’t know who sent me these.”

“You know I read somewhere that orange roses express admiration and attraction,” Ruth commented, looking enviously at the roses.  “These are definitely from an admirer.”

She stood there trying to figure out who it could be.  There was one person she wished they were from but dismissed the thought.  When everyone returned to their desks, she went to the kitchen to fill a vase with water.  She took the roses out of the box and put them in the vase.  She set the vase on the shelf above her desk.  It was hard concentrating on her work as she kept wondering who sent her the roses.  The card offered no clues.

When her friend Irene called to let her know that she was on her way to pick her up for lunch, she asked her to come upstairs.  She wanted to show her the roses and the card.

After Irene wished her a happy birthday, hugged her and gave her a small gift bag, she showed her the roses and the card.  “I have no idea who sent me them.”

Irene read the card and then handed it back to her.  “I do,” she said.

She looked at her.  “You do?” she asked, incredulous.

“Those roses are from my garden and this is Edward’s handwriting.”

She shook her head in disbelief.  “No, that’s not possible.  You’re pulling my leg.”

Irene looked amused.  “I assure you, I am not.  I saw him in the garden this morning, picking the roses and when his pants leg got caught on the thorny bush.  Then, I saw him get into his car and drive off.  He didn’t even bother to pop his head in to say hello.”

She looked at her friend dazed.  “I can’t believe it,” she murmured.  Well, you wanted the roses to be from him, didn’t you?

“Come along now, my Dear.  We will talk more about it over lunch.” She took her by the arm and escorted her out of the office.

“Why would he send me roses for my birthday?” she asked when they were sitting in the restaurant.

“Why do men usually send roses to women?” Irene asked dryly.  “Obviously, he is besotted with you.”

“But, he can’t be,” she protested.  “He’s never let on that he is.”

“Edward was always good at hiding his feelings, too well, if you ask me.  He’s the male equivalent of Elinor Dashwood.  I had no clue that he harbored any feelings for you until this morning.”  Just then their orders arrived.  Irene raised her glass in a toast.  “Here’s to many more happy birthdays,” she said.

She raised her glass, her mind still reeling from what she had just learned.  The plate of flavorful Chicken Biryani sat in front of her but she hardly tasted it.  Could it really be true?  Did Edward have feelings for her?  How she hoped that were true.

“Edward’s coming over to my place this evening,” Irene informed her.  “Why don’t you come over and thank him personally for the roses?”

Her heart did a somersault at the thought of seeing him.  “Won’t he wonder how I know that they are from him?

“Leave that to me.  Come around 7:30.”

“All right, I’ll come.” Knowing that the roses were from Edward made them even more precious.  She would take half of them home with her.  They would look lovely on the mantelpiece and definitely brighten up the flat.

They spent the rest of lunch talking about other things and then Irene gave her a ride back to the office.

It was 7:30 and she was walking up driveway to Irene’s quaint cottage.  Her eyes fell on the rose bush.  She tried to picture Edward picking twelve roses from it, getting pricked and entangled but it seemed so fanciful.  She rang the doorbell, her heart pounding.  She heard footsteps and then Irene opened the door.  She smiled at her.  “Come in,” she said.  “Frank and the kids are at the playground and Edward’s out in the backyard.

“Thank you for the lovely scarf and funny card,” she said, hugging her friend.

“You’re welcome.  Would you like something to drink?”

“Not right now, thanks,” she said as she stepped into the foyer, thinking what a lovely and cozy home it was.  It was warm and welcoming.  She removed her sandals and carried them.  She followed Irene through the living-room and through the kitchen.  Her heartbeat accelerated with each step and when she saw Edward sitting in a chair with his back to the door, she felt nervous.  She put on her sandals, feeling three inches tall again.  Irene stood at the door while she went onto the deck and down the steps.

“Hello, Edward,” she called as she approached him.

He turned around at once when he heard her and then got to his feet.  His eyes were wary as they met hers.  “Hello, Anne,” he said quietly.

She rested her handbag on the table and put her hands behind her back so that he wouldn’t see that they were shaking.  “I—I wanted to thank you for the beautiful roses,” she stammered.

“You’re welcome.  It was rather remiss of me not to sign my name in the card. It would have saved you the trouble of trying to figure out who sent the roses.  I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize.  Everyone thought that they were from a secret admirer…” her voice trailed off as she immediately wished she hadn’t said that but she was so nervous and he seemed so rigid.

“Do you know why I chose orange roses instead of red?”

She shook her head, her eyes wide as they met his.  Her mouth went dry as he moved closer, looking intense.

“Not only do I feel a deep love for you but a wild passion.  I know that to you I may seem stiff and aloof but that’s just on the surface.  Underneath, I am like a volcano, ready to erupt.  Am I scaring you?” His eyes were dark now and stormy with the emotions he was feeling inside.

She shook her head again, moving closer.  His words shocked and thrilled her at the same time.  She never imagined that beneath that reserved exterior such feelings existed.

He reached up and cupped her face between his hands and his lips covered hers, moving passionately on them, not seeming to care that they might be seen.  He kissed her like a man who had long been restrained from showing his feelings and was now breaking free from those restraints.  She responded to his fiery kisses, her arms tight about his waist.  This continued for several minutes until the sound of voices reached their ears.  Frank and the kids had returned.  They broke apart. Edward pushed his fingers through his hair as he tried to steady his breathing while Anne gripped the top of the chair next to her, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath.

“Let me take you out for dinner,” he asked, his eyes earnest as they met hers.  “I want to celebrate what’s left of your birthday with you.”

“I’d like that very much,” she managed to say.  What could be more perfect way to celebrate her birthday than a romantic dinner with Edward?  She walked around the table to where her handbag was.  Opening it, she took out her lip gross and with a trembling fingers, applied it to her lips.  After she placed it back in her bag, she went back to where Edward stood, waiting for her.

As they walked toward the house, the children came bounding out, followed by Frank and Irene.   While the two girls chatted excitedly with Uncle Edward about their afternoon in the playground, Irene came over to her.  She put her arm around her shoulders.  “How did it go?” she asked.

Anne smiled.  “He’s taking me out for dinner,” she said.

“Well, have fun,” Irene said and hugged her.  “I’ll call you during the week.”

Anne went over to Edward who was talking to his brother-in-law.  The children had darted back inside the house.  Frank smiled at her.  “Happy birthday,” he said, hugging her.  “How was your day?”

“Thank you.  It has been a wonderful day,” she remarked, looking at Edward.

Frank gave them both a knowing look.  “Well, enjoy the rest of it,” he said.

“I will.”  She turned and waved to Irene before she and Edward walked away, his hand reaching for hers.

 

 

Source:  Teleflora

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The Candlelight Dinner

Renee got into her car and drove over to Callum’s flat.  He had invited her over for dinner.  When she told her friends, they were shocked.  They couldn’t believe that a bookworm had much of a social life.  They concluded that although he was very attractive, no woman would want to date a man who spent most of his time with his nose buried in old and used books.  Renee didn’t agree with them.  She thought Callum was remarkable and enjoyed spending time with him, listening to him relate the interesting stories he read.  He had a penchant for folklore.  His love for books was really quite endearing.  She especially liked it when he recited poetry in that deep, velvety voice of his.  Sometimes the words spilled from his lips like a caress.

She didn’t know exactly when it happened but she had fallen in love with Callum.  It wasn’t something she had intended and she wasn’t sure how she would be able to continue seeing him without betraying her feelings.  Perhaps, he wouldn’t even notice.  Books were his passion and he didn’t seem interested in being in a relationship.  She sighed.  It was just her luck to fall in love with a booklover.

The first time they met it was at a library.  She was reading a book on Greek Mythology when he went over to her.  At first he seemed more interested in the book than in her.  His eyes were riveted on it for several minutes before they rose to her face where they remained.  He smiled at her then and held out his hand.  She shook his hand, thinking what an attractive man he was with dark brown hair falling rakishly across his forehead, green eyes behind a pair of glasses.  He was dressed in a dark green shirt, black vest and black slacks.  He was tall and slender.  She invited him to join her.

He sat next to her and they had a very animated conversation about the contents of the book she was reading and other such books.  Time flew and it was time to go.  They arranged to meet again the following evening at the library.  And after meeting there a few nights in a row, they exchanged numbers and they saw each other frequently.   They met for coffee, went for lunch, had dinner a few times and for went walks in the park, always talking about books.

Whenever they were out together, she observed other women admiring him but he didn’t seem to notice at all.   She wondered what he would do if she were to kiss him on the spur of the moment.  The idea had occurred to her but she thought better of it.  Tonight, she hoped that they would talk about other things besides books of every genre.

She arrived at his flat.  She grabbed the bottle of wine that was on the passenger seat and climbed out of the car.  As she walked toward the entrance she drew admiring glances from the group of men who were standing there.  How she wished that Callum would look at her like that.  Perhaps tonight he will.  She was wearing a white dress with broad straps which hugged her figure and the earrings she had picked up from a thrift store.

As she stood outside his door, her heart began to pound.  She suddenly felt nervous as if she were going on a date for the first time.  Calm yourself, she told herself.  Take a deep breath.  A few seconds passed as she pulled herself together, then she raised her hand and pressed the doorbell.

The door opened almost immediately and Callum stood there.  His eyes traveled over her and she detected admiration and something else in them.  “You look amazing,” he commented as he stepped aside for her to enter the foyer.  He closed the door and locked it.  When he turned to face her, she was tempted to reach up and kiss him but instead, she handed him the bottle of wine.   “Oh, thank you,” he said, taking it from her.   “Let me give you a quick tour of my place.”

She removed her slingbacks and followed him.  They went through the living-room which was very spacious and cozy.  He put the bottle of wine on the kitchen counter. “Something smells delicious,” she said.  It smelled like Indian food which she loved.

He smiled.  “We’re having Chicken Tikka Masala.”

“Sounds great.”  They passed by the washroom and paused outside of the bedroom door.  He switched on the light and she looked around the room.  It was immaculate, and decidedly masculine with its colors and wood furniture.  From the window, you could see the Tower Bridge. Beside the window, there was an armchair.  Mostly he sat there and read before turning into bed.  Her gaze went irresistibly to the bed.  It was so perfectly made up, it looked like something out of one of those home decor magazines.  Unbidden, came the thought, has any woman been in that bed?  It aroused jealousy in her.

“No woman has shared my bed,” he said, startling her.  Her eyes were wide as they met his.  Had he read her mind?  “You’re the first woman I have ever invited to my place.” There was a curious expression on his face as he stood there looking at her and then he turned away.  “Let’s finish the tour.”  He switched off the light and started down the corridor.  She followed him, chiding herself for being so transparent.

They paused outside of a doorway and he turned on the light.  It was a library, with four book shelves, lined with books and a desk facing the window.  “This is my favorite room,” he said.  He looked at her.  “I’m sure that comes as no surprise to you.”

She frowned, thinking that there would be more books.  There were empty spaces on some of the shelves.

As if he read her thoughts, he said, “I donated some of them to the library.”

“You donated them to make room for the new ones you are planning to get,” she deduced, looking at him.

He laughed.  “Can’t fool you, can I?” He switched off the light.  “Now, it’s time to have our dinner.  But, first, I will take you out on the terrace for a bit of fresh air.”

She followed him to the terrace.  He drew aside the drapes and opened the sliding doors, stepping out into the cool evening air.   The sun was setting and it cast a crimson glow on the Tower Bridge and the Thames.  It was a magnificent view. Then, she turned, intending to walk along the length of the terrace when she noticed the table.  She gaped.  It was covered with a tablecloth, set with fine dinner ware, two glasses and two candles.  Callum had gone to a lot of trouble.

Touched, she turned to him.  “Callum, I didn’t expect this at all,” she said.  “What a lovely surprise.”  She hugged him and when she drew back to gaze up at him, she felt his arms go around her waist and then he was kissing her.  She responded, her senses swimming and her arms wound themselves around his neck.

Several minutes passed before he raised his head to look down into her face.  “This dinner is my way of showing you how I feel about you.  You are the first woman I have ever invited to my flat or cooked dinner for.  You are the only woman I want in my life.  I love you, Renee.  I have loved you from that day in the library when I came over to you on the pretext of being interested in the book you were reading.  I had noticed you a couple of days before but never worked up the courage to approach you until that afternoon. All those times we spent together, talking about my love for books, I was trying to figure out how to tell you that I loved you.  Tonight, I wanted to show you.”

For a moment, she was too moved to say anything.  Then, she confessed, “I love you too, Callum.  I have loved you since the first time we met.  For the longest while I have been trying to figure out how I could continue being around you and not betray my feelings.”

“Tonight, we can enjoy being with each other the way we have always wanted to.” He lowered his head and they kissed.  “I’d better go and bring out the dinner,” he muttered, reluctantly letting her go.

“Let me help.”

He shook his head and walked over to the table and pulled out the chair facing the Tower Bridge.  “You sit here and enjoy the view,” he suggested.  “I’ll be right back.” When she sat down, he bent his head and kissed her on the nape of her neck before he walked away.

Renee sat there, digesting what had just happened.   The river Thames shimmered in the setting sun and as she gazed at it, she smiled, thinking how fortunate she was to be sitting here, about to have a candlelight dinner with the man she loved.  Yes, this something she had never imagined would happen but that was how life was sometimes–unpredictable.

 

Source:  Cooking Channel TV

The Presentation

They met when she was invited by a student to give a presentation on why it was important for women and girls to be educated in countries where they are marginalized and have little or no access to education.  This was her first presentation as an advocate for the rights of women and girls to receive an education and she was nervous.

She stood in front of a auditorium filled with students from grades 8 to 12.  While the student who invited her gave an introduction, she said a little prayer, to calm her nerves and to give her the strength she needed.  She felt a peace envelope her and she smiled as the girl invited her to go to the podium amidst the applause.

She stood there, looking at the faces around her and she began her presentation with one of her favorite quotes, “The surest way to keep a people down is to educate the men and neglect the women. If you educate a man you simply educate an individual, but if you educate a woman, you educate a family.”  Then, she shared facts, stories and information about the programs and activities that provided to help eliminate the barriers that women and girls faced in their pursuit of a right to an education.  She encouraged the students to get involved.  She answered questions and at the end of the presentation, she handed out pamphlets and fact sheets.   Many students were eager to get involved and she told them to contact her.

As the students filed out of the auditorium, he went up on to the podium where she was gathering her papers together and putting them into her folder.  She glanced up and her breath caught in her throat.  For a moment, all she could do was stare at him.   He had to be the best-looking man she had ever seen.  None of her male teachers ever looked like this.

He smiled and held out his hand.  “Jordan Hampton.”

“Michelle Johnson,” she said, as she shook his hand.

“I enjoyed your presentation.  Thanks for coming.”

“It was my pleasure and I’m happy that you enjoyed it.”  She was feeling shy and a little nervous because he was still holding her hand and his eyes were fixed on her.

He released her hand then, almost apologetically.  “I am interested in learning more about the kind of work you do,” he said.  “May I get in touch with you?”

“Sure.”  She handed him a business card with her contact information.  She also gave him some handouts.

“Well, I must be getting back to my class,” he said.  “I’ll walk with you to the front entrance.”

“Thank you.”  She gathered her things and followed him out of the auditorium.  They went down the hallway to the front entrance.  At the doors, he turned to her.  They shook hands again and said goodbye.

A couple days later, she received a phone call from him.  “Hi, Michelle.  It’s Jordan.”

Her heart started to beat fast.  “Hi Jordan,” she leaned back in her chair and swung round so that she was facing the window.  It was so good hearing from him.  After meeting him that first time at the school, she hadn’t been able to think of anything else.  She had been looking forward to hearing from him.  “How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you.  How about you?  Have you been giving any more presentations?”

“I’m doing well, thanks.  I have another one next week.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Not yet,” she laughed.

There was a brief pause, then, “I’d like to learn more about what you do—over dinner.”

She sat up.  “Dinner?”

“Yes.  I would like you to have dinner with me tonight, unless… you have other plans?”

She shook her head at once but then realized that he couldn’t see that.  “No, I don’t have any plans.”  And even if she did, she would cancel them, for sure.

“Good.  I’ll pick you up at seven. ”

“I hope you don’t get bored hearing me talk about my work,” she said.

“I won’t,” he promised.  They spoke for a couple more minutes and then the call ended.

He showed up promptly at seven, looking amazing in a white shirt and a navy blue suit.  She was wearing a salmon colored, spaghetti strapped dress which complimented her complexion and her hair was pulled back in a French twist updo.  She smiled when she saw the way he looked at her.  Clearly he liked what he saw.

Dinner was a fun affair.  He started out asking her questions about her work and then questions about herself.  It seemed like he would have been content just talking about her but she wanted to learn about him.  He was a Political Science teacher and had been teaching for fifteen years.  His father was British and his mother, Irish.  He had two brothers and a sister.  He was the second oldest.  When he wasn’t in a classroom, he was on the tennis court or in the gym or reading or spending time with his family and friends.  His favorite movie was The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, his favorite book To Kill A Mockingbird was and his favorite song was Hotel California.

They laughed and talked about all sorts of things.  Then, when they were having their dessert, he said, “I have a confession to make.  I heard most of your presentation but I was distracted.”

She frowned.  “Distracted?”

“Yes.  I was distracted by you.  I couldn’t get over how amazing you looked and how much I was looking forward to meeting you.  I waited until the coast was clear and then I came over and introduced myself.  You were even more stunning up close.  I’m surprised I was able to speak.”

She laughed.  “I was a bit tongue-tied, myself,” she admitted.  “I remember thinking that none of my male teachers looked like you.”

He reached over and covered her hand as it lay on the table.  His eyes were serious as they met hers.  “I’d like to see you again,” he said.  “Are you busy on Sunday?”

She usually went to church in the morning and then spent the rest of the day, getting ready for work the next day. “No, I’m not busy then.”

“How about going with me on a lunch jazz cruise on the Thames?”

“That sounds wonderful.”  She had never been on a cruise or on the Thames before.  What a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon.  She couldn’t wait.

He picked up his glass, his eyes holding hers in a steady gaze.  “Here’s to an amazing evening and to many more like it.”

She smiled as she raised her glass.  “Cheers.”

Black and white photo of mixed couple

Source:  Get Your GuideQuotesWomenOne

Resistance is Futile

After a few moments into the movie, she switched off the television.  No use in wasting time watching a film that didn’t synchronize with the sound.  Besides, she was distracted. She couldn’t stop thinking about Jude Beresford.

When they first met, she couldn’t stand him.  He oozed a sensuality that was palpable. While it got her pulse going, it made her blood boil.  She couldn’t stand men who knew that they were gorgeous and flaunted it.  She was determined that she wasn’t going to fall for his charm or his looks.  She had a visceral dislike of men like him.

So, when her friend Brooke brought him and his brother over to meet her, she was considerably cool toward him but very friendly toward Crispin.  She ignored the fact that when they shook hands and his eyes met hers and his lips parted in a disarming smile, her heart skipped a beat.  She wanted to leave him in no doubt that she was not taken in by him.

When she and Brooke were alone, her friend asked her, “What’s up with you ?” she asked.  “You weren’t very friendly to Jude.  He’s a really nice man once you get to know him.”

“He seems conceited to me,” she said, casting a look of disdain in his direction.  “And it’s disgusting to see how women throw themselves at him.”

“You are wrong about him.”

“I don’t think so,” she insisted and her friend dropped it.  It was no use arguing about it.

She couldn’t avoid seeing him.  He was Brooke’s friend and she invited him to every event and social that she invited her to.  She sincerely hoped that Brooke wasn’t trying to set them up.  It was a waste of time. She was not interested in him.  Not wanting to be rude, she would engage in conversations with him, though she always made it clear to him that she was not attracted to him.   What that must do to his ego, she thought each time they were together, especially when she made a point of asking him about Crispin.  She noticed that it nettled him.

Crispin was not at all like his older brother.  He was fairly handsome but more reserved. There was no resemblance between the two men.  Jude was tall, slender with jet black hair and dark brown eyes while Crispin was blond with green eyes and shorter.   He was not as charming as Jude but she liked him.  She felt safe and completely relaxed with him unlike Jude who troubled her more than she cared to admit.

Last night after having the dinner which Brooke had spent all day preparing, Deana went out onto the terrace, gazing at the twinkling lights of the city in the distance. Crispin joined her.  “Deana, forgive me if I am being presumptuous,” he said, apologetically.  “but how long are you and Jude going to pretend that you don’t like each other?”

His question startled her and for a moment, she was at a loss for words.  Then, she said, “I can’t speak for him, but I’m not pretending.”

“I have seen the way you look at each other when you think no one is noticing.  It’s obvious to me that you are attracted to each other.  Don’t you think it’s time to stop playing games and admit how you feel to–?”

Just then, Jude came on to the terrace.  Deana’s heart lurched.  Their eyes met and then she rushed past him.  Shortly after that, she went home.

Stirring herself from her reverie, she got up from the sofa and went to the window.  It was early evening.  She wondered if she should go for a walk.  She could do with some fresh air. It would clear her mind.  She turned away and was about to head to the washroom to freshen up when the doorbell rang.

She went to the door and peered through the keyhole, her eyes widening when she saw Jude standing there.  At once, her heart started to pound.  She was tempted to keep him standing out there but she opened the door, her eyes wary as they met his.  “I didn’t expect to see you,” she said, unable to prevent her eyes from travelling over his tall frame.  He looked incredible in the dark grey suit and the white shirt and tie.  He must have just left his office or perhaps he was on his way out but for some reason, decided to stop by here first.  She told herself that she didn’t care.  She was going to wrap this up as quickly as possible and send him on his way.

“Perhaps you were expecting to see Crispin instead,” he said, his expression darkening.  The glint in his eyes startled her.

“Why would I be expecting Crispin?” she asked, stepping aside so that he could go in. After she closed the door, she turned to face him.  She could see the displeasure in his features.  Then it dawned on her.  “Do you think I am interested in Crispin?”

“Yes.”  The word was like a hiss.  “Every time we see each other you ask me about him.  I get the impression that you would prefer his company over mine.”

“I like Crispin, yes, but—”

“I saw you with him last night on the terrace.  As soon as I came you left.  I asked him what you and he talked about but he didn’t tell me.  He told me to speak to you.  Tell me the truth, Deana, is there something going on between Crispin and you?”

She shook her head.  “No,” she admitted.  “There’s nothing between us.”

He raked his fingers through his hair in agitation.  “Then, why were you always throwing him in my face, making me think that you preferred him to me.”

“I wanted to deflate your ego,” she told him.  “You seemed conceited to me and I wanted to show you that I was not like one of those women who were literally throwing themselves at you.”

“You’re wrong about me, Deana.  I’m not conceited.  And I’m not interested in any woman except you.”

Now her heart was racing and she seemed to have trouble breathing.  He had stepped closer to her, his eyes capturing hers and holding them prisoner.  “You’re wasting your time if you think you can seduce me,” she said, sounding a bit breathless.

“I’m not trying to seduce you.”

She was pressed against the door as the space between them got smaller.  “Then, what are you trying to do?”  She wondered if the feelings that were churning inside her showed in her face.  Did he detect the panic in her voice?

“I’m trying to show you how I feel,” he said softly.  “How I’ve felt since the first time we met.”  Before she could say another word, he lowered his head and kissed her.

Instead of pushing him away or clamping her lips together, she responded.  Her defenses were completely gone.  Resisting now was pointless.  Try as she did, she could no longer deny that in spite of all her best efforts, she was hooked.

 

The Great Divide

A grainy photo of a child,

a beloved grandmother.

Survivor of the Holocaust.

Deceased.  God spared her

from witnessing the hatred

that has gripped the nation–

the country that she had

called home for so many

years.

 

It was the same kind of hate

which had invaded, occupied

her country and imprisoned

her and over 400,000 Jews

in the Warsaw Ghetto.  Taken

from their homes, they were

forced to live in an area cut

off from the world, topped

with barbed wire.  It was soon

decimated by outbreaks of

infectious diseases, mass hunger

and regular executions.

 

Then in the summer of 1942,

she and her family were among

the 254,000 residents of the Ghetto

who were sent to the Treblinka

Extermination Camp.

 

Tears spilled down her cheeks

as she remembered the horrors

her grandmother described to

her when she was in the camp.

She and her father were together.

Men were told to go to the right

and the women to the left.  She

never saw her parents or little

brother again.  They were

taken straight to the gas chamber.

 

Today, the same hate that had

driven Hitler and those who

shared his ideology has reared

its ugly head and was revealed

to the entire world in the VICE

video of the rally in Charlottes-

ville, Virginia.  The sight of

the burning torches and the

“Jews will not replace us”

and “Blood and soil” chants

filled her with disgust. And

the president’s failure to

lead was dangerous and

may lead to disastrous

consequences of the United

States and the world at large.

 

It was her hope and prayer

that the people of America

would do something about the

great racial divide before things

escalate even further.

 

woman with grandmother

Sources:  Wikipedia;  CNN

Giving

It was one of the highlights in her life.

To organize a donation drive and then

make arrangements for the delivery

of the clothes and other items she

received from the church members

and to see the faces of the staff

when she dropped them off.

 

It was an opportunity to teach

her daughter Kayla about

caring for those who

were less fortunate.  Kayla’s

face lit up every time they

got out the boxes and went

through the toys and clothes

that they were going to give

to the women and children

in the homeless shelter.  Kayla

was more than willing to give

away her toys and books.  “It

will make them and Jesus happy,”

she explained.

 

Once Kayla went with her to the

shelter and on their way home

she asked, “Mommy, why do

people live in shelters?”

 

“Sometimes things are so bad

at home that they have to leave

and find somewhere else–a place

where they feel safe.  The shelter

protects them from harm.”

 

“I’m happy that things are good

at home, Mommy.  I am happy that

I have somewhere to live.  I wouldn’t

want to live in a shelter.”

 

She smiled.  “Yes, Kayla.  We have

so much to thank God for because

He has blessed us so now we are

blessing others.  Those who

are living in the shelters are

thankful too.  They have shelter,

food, clothes and other things

they need.  And when we help

them, it is as if we are helping

Jesus.  It is always good to help

people.  When we help them

by donating what we have,

there is a feeling that we are

doing the right thing and we

are making God proud.  God

is always proud of you when

you help people.”

 

“When I grow up, I want to

help as many children and

their mommies as I can.”

 

She smiled.  Lord, bless

her little heart for wanting

to be a blessing to others.

And thank You for showing

her that it is more blessed

to give than to receive.

 

donate_clothes_uday_foundat

Poverty’s Face

She stands there, a glaring reminder of the

society oppresses her simply because

she is a woman.  She stands there for all

the world to see that Poverty is not invisible.

It has a face.  It has a woman’s face.  It has her face.

 

Traditional gender role is enforced on her which

claims that her sole aim is family raising.

Confined to the home, she is deprived of the very

thing which would alleviate poverty–education.

 

She, like other women in Nigeria should have

a new face–empowerment, independence,

liberation.  Poverty among women needs to

be eradicated.  This can be done through

training programs and women gaining

full and equal access to economic resources.

 

Women’s NGOs and other organizations

need to give poverty a face lift and

help women to enjoy the right to a

quality life.

 

 

poverty-and-women

Sources:  BAOBAB For Women’s Human Rights;  Jaruma