When playtime rolls around, Chance Armstrong prefers painting far and above any toys or other activities. At two years of age, he recently had his first art exhibit at City Arts in Wichita, Kansas. With the proceeds, he and his single mother aim for a noteworthy goal-earning enough that Chance can enroll in Dolphin Therapy in Florida. Said therapy has proven to be quite beneficial for children with special needs, but it is costly.

********

Chance was named before his birth.not knowing how fitting it would be. Born after only 28 weeks of gestation, Chance faced the grim possibility of not surviving-as did his mother. When preeclampsia struck, their fate rested in the hands of God.

Mom remained in intensive care for 10 anxiety-ridden days while her tiny son struggled to live. After three months in Neonatal Intensive Care the very fragile infant went home, but each day that passed was filled with uncertainty. The doctors had been straightforward about Chance's future. He faced the probability of numerous health problems: mental retardation, cerebral palsy, blindness, deafness, and cystic fibrosis, to name only a few. Soon, two additional obstacles were thrown in his path-the need for kidney and heart surgery. Inexplicably, Change dodged all of these maladies!

Chance keeps a hectic schedule with various physical therapy appointments-a total of seven each week. Visits with his doctors are all too frequent. After being told he would never crawl, he does crawl, even though he lags behind others his age. His vocabulary is limited but continues to grow. When I last saw Chance he was giving high fives like they were going out of style! With this little boy's determination and progress to date, hopes are high for all he is yet to achieve. Despite the monumental challenges that have been encountered thus far, Chance fills his mom's life with love, light and joy.

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What makes finger painting (and sometimes toes) so stimulating to this youngster? Is it the slick feel of the paint or is he intrigued with color? Is it both? Even though he has not yet learned his colors, Mom can now decipher which one he is asking for; he is quite finicky about which hues go into each design he produces. They've spent countless hours creating works of art and have developed a system that works seamlessly. Chance giggles and his bright eyes dance with every new masterpiece, and he only stops when Mom says it's bath time. Each art session leaves him smeared and smudged-sporting a rainbow of colors from head to toe, a near duplicate of the canvas just completed. And, Mom doesn't fare much better!

When being interviewed before the art exhibit, Mom made a beautiful statement about her son: Many people go their entire lifetime without ever meeting one of their heroes; I am truly blessed and honored that my hero calls me mama!

Will Chance one day become a famous artist? Only time will tell.but his work is inspiring. It can be viewed on his very own web site: www.loveofchance.com

Tomorrow you may get a working woman,
but you should marry with these facts as well or you might have already been married to a working woman, and may not have understood the finer aspects (more so in a Indian or oriental environment) !!!


Here is a girl, who is as much educated as you are;


Who is earning almost as much as you do;


One, who has dreams and aspirations just as you have because she is as
human as you are;


One, who has never entered the kitchen in her life just like you or your
Sister haven't, as she was busy in studies and competing in a system that
gives no special concession to girls for their culinary achievements


One, who has lived and loved her parents & brothers & sisters, almost as
much as you do for 20-25 years of her life;


One, who has bravely agreed to leave behind all that, her home, people who
love her, to adopt your home, your family, your ways and even your family, name


One, who is somehow expected to be a master-chef from day #1, while you
sleep oblivious to her predicament in her new circumstances, environment
and that kitchen


One, who is expected to make the tea, first thing in the morning and cook
food at the end of the day, even if she is as tired as you are, maybe more,
and yet never ever expected to complain; to be a cook, a mother,
a wife, even if she doesn't want to; and is learning just like you are as
to what you want from her; and is clumsy and sloppy at times and knows that
you won't like it if she is too demanding, or if she learns faster than you;


One, who has her own set of friends, and that includes boys and even men at
her workplace too, those, who she knows from school days and yet is willing
to put all that on the back-burners to avoid your irrational jealousy,
unnecessary competition and your inherent insecurities;


Yes, she can drink and dance just as well as you can, but won't, simply
because you won't like it, even though you say otherwise


One, who can be late from work once in a while when deadlines, just like
yours, are to be met;


One, who is doing her level best and wants to make this most important
relationship in her entire life a grand success, if you just help her some
and trust her;


One, who just wants one thing from you, as you are the only one she knows
in your entire house - your unstinted support, your sensitivities and most
importantly - your understanding, or love, if you may call it.


But not many guys understand this......


Please appreciate "HER"


I hope you will do....

MY FRIDAY STORY

The Ivory and Gold Tablecloth

By Howard C. Schade

At Christmas time, men and women everywhere gather in their churches to wonder anew at the greatest miracle the world has ever known. But the story I like best to recall was not a huge miracle -- not exactly.

It happened to a pastor who was very young. His church was very old. Once, long ago, it had flourished. Famous men had preached from its pulpit, prayed before its altar. Rich and poor alike had worshipped there and built it beautifully. Now, the good days had passed from the section of town where it stood. But the pastor and his young wife believed in their run-down church. They felt that with hard work and lots of faith they could get it in shape. Together they went to work.

But, late in December, a severe storm whipped through the river valley, and the worst blow fell on the church -- a huge chunk of rain-soaked plaster fell out of the inside wall just behind the altar. Sorrowfully the pastor and his wife swept away the mess, but they couldn't hide the ragged hole.

The pastor looked at it and had to remind himself quickly, "Thy will be done!" But his wife wept, "Christmas is only two days away!"

That afternoon the dispirited couple attended the auction held for the benefit of a youth group. The auctioneer opened a box and shook out of its folds a gloriously beautiful, very ornately sewn, gold and ivory lace tablecloth.

It was a magnificent item, nearly 15 feet long. But it, too, dated from a long vanished era. Who, today, had any use for such a thing? There were a few halfhearted bids. Then the pastor was seized with what he thought was a great idea.

He bid it in for $6.50.

He carried the glorious gold and ivory lace cloth back to the church and very carefully put it up on the wall behind the altar. It completely hid the hole! And the extraordinary beauty of its shimmering handwork cast a fine, holiday glow over the chancel. It was a great triumph. Happily he went back to preparing his Christmas sermon.

Just before noon on the day of Christmas Eve, as the pastor was opening the church, he noticed a woman standing in the cold at the bus stop. "The bus won't be here for 40 minutes!" he called, and invited her into the church to get warm.

She told him that she had come from the city that morning to be interviewed for a job as governess to the children of one of the wealthy families in town but she had been turned down. A Jewish war refugee, her English was imperfect.

The woman sat down in a pew and chafed her hands and rested. After a while she dropped her head and prayed. She looked up and saw the great gold and ivory cloth. She rose suddenly and walked up the steps of the chancel.

She looked at the beautiful tablecloth with remembering eyes.

The pastor smiled and started to tell her about the storm damage, but she didn't seem to listen. She took up a fold of the cloth and lovingly rubbed it between her fingers, tears welled in her kind eyes. But they were happy tears of recognition.

"It is mine!" she said. "It is my banquet cloth!" She lifted up a corner and showed the surprised pastor that there were initials monogrammed on it. "My husband had the cloth made especially for me in Brussels! There could not be another like it."

For the next few minutes the woman and the pastor talked excitedly together. She explained that she was Viennese; that being Jews, she and her husband wanted to flee from the Nazis. They were advised to go separately. Her husband put her on a train for Switzerland. They planned that he would join her as soon as he could arrange to ship their household goods across the border. She never saw him again. Later she heard that he had died in a concentration camp.

"I have always felt that it was my fault -- to leave without him," she said. "Perhaps these years of wandering have been my punishment!" The pastor tried to comfort her and urged her to take the beautiful cloth with her. But she refused saying, "no, no, the cloth has found it's way to you. You need it. It has a purpose here. I want you to have it. I am happy knowing you have it."

She gazed lovingly up at the magnificent gold and ivory lace cloth, then quietly went away.

As the church began to fill on Christmas Eve, it was clear that the magnificent cloth was going to be a great success. It had been skillfully designed to look its best by candlelight.

The glorious gold and ivory lace cloth actually glowed in the candlelight! It cast lovely fine designs on the walls and ceiling of the church. Everyone looked around in wonderment, and a tranquil ambiance was cast over all.

After the service, the pastor stood at the doorway. Many people told him that the church looked more beautiful than ever before.

From the generous donations that were given, a few days later the pastor had the local jeweler who was also the clock-and-watch repairman come to repair the church chimes.

The repairman's gentle middle-aged face drew into a look of great astonishment! As if in a trance he walked right up to the beautiful cloth and looked intently!

"It is strange," he said in his soft accent. "Many years ago my wife - God rest her -- and I owned such a cloth. My wife put it on the table" -- and here he gave a big smiled -- "for holidays and when the Rabbi came to dinner."

The pastor suddenly became very excited. He told the jeweler about the woman who had been in church to get warm, saw the cloth, and recognized it to be hers! The startled jeweler clutched the pastor's arm. "Can it be?" he said through desperate tears.

Together the two got in touch with the family who had interviewed the women for the governess position, got her address, then they both drove to the city.

The jeweler knocked on the heavy, weathered, door. As it opened, there stood his beloved wife. The many years of separation were immediately washed away by their blissfully tears, as they held each other in loving embraces, never to be parted again. True love seems to find a way.

To all who hear this story, the joyful purpose of the storm was to knocked a hole in the wall of the church.

So Dear Ones, the next time something knocks a hole in your dreams, your goals - Just remember to have enough faith, enough belief in those dreams and goals, to lovingly and creatively hang your own brilliant lace cloth over the temporary mar. Then watch the miracles come.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

This story was originally written by Howard C. Schade for the December 1954 issue of Reader's Digest.  It is a fitting way to get an early start on the upcoming Christmas season.

P.S : I got this after a stormy day in my office and I was a bit shattered and my energy down, and this gave a my spirits again