<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8" standalone="no"?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><rss xmlns:itunes="http://www.itunes.com/dtds/podcast-1.0.dtd" version="2.0"><channel><title>NORMANNOW-INSPIRATIONAL</title><description>The following are inspirational stories, readings, and thoughts received by me from a variety of different sources.  Each is accompanied by an Audio Podcast  version for your listening enjoyment.  The names of the actual authors or sources where known, are published following each article.  It is my hope that each who reads or listens to these stories will be uplifted in spirit and thought……J. Botie Benson</description><managingEditor>noreply@blogger.com (J. Botie Benson)</managingEditor><pubDate>Tue, 4 Jul 2023 03:06:08 -0500</pubDate><generator>Blogger http://www.blogger.com</generator><openSearch:totalResults xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/">34</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/">1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/">25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/</link><language>en-us</language><item><title>Two Traveling Angels</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2006/12/two-traveling-angels.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Wed, 13 Dec 2006 12:27:00 -0600</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-116603447884537987</guid><description> Audio Podcast                   Two traveling angels stopped to spend the night in the home of a wealthy family. The family was rude and refused to let the angels stay in the mansion’s guest room. Instead the angels were given a small space in the cold basement. As they made their bed on the hard floor, the older angel saw a hole in the wall and repaired it. When the younger angel asked why, the</description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">1</thr:total></item><item><title>THE PICKLE JAR</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2006/08/pickle-jar.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Thu, 10 Aug 2006 14:37:00 -0500</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-115523877204513807</guid><description> Audio Podcast                  The pickle jar as far back as I can remember sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents' bedroom. When he got ready for bed, Dad would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar.       As a small boy I was always fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were dropped into the jar. They landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty. </description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total></item><item><title>WOMAN AND A FORK</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2006/07/woman-and-fork.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Tue, 18 Jul 2006 15:37:00 -0500</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-115325508957903225</guid><description>Audio PodcastThere was a young woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and had been given three months to live. Therefore, as she was getting her things "in order," she contacted her Pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes.She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she </description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total></item><item><title>THE INTEGRITY OF "UGLY"</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2006/05/integrity-of-ugly.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Wed, 3 May 2006 16:14:00 -0500</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-114669095079486543</guid><description>Audio PodcastEveryone in the apartment complex that I that lived in knew who Ugly was.Ugly was the resident tomcat. Ugly loved three things in this world: fighting, eating garbage, and, shall we say, love. The combination of these things combined with a life spent outside had their effect on Ugly. To start with, he had only one eye and where the other should have been was a gaping hole. He was </description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total></item><item><title>Did God Create Everything?</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2006/02/did-god-create-everything.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Wed, 22 Feb 2006 15:37:00 -0600</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-114064431522753555</guid><description>Audio Podcast                    This is a really great answer to a question you may be asked or have asked. Did God create everything that exists? Does evil exist? Did God create evil?         A University professor at a well-known institution of higher learning challenged his students with this question. "Did God create everything that exists?" A student bravely replied "Yes He did". "God </description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">2</thr:total></item><item><title>A Thousand Marbles</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2006/01/thousand-marbles.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Mon, 9 Jan 2006 15:08:00 -0600</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-113684100077765050</guid><description> Audio Podcast                       A friend sent this to me, so I to you, my friend.                                                    The older I get, the more I enjoy Saturday mornings.  Perhaps it's the quiet solitude that comes with being the first to rise, or maybe it's the unbounded joy of not having to be at work.  Either way, the first few hours of a Saturday morning are most enjoyable</description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total></item><item><title>Always believe in MIRACLES!</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2005/12/always-believe-in-miracles.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Wed, 21 Dec 2005 16:54:00 -0600</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-113520574359927448</guid><description>Audio Podcast                       Three years ago, a little boy and his grandmother came to see Santa at  Mayfair Mall in Wisconsin.  The child climbed up on his lap, holding a  picture of a little girl.  "Who is this?" asked Santa, smiling.  "Your friend?  Your sister?”                                                    "Yes, Santa," he replied.  "My sister, Sarah, who is very sick," he said  </description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total></item><item><title>57 Cents</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2005/12/57-cents.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Fri, 9 Dec 2005 15:56:00 -0600</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-113416542609088175</guid><description> Audio Podcast                       A little girl stood near a small church from which she had been turned away because it was "too crowded."           "I can't go to Sunday School," she sobbed to the pastor as he walked by. Seeing her shabby, unkempt appearance, the pastor guessed the reason and, taking her by the hand, took her inside and found a place for her in the Sunday school class. The </description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total></item><item><title>Mr. Common Sense</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2005/11/mr-common-sense.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Wed, 30 Nov 2005 14:29:00 -0600</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-113338266832939903</guid><description> Audio Podcast                       Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Mr. Common Sense.           Mr. Sense had been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such value lessons as knowing when to come in out of the rain, why the early bird gets the</description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total></item><item><title>The Big Wheel Truck Stop</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2005/11/big-wheel-truck-stop.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Tue, 22 Nov 2005 14:00:00 -0600</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-113268968564956293</guid><description> Audio Podcast                     In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry babies and just 75 cents in my pocket. Their father was gone. The boys ranged from three months to seven years; their sister was two. Their Dad had never been much more than a presence they feared. Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the gravel driveway they would scramble to hide under their beds. He </description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total></item><item><title>The Tablecloth</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2005/10/tablecloth.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Mon, 24 Oct 2005 14:49:00 -0500</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-113018413792114282</guid><description>Audio PodcastTrue Story - submitted by Pastor Rob ReidThe brand new pastor and his wife, newly assigned to their first ministry to reopen a church in suburban Brooklyn, arrived in early October excited about their opportunities. When they saw their church, it was very run down and needed much work. They set a goal to have everything done in time to have their first service on Christmas Eve.They </description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total></item><item><title>The Positive Person</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2005/09/positive-person.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Wed, 7 Sep 2005 15:33:00 -0500</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-112612529896161565</guid><description> Audio Podcast                       Michael is the kind of guy you love to hate. He is always in a good mood and always has something positive to say. When someone would ask him how he was doing, he would reply, "If I were any better, I would be twins!" He was a natural motivator.           If an employee was having a bad day, Michael was there telling the employee how to look on the positive </description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total></item><item><title>The Wreck on Highway 109 (by Ruth Gillis)</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2005/08/wreck-on-highway-109-by-ruth-gillis.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Thu, 25 Aug 2005 13:00:00 -0500</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-112499286379187245</guid><description>A drunk man in an Oldsmobilethey said had run the lightthat caused the six-car pileupon 109 that night.When broken bodies lay aboutand blood was everywhere,the sirens screamed out elegies,for death was in the air.                                       A mother, trapped inside her car,was heard above the noise;her plaintive plea near split the air:"Oh, God, please spare my boys!"She fought to </description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total></item><item><title>Smell The Rain</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2005/08/smell-rain.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Wed, 10 Aug 2005 14:23:00 -0500</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-112370195624563144</guid><description> Audio PodcastA cold March wind danced around the dead of night in Dallas as the doctor     walked into the small hospital room of Diana Blessing. She was still groggy     from surgery.  Her husband, David, held her hand as they braced themselves     for the latest news.                       That afternoon of March 10, 1991, complications had forced Diana, only     24-weeks pregnant, to undergo </description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">1</thr:total></item><item><title>The Window</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2005/06/window.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Wed, 29 Jun 2005 16:13:00 -0500</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-112007995833977563</guid><description> Audio PodcastTwo men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their </description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total></item><item><title>Grandpa's Hand</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2005/06/grandpas-hand.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Tue, 14 Jun 2005 17:37:00 -0500</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-111878910946794357</guid><description> Audio Podcast                       Grandpa, some ninety plus years, sat feebly on the patio bench.  He didn't move, just sat with his head down staring at his hands.  When I sat down beside him he didn't acknowledge my presence and the longer I sat I wondered if he was OK.     Finally, not really wanting to disturb him but wanting to check on him at the same time, I asked him if he was OK.  He </description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total></item><item><title>The List</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2005/06/list.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Mon, 6 Jun 2005 15:27:00 -0500</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-111808966848451607</guid><description> Audio Podcast                       One day a teacher asked her students to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name.           Then she told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down.     It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment, and as the </description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total></item><item><title>Bank Account Of Memories</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2005/05/bank-account-of-memories.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Fri, 27 May 2005 16:52:00 -0500</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-111723084125456518</guid><description> Audio Podcast                      The 92-year-old, petite, well-poised and proud lady, who is fully dressed each morning by eight o'clock, with her hair fashionably coifed and makeup perfectly applied, even though she is legally blind, moved to a nursing home today.           Her husband of 70 years recently passed away, making the move necessary.           After many hours of waiting patiently</description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total></item><item><title>Jimmy's Story.........</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2005/05/jimmys-story.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Fri, 13 May 2005 13:23:00 -0500</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-111600965528985451</guid><description> Audio Podcast                     Sally jumped up as soon as she saw the surgeon come out of the operating room. She said: "How is my little boy? Is he going to be all right? When can I see him?"        The surgeon said, "I'm sorry. We did all we could, but your boy didn't make it."        Sally said, "Why do little children get cancer? Doesn't God care any more? Where were you, God, when my son</description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total></item><item><title>The Old Rusty Bird Cage</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2005/04/old-rusty-bird-cage.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Fri, 29 Apr 2005 17:06:00 -0500</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-111481256677108260</guid><description>Audio PodcastThere once was a man named George Thomas, pastor in a small New England town. One Easter Sunday morning he came to the Church carrying a rusty, bent, old bird cage, and set it by the pulpit. Eyebrows were raised and, as if in response, Pastor Thomas began to speak..."I was walking through town yesterday when I saw a young boy coming toward me swinging this bird cage. On the bottom of</description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total></item><item><title>A Treasure In A Box</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2005/04/treasure-in-box.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Fri, 22 Apr 2005 18:37:00 -0500</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-111421311210869427</guid><description> Audio Podcast                   A young man learns what's most important in life from the guy next door.It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man. College, girls, career, and life itself got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear across the country in pursuit of his dreams. There, in the rush of his busy life, Jack had little time to think about the past and often no time to spend </description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total></item><item><title>The Prodigy</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2005/04/prodigy.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Tue, 5 Apr 2005 14:26:00 -0500</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-111272933314125967</guid><description>Audio PodcastAt the prodding of my friends, I am writing this story. My name is Mildred Hondorf. I am a former elementary school music teacher from Des Moines, Iowa. I've always supplemented my income by teaching piano lessons-something I've done for over 30 years. Over the years I found that children have many levels of musical ability. I've never had the pleasure of having a prodigy though I </description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total></item><item><title>A True Friend</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2005/03/true-friend.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Tue, 29 Mar 2005 16:49:00 -0600</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-111213691491677231</guid><description>Audio PodcastOne day, when I was a freshman in high school, I saw a kid from my class was walking home from school. His name was Kyle. It looked like he was carrying all of his books. I thought to myself, "Why would anyone bring home all his books on a Friday? He must really be a nerd."I had quite a weekend planned (parties, and a football game with friends tomorrow afternoon), so I shrugged my </description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total></item><item><title>Potato Chips</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2005/03/potato-chips.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Mon, 21 Mar 2005 14:16:00 -0600</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-111143639530829146</guid><description>Audio Podcast A little boy wanted to meet God. He knew it was a long trip to where God lived, so he packed his suitcase with a bag of potato chips and a six-pack of root beer and started his journey.  When he had gone about three blocks, he met an old woman. She was sitting in the park, just staring at some pigeons. The boy sat down next to her and opened his suitcases. He was about to take a </description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total></item><item><title>Just Checking In</title><link>http://normannow.blogspot.com/2005/03/just-checking-in.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous)</author><pubDate>Thu, 17 Mar 2005 14:37:00 -0600</pubDate><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10372699.post-111109197374546763</guid><description>Audio Podcast  A minister passing through his church in the middle of the day, Decided to pause by the altar and see who had come to pray.  Just then the back door opened, a man came down the aisle, The minister frowned as he saw the man hadn't shaved in a while.  His shirt was kinda shabby and his coat was worn and frayed, the man knelt, he bowed his head, then rose and walked away.  In the days</description><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total></item></channel></rss>