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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;D0UERX0-cSp7ImA9WxNUFEo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821535774702330514</id><updated>2009-11-05T18:40:04.359-08:00</updated><title>Inspirations from the Net</title><subtitle type="html">Inspirational or Motivational Stories, Tales, Anecdotes, Photos, and Videos</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>xujiren</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>313</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><link rel="self" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/netinspirations" type="application/atom+xml" /><feedburner:emailServiceId>netinspirations</feedburner:emailServiceId><feedburner:feedburnerHostname>http://feedburner.google.com</feedburner:feedburnerHostname><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUIBQXw-cCp7ImA9WxNVFk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821535774702330514.post-2333481539024973544</id><published>2009-10-26T18:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-26T18:39:10.258-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-26T18:39:10.258-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Love" /><title>Movie Love Quotes</title><content type="html">&lt;object width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/6jaenOVhtzM&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/6jaenOVhtzM&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3821535774702330514-2333481539024973544?l=netinspirations.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/zYfppU1EHOxKqslZuSROSurgORs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/zYfppU1EHOxKqslZuSROSurgORs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/netinspirations/~4/avH7hk33cQg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/feeds/2333481539024973544/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3821535774702330514&amp;postID=2333481539024973544" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/2333481539024973544?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/2333481539024973544?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/netinspirations/~3/avH7hk33cQg/movie-love-quotes.html" title="Movie Love Quotes" /><author><name>xujiren</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="15251500917813943997" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/2009/10/movie-love-quotes.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0UER3k8eSp7ImA9WxNTEk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821535774702330514.post-530259861215852360</id><published>2009-08-13T23:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-13T23:26:46.771-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-13T23:26:46.771-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Attitude" /><title>Attitudes</title><content type="html">Accept that some days you're the pigeon, and some days you're the statue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Always keep your words soft and sweet, just in case you have to eat them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Always wear stuff that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Drive carefully. It's not only cars that can be "recalled" by their maker.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you can't be kind, at least have the decency to be vague.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you lend someone $20 and never see that person again, it was probably worth it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It may be that your sole purpose in life is simply to be kind to others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Never put both feet in your mouth at the same time, because then you won't have a leg to stand on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nobody cares if you can't dance well. Just get up and dance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since it's the early worm that gets eaten by the bird, sleep late.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The second mouse gets the cheese.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When everything's coming your way, you're in the wrong lane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Birthdays are good for you. The more you have, the longer you live.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You may be only one person in the world, but you may also be the world to one person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some mistakes are too much fun to only make once.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We could learn a lot from crayons... Some are sharp, some are pretty and some are dull. Some have weird names, and all are different colors, but they all have to live in the same box.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A truly happy person is one who can enjoy the scenery on a detour.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3821535774702330514-530259861215852360?l=netinspirations.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Yo5uZSpbxmjr6--KMw9_iOawluI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Yo5uZSpbxmjr6--KMw9_iOawluI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/netinspirations/~4/H2deeh-e60A" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/feeds/530259861215852360/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3821535774702330514&amp;postID=530259861215852360" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/530259861215852360?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/530259861215852360?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/netinspirations/~3/H2deeh-e60A/attitudes.html" title="Attitudes" /><author><name>xujiren</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="15251500917813943997" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/2009/08/attitudes.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0cCSXk9cSp7ImA9WxNTEk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821535774702330514.post-4979178490064196590</id><published>2009-08-13T23:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-13T23:24:28.769-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-13T23:24:28.769-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Stress" /><title>Stress</title><content type="html">A lecturer in explaining stress management to an audience, raised a glass of water and asked, "How heavy is this glass of water?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Answers called out ranged from 20g to 500g.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lecturer replied, "The absolute weight doesn't matter. It depends on how long you try to hold it. If I hold it f or a minute, that's not a problem. If I hold it for an hour, I'll have an ache in my right arm. If I hold it for a day, you'll have to call an ambulance. In each case, it's the same weight, but the longer I hold it, the heavier it becomes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He continued, "And that's the way it is with stress management. If we carry our burdens all the time, sooner or later, As the burden becomes increasingly heavy. We won't be able to carry on. As with the glass of water, you have to put it down for a while and rest before holding it again. When we're refreshed, we can carry on with the burden. So, before you return home tonight, put the burden of work down. Don't carry it home. You can pick it up tomorrow. Whatever burdens you're carrying now, Let them down for a moment if you can."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So, my friend, Put down anything that may be a burden to you right now. Don't pick it up again until after you've rested a while."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3821535774702330514-4979178490064196590?l=netinspirations.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qzcjmY95MQbRDnX82i-3QB5rmHM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qzcjmY95MQbRDnX82i-3QB5rmHM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/netinspirations/~4/j3gO0MzU_jg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/feeds/4979178490064196590/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3821535774702330514&amp;postID=4979178490064196590" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/4979178490064196590?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/4979178490064196590?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/netinspirations/~3/j3gO0MzU_jg/stress.html" title="Stress" /><author><name>xujiren</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="15251500917813943997" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/2009/08/stress.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C08GSHo6cSp7ImA9WxJbGUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821535774702330514.post-1194450079038160245</id><published>2009-07-30T15:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-30T15:10:29.419-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-07-30T15:10:29.419-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Lessons" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Life" /><title>I've Learned</title><content type="html">I've learned...that life is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer it gets to the end, the faster it goes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've learned...that we should be glad God doesn't give us everything we  ask for.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've learned...that money doesn't buy class.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've learned...that it's those small daily happenings that make life so  spectacular. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've learned...that under everyone's hard shell is someone who wants to  be appreciated and loved! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've learned...that the Lord didn't do it all in one day. What makes me think I can?   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've learned...that to ignore the facts does not change the facts.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've learned...that the less time I have to work, the more things I get  done.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3821535774702330514-1194450079038160245?l=netinspirations.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8ixr3Wg0OwRu6mpBc67ZQi0lxkk/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/8ixr3Wg0OwRu6mpBc67ZQi0lxkk/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/netinspirations/~4/tgK-3HXz_CU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/feeds/1194450079038160245/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3821535774702330514&amp;postID=1194450079038160245" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/1194450079038160245?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/1194450079038160245?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/netinspirations/~3/tgK-3HXz_CU/ive-learned.html" title="I've Learned" /><author><name>xujiren</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="15251500917813943997" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/2009/07/ive-learned.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEIAR3wzcSp7ImA9WxJSFks.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821535774702330514.post-1082008964254776091</id><published>2009-05-06T19:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T19:15:46.289-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-05-06T19:15:46.289-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Perseverance" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Abraham Lincoln" /><title>Abraham Lincoln never quit.</title><content type="html">Born into poverty, Abraham Lincoln was faced with defeat throughout his life. He lost eight elections, failed twice in business and suffered a nervous breakdown. He could have quit many times - but he didn’t and because he didn’t quit, he became one of the greatest presidents in the United States history.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is a sketch of Lincoln’s road to the White House:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    * 1816 His family was forced out of their home. He had to work to support them.&lt;br /&gt;    * 1818 His mother died.&lt;br /&gt;    * 1831 Failed in business.&lt;br /&gt;    * 1832 Ran for state legislature - lost.&lt;br /&gt;    * 1832 Also lost his job - wanted to go to law school but couldn’t get in.&lt;br /&gt;    * 1833 Borrowed money from a friend to begin a business and by the end of the year he was bankrupt. He spent the next 17 years of his life paying off this debt.&lt;br /&gt;    * 1834 Ran for state legislature again - won.&lt;br /&gt;    * 1835 Was engaged to be married, sweetheart died and his heart was broken.&lt;br /&gt;    * 1836 Had a total nervous breakdown and was in bed for six months.&lt;br /&gt;    * 1838 Sought to become speaker of the state legislature - defeated.&lt;br /&gt;    * 1840 Sought to become elector - defeated.&lt;br /&gt;    * 1843 Ran for Congress - lost.&lt;br /&gt;    * 1846 Ran for Congress again - this time he won - went to Washington and did a good job.&lt;br /&gt;    * 1848 Ran for re-election to Congress - lost.&lt;br /&gt;    * 1849 Sought the job of land officer in his home state - rejected.&lt;br /&gt;    * 1854 Ran for Senate of the United States - lost.&lt;br /&gt;    * 1856 Sought Vice-Presidential nomination at his party’s national convention - got less than 100 votes.&lt;br /&gt;    * 1858 Ran for U.S. Senate again - he lost again&lt;br /&gt;    * 1860 Elected president of the United States.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3821535774702330514-1082008964254776091?l=netinspirations.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nLIexxVFyZOK3grheNEj4mTPAWg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/nLIexxVFyZOK3grheNEj4mTPAWg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/netinspirations/~4/kq1oVHdV6VU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/feeds/1082008964254776091/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3821535774702330514&amp;postID=1082008964254776091" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/1082008964254776091?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/1082008964254776091?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/netinspirations/~3/kq1oVHdV6VU/abraham-lincoln-never-quit.html" title="Abraham Lincoln never quit." /><author><name>xujiren</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="15251500917813943997" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/2009/05/abraham-lincoln-never-quit.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEUAQXcyfSp7ImA9WxJSFks.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821535774702330514.post-3271512758025343379</id><published>2009-05-06T19:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T19:10:40.995-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-05-06T19:10:40.995-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Sportsmanship" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Helping Others" /><title>Seattle Special Olympics</title><content type="html">A few years ago at the Seattle Special Olympics, nine contestants, all physically or mentally disabled, assembled at the starting line for the 100 yard dash. At the gun, they all started out, not exactly in a dash, but with a relish to run the race to the finish and win. All, that is, except one boy who stumbled on the asphalt, tumbled over a couple of times and began to cry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other eight heard the boy. They slowed down and looked back. They all turned around and went back. Every one of them. One girl with Down’s Syndrome bent down and kissed him and said,"This will make it better." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All nine linked arms and walked across the finish line together. Everyone in the stadium stood, and the cheering went on for several minutes. People who were there are still telling the story. Why? Because deep down we know one thing. What matters most in this life is more than winning for ourselves. What truly matters in this life is helping others win, even if it means slowing down and changing our course.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3821535774702330514-3271512758025343379?l=netinspirations.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ylhQ5Io0-EK0W3ClTZx3NcXzgtg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ylhQ5Io0-EK0W3ClTZx3NcXzgtg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/netinspirations/~4/8TjD1jbtSm0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/feeds/4033406802846480160/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3821535774702330514&amp;postID=4033406802846480160" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/4033406802846480160?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/4033406802846480160?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/netinspirations/~3/8TjD1jbtSm0/if-i-had-my-life-to-live-over.html" title="If I had my life to live over" /><author><name>xujiren</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="15251500917813943997" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/2009/05/if-i-had-my-life-to-live-over.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkUDQX8yfCp7ImA9WxJTGEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821535774702330514.post-7570620317677593942</id><published>2009-04-27T19:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-27T20:11:10.194-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-04-27T20:11:10.194-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Parental Love" /><title>The Umbrella</title><content type="html">From &lt;a href="http://www.chikkada.com/forums/index.php?topic=863.0"&gt;Chikkada&lt;/a&gt; (edited for brevity and clarity)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;based on a true story&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a city boy who grew up in a slum area with my poor and big family. As a child, I never cared for I wore, what we ate, or if I was neat or not. All I wanted was to play outside all day long that I often skipped my classes just to be with my barkada, my group of friends whom we call ourselves kalye boys or street boys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We'd usually go by the railroad to catch spiders and put them either in match boxes or in brooms and watch them fight each other. And oftentimes, right about 7pm, when my Inay (mother) gets home from the factory and catches me playing outside, she would scold me. And my Itay (father) will tell my Inay to stop scolding me since for him it was okay for boys to have fun as long as they are playing outside and not taking drugs or alcohol.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For most of my elementary days, I followed the same routine as did my elder brothers who were also often cutting classes and going home late. I didn't care about school. I didn't care about my assignments or projects. I also didn't care about my brothers or sisters, what they did or what they were up to. I just wanted to have fun with the kalye boys and stay by the railroad until the sun sets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But one day, everything changed. It was a Saturday morning and I was watching Bioman. Beside me was my Itay who had been sick for about a week and therefore was unable to go to the market to sell goods.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My eldest sister, a college student then, asked Inay for 20 pesos (about 50 cents then) to commute to school as she had a exam that afternoon and had go to school badly. Sometimes, in order to help Inay save money, my sister will not go to school except when there's a test or presentation in their class. Actually my sister is intelligent and she's been very good in school since elementary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inay told her she had no money and said maybe she can call her prof and ask to have a special test for her. But my sister refused to do so. She kept telling my Inay that it is impossible because it was a major subject and she needed to take the exam.&lt;br /&gt;Then she asked Inay to give her even just the fare going to school and she will ask friends for money for her fare home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inay paused for a while, then said, "Okay. I will go to Aling Mary and ask if I can borrow from her." Aling Mary is the owner of the small convenience store three blocks away. Inay used to be able to buy from her on credit for stuff like canned goods, coffee, sugar, or rice. Aling Mary was nice to Inay (and us), but when Inay wasn't able to pay her long list of debts, she began humiliating Inay (and sometimes us) in front of our neighbors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inay left and came back after 30 minutes. Her face was pale. I knew right away Aling Mary must have confronted her with our debts. I looked back at the television as if I didn't care and watched Magmaman. I heard my Itay coughing hard and asking my youngest brother to give him a glass of water. Though my eyes were watching the show, my ears were listening to the soft whispers of Inay to my sister.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I heard Inay said, "Aling Mary didn't lend me money, but don't worry I will go to your Auntie Audie's house to borrow money."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister was sad and asked, "How can you go there? You don't have any money? How can you ride the jeepney and pay the driver if you don't have money?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inay just said, "I will go now. I'll be back before 12 noon." She then grabbed her little worn umbrella and left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Auntie Audie is my Itay's older sister. She's a little bit wealthy, with her own apartments, vulcanizing shop, not to mention her 5/6 lending businesses. Her house is actually a little bit far from us. One Jeepney ride to get there. The distance is about from La Salle Taft to Manila Science HS, meaning it is a bit far to walk, especially under the scorching sun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Came 12 noon and Inay has not returned. My sister was already ready to leave and kept pacing back and forth by our main door. I was eating my lunch while Itay was sleeping in the folding bed. After lunch, I went out to fetch a pail of water from the pump outside house. In my rush, I almost stumbled against Inay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luckily I got hold of her. Her arms were so hot. Probably because it was past 12 noon and the sun was really hot. I guided her inside the house and gave her a seat.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was holding a 50 peso bill and asked my sister to come to her. I didn't know why I was still standing there. I was supposed to wash the dishes and yet I felt something was wrong. I could see it in Inay's face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inay asked my younger brother for a glass of cold water. But before he could stand up, I walked to the table and got Inay her a glass of water. After drinking, she started to speak, "Children, I went to your Auntie Audie's place and was told she was at the shop. I went to the shop and asked her if I could borrow money for your sister's fare. But she said she did not have any money as she has not been able to get her customers to pay up. So I started walking back here. But when I was near I bumped into Mareng Shella, the godmother of your youngest brother. We talked briefly and she asked me to sew the attire of her child who is graduating from kindergarten. She gave me a downpayment of 50 pesos. Thank God. There are still angels around us."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After that, just to confirm, I asked her if she had walked from our place to Auntie Audie's place. She answered YES. I looked outside. The weather was scorching hot. I looked back at Inay's umbrella. It was torn and the handle was broken - it was unusable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister cried. So did my younger siblings. My sister hugged Inay and said "I will finish my study and I promise you I will help you Inay."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inay wiped off her tears and said, "Don't cry, go on. You might be late. You take care and good luck on your test." All the while my little brothers and sisters continued hugging Inay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I kept my tears from falling. And as I looked at Itay I saw that he was awake and I saw him looking at us with tears in his eyes. When he saw me looking at him, he looked away to hide his feelings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's life, I told myself. From then on I realized that our parents will do everything for their children. When their child is in need, nothing is impossible. Though that day was hot, Inay was able to walk from our house to Auntie Audie's place, then back to our house with a broken umbrella just to borrow money for my sister who needed to go to school for a test. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's really heartbreaking. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When my older brothers learned what happened, they all got mad at Auntie Audie. How can she do that knowing that she's our father's sister?  But Inay stopped us from getting too much of our emotions. She told us to be good and study harder. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know my parents are poor, but they have a good heart. They may not be good providers but they do their best to support our big family. Auntie Audie is rich but she turned her back on my Inay, on us. But you know what? I took that as a challenge. We all did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I studied hard. We all did. And all 12 siblings graduated from college. All are public school graduates. Some graduated with honors while others (like  me) are licensed professionals.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We also helped ourselves. Whoever graduated first helped the next graduating brother or sister financially. Lucky for the youngest I guess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inay, who is a retired factory worker in a clothing company, now has her own  tailoring  business. Itay is now doing some taxi business with the help of our eldest sister who works as an accountant abroad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inay and Itay now have two accountants, an economist, a teacher, a management graduate, a chemist, two engineers, a biologist, an IT specialist, a seaman, and a lawyer.  We all graduated from different fields but still understand one another. And once a year we all get together (some of us are working abroad) and have so much as we are actually a barkada within our own family.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3821535774702330514-7570620317677593942?l=netinspirations.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/CCCKksK9fvCCZoanZQ63qwsf0VA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/CCCKksK9fvCCZoanZQ63qwsf0VA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/netinspirations/~4/OmNK1lTfO7M" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/feeds/7570620317677593942/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3821535774702330514&amp;postID=7570620317677593942" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/7570620317677593942?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/7570620317677593942?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/netinspirations/~3/OmNK1lTfO7M/umbrella.html" title="The Umbrella" /><author><name>xujiren</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="15251500917813943997" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/2009/04/umbrella.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkMMR38zeip7ImA9WxVaGEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821535774702330514.post-676913039131181933</id><published>2009-04-15T23:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-15T23:48:06.182-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-04-15T23:48:06.182-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Humility" /><title>‘Wang-wang’</title><content type="html">From &lt;a href="http://opinion.inquirer.net/inquireropinion/editorial/view/20090416-199621/Wang-wang"&gt;The Philippine Inquirer&lt;/a&gt; -&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The "interim first lady" of East Timor, Jacqueline Aquino Siapno, is a Filipina political scientist married to Fernando de Araujo, president of the country’s National Parliament. She was back in the Philippines recently, for what she called a private visit. It was not the determinedly private nature of her visit that caught our attention; it was the resolutely modest way she went a-visiting. To quote our report - "After exchanging greetings [at the Manila airport] they [Jackie S. and her mother] took a cab and headed to a bus terminal in Pasay City where they boarded a bus bound for her native Dagupan. The Friday night trip took five hours. At the station, they hailed a tricycle and asked to be taken to their house..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This isn’t merely a charming anecdote: it is an indirect indictment of the way most public officials in the Philippines conduct themselves. It reminds us of the inexhaustibly surprising quality of human nature. But it makes for a front-page story because it offers a contrast to the “wang-wang” culture of our political VIPs, both high and petty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ms Siapno may not know the meaning of “wang-wang”—she has lived abroad for most of her adult life, earning a Ph.D. from the UC Berkeley—but she should recognize the self-importance her old country’s politicians attach to themselves. Wang-wang is the siren that "very important people" acquire, whether they ride unescorted or as part of a convoy; the sound is a sign that the usual (traffic) rules do not apply to VIPs. They are, obviously, too important.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alluded officials will object, after all her visit was a private affair. There is no comparison with their official travel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, but they would miss the point. Jackie S. could have used or borrowed a private vehicle. That she did not consider herself too good for an ordinary bus or a rickety tricycle tells us more about the dignity of public office than flashing lights and wailing sirens ever can.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But East Timor is a small, impoverished country. There is no comparison.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, they would miss the point. Substantial government resources are spent every year to provide public officials with the illusion that we are already a rich country. How many hundreds of soldiers, how many thousands of policemen, are assigned to public officials as personal security? Does a vice mayor of a second-class municipality really need a close-in bodyguard? Does a Cabinet secretary making the rounds in Metro Manila really need two beige-colored, red-plated AUVs to shadow his gas-guzzling SUV?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are not asking public officials to use public transportation although that would amount to a moral revolution. We are only asking them to reconsider the sense of entitlement, the sense of inflated dignity they display because of their complicity in the wang-wang culture. Because in her simplicity, in her sure sense of self, Jackie S. reminds us how spoiled, self-indulgent, and corrupt many of our high-riding officials have become.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3821535774702330514-676913039131181933?l=netinspirations.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2SBV2rSNLu0T54WCBND5uz6tnWs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/2SBV2rSNLu0T54WCBND5uz6tnWs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/netinspirations/~4/XexCXT6LzC8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/feeds/676913039131181933/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3821535774702330514&amp;postID=676913039131181933" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/676913039131181933?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/676913039131181933?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/netinspirations/~3/XexCXT6LzC8/wang-wang.html" title="‘Wang-wang’" /><author><name>xujiren</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="15251500917813943997" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/2009/04/wang-wang.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEIFSHs7eyp7ImA9WxVbFEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821535774702330514.post-6195158622370066648</id><published>2009-03-30T17:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-30T18:21:59.503-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-03-30T18:21:59.503-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Humility" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Lucio Tan" /><title>Humility in High Places</title><content type="html">From &lt;a href="http://www.philstar.com/Article.aspx?articleId=453713&amp;publicationSubCategoryId=88"&gt;The Philippine Star&lt;/a&gt; -&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last November, Filipino businessman J. Castro and his wife were traveling to Los Angeles from Manila on Philippine Airline flight PR 102 and were seated on Row 4 of the newly-reconfigured Business Class section of the Boeing 747-400 that was assigned to their route.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After they were settled in their seats and just before take-off, they decided to try out the features of the high-tech seats of the reconfigured Boeing. Alas, Castro’s seat wouldn’t recline. His wife’s seat also wouldn’t recline!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The flight attendants tried to help out, but it seemed the high-tech seats were not programmed to respond to manual manipulations. They were stuck. The plane was ready to take off and the Castros were faced with the prospect of an uncomfortable flight ahead. The Castros politely but firmly told the flight purser that they wanted to be reseated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The purser checked out the seating list but told the couple there were no other available seats that night. The Castros then told the purser that rather than endure a 12-hour flight sitting up straight for the price of a Business Class ticket, they would rather just disembark.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The plane doors were already shut, but the Castros were adamant. When a passenger disembarks, his luggage has to be offloaded, too, and this could easily cause a delay of one hour. Stuck in an aircraft on the tarmac, the rest of the passengers were going to be more than irate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The purser had to think fast. He then asked Mrs. Castro if she was willing to take the one empty seat on Row 1, probably one of the best two seats on the house. The seat beside it was occupied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“No, I want to be seated beside my husband, or we both disembark,” she said, not willing to leave her husband on the immovable Row 4 seat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The purser was left with one last choice. He then approached the passenger on Seat 1C and respectfully whispered something to him. The passenger on Seat 1C then stood up and walked to the Castros with a very apologetic look on his face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The purser then told the Castros, "Mr. Lucio Tan will give up his seat for you." (Mr. Tan just happens to own Philippine Airlines and serves as its chairman.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By this time the Castros had recognized the PAL chairman. They were stunned by his gesture, and by the expression on his face, which seemed to be more apologetic than annoyed. But since Mrs. Castro was not feeling well and could not really go 12 hours without reclining, they accepted the offer to exchange seats with the man who owned the airline.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Castro told me that each time he went to the toilet he would steal a glance at Tan, who was seating upright during the entire flight, sometimes with his eyes closed. Sometimes he would be scribbling on lined yellow paper. He didn’t use a laptop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sources in PAL say Tan gave up his seat because he didn’t want the flight to be delayed. It is said that he abhors delayed flights. Thus, instead of inconveniencing all 400 passengers on the flight, he opted to inconvenience himself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Granted that his decision was also a sound business decision — the airline would have lost money and a lot of goodwill with the delay — what was amazing was that he himself was willing to bear the cost (and I’m not just talking about a stiff neck) of his decision.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tan is among the five richest men in the Philippines. And the Castros remain among PAL’s many loyal customers today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3821535774702330514-6195158622370066648?l=netinspirations.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/02AY0mxw5Tv9m1ok8PLhktQa8ns/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/02AY0mxw5Tv9m1ok8PLhktQa8ns/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/netinspirations/~4/R5idpZPolOQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/feeds/6195158622370066648/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3821535774702330514&amp;postID=6195158622370066648" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/6195158622370066648?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/6195158622370066648?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/netinspirations/~3/R5idpZPolOQ/humility-in-high-places.html" title="Humility in High Places" /><author><name>xujiren</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="15251500917813943997" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/2009/03/humility-in-high-places.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUAGQXwyfCp7ImA9WxVbE0w.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821535774702330514.post-6792795483972635177</id><published>2009-03-29T00:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-29T01:02:00.294-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-03-29T01:02:00.294-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Prayers" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="God" /><title>Does God Still Answer Prayers?</title><content type="html">Submitted by Bernie H. -&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A young man had been to Wednesday Night Bible Study. The Pastor had shared about listening to God and obeying the Lord's voice. The young man couldn't help but wonder, "Does God still speak to people?' &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After service, he went out with some friends for coffee and pie and they discussed the message. Several different ones talked about how God had led them in different ways. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was about ten o'clock when the young man started  driving home. Sitting in his car, he just began to pray, "God...If you still speak to people, speak to me. I will listen... I will do my best to obey." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As he drove down the main street of his town, he had the strangest thought to stop and buy a gallon of milk. He shook his head and said out loud, "God is that you?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He didn't get a reply and started on toward home. But again, the thought, buy a gallon of milk. The young man thought about Samuel and how he didn't recognize the voice of God, and how little Samuel ran to Eli. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Okay, God, in case that is you, I will buy the milk." It didn't seem like too hard a test of obedience. He could always use the milk. He stopped and purchased the gallon of milk and started off toward home. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As he passed Seventh Street, he again felt the urge, "Turn Down that street." This is crazy he thought, and drove on past the intersection. Again, he felt that he should turn down Seventh Street. At the next intersection, he turned back and headed down Seventh.  Half jokingly, he said out loud, "Okay, God, I will."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He drove several blocks, when suddenly, he felt like he should stop. He pulled over to the curb and looked around. He was in a semi-commercial area of town. It wasn't the best but it wasn't the worst of neighborhoods either.  The businesses were closed and most of the houses looked dark like the people were already in bed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, he sensed something, "Go and give the milk to the people in the house across the street." The young man looked at the house. It was dark and it looked like the people were either gone or they were already asleep...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He started to open the door and then sat back in the car seat. "Lord, this is insane. Those people are asleep and if I wake them up, they are going to be mad and I will look stupid." Again, he felt like he should go and give the milk. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, he opened the door, 'Okay God, if this is you, I will go to the door and I will give them the milk. If you want me to look like a crazy person, okay. I want to be obedient.. I guess that will count for some thing, but if they don't answer right away, I am out of here." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He walked across the street and rang the bell. He could hear some noise inside. A man's voice yelled out, "Who is it? What do you want?" Then the door opened before the young man could get away. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man was standing there in his jeans and T-shirt. He looked like he just got out of bed. He had a strange look on his face and he didn't seem too happy to have some stranger standing on his doorstep, "What is it?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The young man thrust out the gallon of milk, "Here, I brought this to you." The man took the milk and rushed down a hallway. Then from down the hall came a woman carrying the milk toward the kitchen. The man was following her holding a baby. The baby was crying. The man had tears streaming down his face. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man began speaking and half crying, "We were just praying. We had some big bills this month and we ran out of money. We didn't have any milk for our baby... I was just praying and asking God to show me how to get some milk."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His wife in the kitchen yelled out, "I asked Him to send an Angel with some. Are you an Angel?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The young man reached into his wallet and pulled out all the money he had on him and put in the man's hand. He turned and walked back toward his car and the tears were streaming down his face.  He knew then that God still answers prayers.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3821535774702330514-6792795483972635177?l=netinspirations.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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The man was enjoying the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to him that he was dead. He remembered dying, and that the dog walking beside him had been dead for years. He wondered where the road was leading them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble. At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall arch that glowed in the sunlight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he was standing before it he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother-of-pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold. He and the dog walked toward the gate and, as he got closer, he saw a man at a desk to one side. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he was close enough, he called out, "Excuse me, could you tell me where we are?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"This is Heaven, sir," the man answered. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Wow! Would you happen to have some water?" the man asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Of course, sir. Come right in, and I'll have some ice water brought right up," replied the gatekeeper as he gestured. The gate began to open.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Can my friend come in, too?" the man asked. gesturing toward his dog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm sorry, sir, but we don't accept pets." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man thought a moment and then turned back toward the road and continued the way he had been going with his dog. After another long walk, and at the top of another long hill, he came to a dirt road leading through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been closed.. There was no fence. As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside, leaning against a tree and reading a book. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Excuse me!" he called to the man. "Do you have any water?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, sure, there's a pump over there, come on in."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How about my friend here?" the man gestured to the dog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"There should be a bowl by the pump." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They went through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old-fashioned hand pump with a bowl beside it. The man filled the water bowl and took a long drink himself, then he gave some to the dog. When they were satisfied, he and the dog walked back toward the man who was standing by the tree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What do you call this place?" the man asked. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Heaven."&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;"Well, this is confusing. The man down the road said that was Heaven, too." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and pearly gates? Nope. That's hell."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Doesn't it make you mad for them to use your name like that?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, we're just happy that they screen out the folks who would leave their best friends behind."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3821535774702330514-8330616663494149830?l=netinspirations.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/feBxrYSDUwelAejQZKQFR3Xhix4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/feBxrYSDUwelAejQZKQFR3Xhix4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/netinspirations/~4/PXnKkamoWa8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/feeds/8330616663494149830/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3821535774702330514&amp;postID=8330616663494149830" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/8330616663494149830?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/8330616663494149830?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/netinspirations/~3/PXnKkamoWa8/water-bowl.html" title="The Water Bowl" /><author><name>xujiren</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="15251500917813943997" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/2009/03/water-bowl.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEAFQ3c5fSp7ImA9WxVXE04.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821535774702330514.post-6210762791515585326</id><published>2009-02-10T23:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-10T23:18:32.925-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-02-10T23:18:32.925-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="God" /><title>Why God Allows Pain</title><content type="html">A man went to a barbershop to have his hair cut and his beard trimmed. As the barber began to work, they began to have a good conversation. They talked about so many things and various subjects. When they eventually touched on the subject of God, the barber said, "I don't believe that God exists." &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;"Why do you say that?" asked the customer. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, you just have to go out in the street to realize that God doesn't exist. Tell me, if God exists, would there be so many sick people? Would there be abandoned children? If God existed, there would be neither suffering nor pain. I can't imagine a loving God who would allow all of these things." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The customer thought for a moment, but didn't respond because he didn't want to start an argument.  The barber finished his job and the customer left the shop. &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Just after he left the barbershop, he saw a man in the street with long, stringy, dirty hair and an untrimmed beard.  He looked dirty and unkempt. The customer turned back and entered the barber shop again and he said to the barber. "You know what? Barbers do not exist." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How can you say that?" asked the surprised barber. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I am here, and I am a barber. And I just worked on you!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No!" the customer exclaimed. "Barbers don't exist because if they did, there would be no people with dirty long hair and untrimmed beards, like that man outside." &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;"Ah, but barbers DO exist! That's what happens when people do not come to me." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Exactly!" affirmed the customer. "That's the point! God, too, DOES exist! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's what happens when people do not go to Him and don't look to Him for help.  That's why there's so much pain and suffering in the world."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3821535774702330514-6210762791515585326?l=netinspirations.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MjkUfNDsiDyFfH2knxM0pvELXJw/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MjkUfNDsiDyFfH2knxM0pvELXJw/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/netinspirations/~4/VCUesKPiy68" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/feeds/6210762791515585326/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3821535774702330514&amp;postID=6210762791515585326" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/6210762791515585326?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/6210762791515585326?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/netinspirations/~3/VCUesKPiy68/why-god-allows-pain.html" title="Why God Allows Pain" /><author><name>xujiren</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="15251500917813943997" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/2009/02/why-god-allows-pain.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUUMRHk7cCp7ImA9WxVQFks.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821535774702330514.post-2290512721524540628</id><published>2009-02-03T04:14:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-03T04:14:45.708-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-02-03T04:14:45.708-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Love" /><title>Movie Love Quotes</title><content type="html">&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/X0-yHH6t73c&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/X0-yHH6t73c&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3821535774702330514-2290512721524540628?l=netinspirations.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Eml-DIsUU4phDa6U__1er6mQ5QQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Eml-DIsUU4phDa6U__1er6mQ5QQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/netinspirations/~4/KXl4TRpfOn4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/feeds/2290512721524540628/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3821535774702330514&amp;postID=2290512721524540628" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/2290512721524540628?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/2290512721524540628?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/netinspirations/~3/KXl4TRpfOn4/movie-love-quotes.html" title="Movie Love Quotes" /><author><name>xujiren</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="15251500917813943997" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/2009/02/movie-love-quotes.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEcAQHc6eCp7ImA9WxVRGEo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821535774702330514.post-5428049926727983831</id><published>2009-01-25T00:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-25T00:27:21.910-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-01-25T00:27:21.910-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="God" /><title>God is Busy</title><content type="html">Submitted by Bernice -&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A United States Marine was attending some college courses between assignments. He had just completed missions in Iraq and Afghanistan.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the courses had a professor who was an avowed atheist and a member of the ACLU. One day the professor shocked the class when he came in. He looked to the ceiling and flatly stated, "God, if you are real, then I want you to knock me off this platform. I'll give you exactly 15 min." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lecture room fell silent. You could hear a pin drop. Ten minutes went by and the professor proclaimed, "Here I am God. I'm still waiting."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It got down to the last couple of minutes when the Marine got out of his chair, went up to the professor, and cold-cocked him; knocking him off the platform. The professor was out cold. The Marine went back to his seat and sat there, silently. The other students were shocked and stunned and sat there looking on in silence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The professor eventually came to, noticeably shaken, looked at the Marine and asked, "What the heck is the matter with you? Why did you do that?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Marine calmly replied, "God was too busy today protecting America's soldiers who are protecting your right to say stupid stuff and act like an idiot. So, He sent me."                 &lt;br /&gt;                                                                                                                                                   SEMPER FI&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                                                                                       USMC&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3821535774702330514-5428049926727983831?l=netinspirations.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iiuc3cCZl-VVKmETqBl2-WumQgA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/iiuc3cCZl-VVKmETqBl2-WumQgA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/netinspirations/~4/W9rW6vbavMY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/feeds/5428049926727983831/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3821535774702330514&amp;postID=5428049926727983831" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/5428049926727983831?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/5428049926727983831?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/netinspirations/~3/W9rW6vbavMY/god-is-busy.html" title="God is Busy" /><author><name>xujiren</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="15251500917813943997" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/2009/01/god-is-busy.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0YDRXgzcCp7ImA9WxVSFE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821535774702330514.post-2463168775544008404</id><published>2009-01-07T23:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-07T23:52:54.688-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-01-07T23:52:54.688-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Christmas" /><title>Christmas at the Gas Station</title><content type="html">Submitted by Catherine U. -&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The old man sat in his gas station on a cold Christmas Eve. He hadn't been anywhere in years since his wife passed away. It was just another day to him. He didn't hate Christmas, he just couldn't find a reason to celebrate. He was sitting there looking at the snow that had been falling for the last hour and wondering what it was all about when the door opened and a homeless man stepped through.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Instead of throwing the man out, Old George as he was known by his customers, told the man to come and sit by the heater and warm up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Thank you, but I don't mean to intrude," said the stranger. "I see you're busy, I'll just go." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Not without something hot in your belly." George said. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He turned and opened a wide mouth Thermos and handed it to the stranger. "It ain't much, but it's hot and tasty, "Stew ... made it myself. When you're done, there's coffee and it's fresh." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just at that moment he heard the "ding" of the driveway bell. "Excuse me, be right back," George said. There in the driveway was an old '53 Chevy. Steam was rolling out of the front. The driver was panicked. "Mister can you help me!" said the driver, with a deep Spanish accent. "My wife is with child and my car is broken." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;George opened the hood. It was bad. The block looked cracked from the cold, the car was dead. "You ain't going in this thing," George said as he turned away. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But Mister, please help ..." The door of the office closed behind George as he went inside. He went to the office wall and got the keys to his old truck, and went back outside. He walked around the building, opened the garage, started the truck and drove it around to where the couple was waiting. "Here, take my truck," he said. "She ain't the best thing you ever looked at, but she runs real good." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;George helped put the woman in the truck and watched as it sped off into the night. He turned and walked back inside the office. "Glad I gave 'em the truck, their tires were shot too. That 'ol truck has brand new ..." George thought he was talking to the stranger, but the man had gone. The Thermos was on the desk with a used coffee cup beside it. "Well, at least he got something in his belly," George thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;George went back outside to see if the old Chevy would start. It cranked slowly, but it started. He pulled it into the garage where the truck had been. He thought he would tinker with it for something to do. Christmas Eve meant no customers. He discovered the the block hadn't cracked, it was just the bottom hose on the radiator. "Well, shoot, I can fix this," he said to himself. So he put a new one on. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Those tires ain't gonna get 'em through the winter either." He took the snow treads off of his wife's old Lincoln. They were like new and he wasn't going to drive the car anyway. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As he was working, he heard shots being fired. He ran outside and beside a police car an officer lay on the cold ground. Bleeding from the left shoulder, the officer moaned, "Please help me." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;George helped the officer inside as he remembered the training he had received in the Army as a medic. He knew the wound needed attention. "Pressure to stop the bleeding," he thought. The uniform company had been there that morning and had left clean shop towels. He used those and duct tape to bind the wound. "Hey, they say duct tape can fix anythin'," he said, trying to make the policeman feel at ease. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Something for pain," George thought. All he had was the pills he used for his back. "These ought to work." He put some water in a cup and gave the policeman the pills. "You hang in there, I'm going to get you an ambulance."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The phone was dead. "Maybe I can get one of your buddies on that there talk box out in your car." He went out only to find that a bullet had gone into the dashboard destroying the two way radio. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He went back in to find the policeman sitting up. "Thanks," said the officer. "You could have left me there. The guy that shot me is still in the area."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;George sat down beside him, "I would never leave an injured man in the Army and I ain't gonna leave you." George pulled back the bandage to check for bleeding. "Looks worse than what it is. Bullet passed right through 'ya. Good thing it missed the important stuff though. I think with time you're gonna be right as rain."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;George got up and poured a cup of coffee. "How do you take it?" he asked. "None for me," said the officer. "Oh, yer gonna drink this. Best in the city. Too bad I ain't got no donuts." The officer laughed and winced at the same time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The front door of the office flew open. In burst a young man with a gun. "Give me all your cash! Do it now!" the young man yelled. His hand was shaking and George could tell that he had never done anything like this before. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's the guy that shot me!" exclaimed the officer. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Son, why are you doing this?" asked George, "You need to put the cannon away. Somebody else might get hurt."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The young man was confused. "Shut up old man, or I'll shoot you, too. Now give me the cash!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The cop was reaching for his gun. "Put that thing away," George said to the cop, "we got one too many in here now." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He turned his attention to the young man. "Son, it's Christmas Eve. If you need money, well then, here. It ain't much but it's all I got. Now put that pee shooter away." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;George pulled $150 out of his pocket and handed it to the young man, reaching for the barrel of the gun at the same time. The young man released his grip on the gun, fell to his knees and began to cry. "I'm not very good at this am I? All I wanted was to buy something for my wife and son," he went on. "I've lost my job, my rent is due, my car got repossessed last week..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;George handed the gun to the cop. "Son, we all get in a bit of squeeze now and then. The road gets hard sometimes, but we make it through the best we can." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He got the young man to his feet, and sat him down on a chair across from the cop. "Sometimes we do stupid things." George handed the young man a cup of coffee. "Bein' stupid is one of the things that makes us human. Comin' in here with a gun ain't the answer. Now sit there and get warm and we'll sort this thing out." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The young man had stopped crying. He looked over to the cop. "Sorry I shot you. It just went off. I'm sorry officer." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Shut up and drink your coffee." the cop said. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;George could hear the sounds of sirens outside. A police car and an ambulance skidded to a halt. Two cops came through the door, guns drawn. "Chuck! You ok?" one of the cops asked the wounded officer. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Not bad for a guy who took a bullet. How did you find me?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"GPS locator in the car. Best thing since sliced bread. Who did this?" the other cop asked as he approached the young man. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chuck answered him, "I don't know. The guy ran off into the dark. Just dropped his gun and ran." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;George and the young man both looked puzzled at each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That guy work here?" the cop asked. "Yep," George said, "just hired him this morning. Boy lost his job." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The paramedics came in and loaded Chuck onto the stretcher. The young man leaned over the wounded cop and whispered, "Why?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chuck just said, "Merry Christmas boy ... and you too, George, and thanks for everything." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, looks like you got one doozy of a break there. That ought to solve some of your problems." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;George went into the back room and came out with a box. He pulled out a ring box. "Here you go, something for the little woman. I don't think Martha would mind. She said it would come in handy some day." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The young man looked inside to see the biggest diamond ring he ever saw. "I can't take this," said the young man. "It means something to you." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And now it means something to you," replied George. "I got my memories. That's all I need." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;George reached into the box again. An airplane, a car and a truck appeared next. They were toys that the oil company had left for him to sell. "Here's something for that little man of yours." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The young man began to cry again as he handed back the $150 that the old man had handed him earlier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And what are you supposed to buy Christmas dinner with? You keep that too," George said, "Now git home to your family." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The young man turned with tears streaming down his face. "I'll be here in the morning for work, if that job offer is still good." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Nope. I'm closed Christmas day," George said. "See ya the day after." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;George turned around to find that the stranger had returned. "Where'd you come from? I thought you left?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I have been here. I have always been here," said the stranger. "You say you don't celebrate Christmas. Why?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, after my wife passed away, I just couldn't see what all the bother was. Puttin' up a tree and all seemed a waste of a good pine tree. Bakin' cookies like I used to with Martha just wasn't the same by myself and besides I was gettin' a little chubby." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The stranger put his hand on George's shoulder. "But you do celebrate the holiday, George. You gave me food and drink and warmed me when I was cold and hungry. The woman with child will bear a son and he will become a great doctor. The policeman you helped will go on to save 19 people from being killed. The young man who tried to rob you will make you a rich man and not take any for himself. That is the spirit of the season and you keep it as good as any man."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;George was taken aback by all this stranger had said. "And how do you know all this?" asked the old man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Trust me, George. I have the inside track on this sort of thing. And when your days are done you will be with Martha again."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The stranger moved toward the door. "If you will excuse me, George, I have to go now. I have to go home where there is a big celebration planned."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;George watched as the old leather jacket and the torn pants that the stranger was wearing turned into a white robe. A golden light began to fill the room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You see, George ... it's My birthday. Merry Christmas." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;George fell to his knees and replied, "Happy Birthday, Lord."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3821535774702330514-2463168775544008404?l=netinspirations.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3YUsHNrF-NIvVJUkW9Q8SOz_zfE/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3YUsHNrF-NIvVJUkW9Q8SOz_zfE/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3YUsHNrF-NIvVJUkW9Q8SOz_zfE/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/3YUsHNrF-NIvVJUkW9Q8SOz_zfE/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/netinspirations/~4/6Detwvt3iRw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/feeds/2463168775544008404/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3821535774702330514&amp;postID=2463168775544008404" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/2463168775544008404?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/2463168775544008404?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/netinspirations/~3/6Detwvt3iRw/christmas-at-gas-station.html" title="Christmas at the Gas Station" /><author><name>xujiren</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="15251500917813943997" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/2009/01/christmas-at-gas-station.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkIGSH45cCp7ImA9WxVTGUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821535774702330514.post-1938693936588326290</id><published>2009-01-03T03:00:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-03T03:02:09.028-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-01-03T03:02:09.028-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Friendships" /><title>I Just Helped Him Cry</title><content type="html">An elderly gentleman who recently lost his wife was visited by the four year old boy from next door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman's yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later when the body went home, his mother asked what he had said to the neighbor. The little boy replied, "Nothing, I just helped him cry."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3821535774702330514-1938693936588326290?l=netinspirations.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/OJtZtLAWBYGP9rGXOHKgXQR_Y1g/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/OJtZtLAWBYGP9rGXOHKgXQR_Y1g/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/OJtZtLAWBYGP9rGXOHKgXQR_Y1g/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/OJtZtLAWBYGP9rGXOHKgXQR_Y1g/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/netinspirations/~4/z6QwsRsB8HA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/feeds/1938693936588326290/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3821535774702330514&amp;postID=1938693936588326290" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/1938693936588326290?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/1938693936588326290?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/netinspirations/~3/z6QwsRsB8HA/i-just-helped-him-cry.html" title="I Just Helped Him Cry" /><author><name>xujiren</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="15251500917813943997" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-just-helped-him-cry.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkcDSHg4fyp7ImA9WxVTGE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821535774702330514.post-275934818878353620</id><published>2009-01-01T00:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-01T00:54:39.637-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-01-01T00:54:39.637-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Wishes" /><title>A dozen wishes for  2009</title><content type="html">From a friend - &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Time for yourself&lt;br /&gt;2. A soul that heals&lt;br /&gt;3. A heart that forgives&lt;br /&gt;4. All prayers answered&lt;br /&gt;5. A good life &amp; healthy body&lt;br /&gt;6. A love that makes u smile&lt;br /&gt;7. Promises that are not broken&lt;br /&gt;8. Belief that anything's possible&lt;br /&gt;9. A Holiday feeling all year round&lt;br /&gt;10. Sunrise after the darkest of nights&lt;br /&gt;11. Friends who bring out the best in you&lt;br /&gt;12. Courage to finally do what you have been putting off&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3821535774702330514-275934818878353620?l=netinspirations.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_N9VptOx--MGFY3mzArnE-4FL_A/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_N9VptOx--MGFY3mzArnE-4FL_A/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_N9VptOx--MGFY3mzArnE-4FL_A/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/_N9VptOx--MGFY3mzArnE-4FL_A/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/netinspirations/~4/zDY-kdj009o" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/feeds/275934818878353620/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3821535774702330514&amp;postID=275934818878353620" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/275934818878353620?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/275934818878353620?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/netinspirations/~3/zDY-kdj009o/dozen-wishes-for-2009.html" title="A dozen wishes for  2009" /><author><name>xujiren</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="15251500917813943997" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/2009/01/dozen-wishes-for-2009.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkcNR3w8fip7ImA9WxVTFUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821535774702330514.post-398529737480717442</id><published>2008-12-29T15:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-29T15:41:36.276-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-12-29T15:41:36.276-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Nature" /><title>One year in two minutes</title><content type="html">&lt;object width="480" height="295"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/mzNUrZbalss&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/mzNUrZbalss&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3821535774702330514-398529737480717442?l=netinspirations.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Yjk6ud1W5YoM8MbJfiKLtwbYrSs/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Yjk6ud1W5YoM8MbJfiKLtwbYrSs/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Yjk6ud1W5YoM8MbJfiKLtwbYrSs/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/Yjk6ud1W5YoM8MbJfiKLtwbYrSs/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/netinspirations/~4/iwcKr6qt7RQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/feeds/398529737480717442/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3821535774702330514&amp;postID=398529737480717442" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/398529737480717442?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/398529737480717442?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/netinspirations/~3/iwcKr6qt7RQ/one-year-in-two-minutes.html" title="One year in two minutes" /><author><name>xujiren</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="15251500917813943997" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/2008/12/one-year-in-two-minutes.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUECQHY9fyp7ImA9WxRbGEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821535774702330514.post-8053672522703672669</id><published>2008-12-09T21:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T21:41:01.867-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-12-09T21:41:01.867-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Basketball" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Quotes" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Inspirational" /><title>John Wooden Inspirational Quotes</title><content type="html">&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/LIhT1w9E0rM&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/LIhT1w9E0rM&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3821535774702330514-8053672522703672669?l=netinspirations.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qrOdTrsu2yzlyV3d5ja4_FiRPE4/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qrOdTrsu2yzlyV3d5ja4_FiRPE4/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qrOdTrsu2yzlyV3d5ja4_FiRPE4/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qrOdTrsu2yzlyV3d5ja4_FiRPE4/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/netinspirations/~4/CmXcuFL-FZg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/feeds/8053672522703672669/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3821535774702330514&amp;postID=8053672522703672669" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/8053672522703672669?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/8053672522703672669?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/netinspirations/~3/CmXcuFL-FZg/john-wooden-inspirational-quotes.html" title="John Wooden Inspirational Quotes" /><author><name>xujiren</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="15251500917813943997" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/2008/12/john-wooden-inspirational-quotes.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUIDSHo8eSp7ImA9WxRbGEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821535774702330514.post-1233531590258449555</id><published>2008-12-09T21:39:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T21:39:39.471-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-12-09T21:39:39.471-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Love" /><title>One Man. One Dream. One Chance.</title><content type="html">&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/4iIYRZWBd9Y&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/4iIYRZWBd9Y&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3821535774702330514-1233531590258449555?l=netinspirations.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/pOpPejdUBu8NKzWOozKaiLAcyyM/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/pOpPejdUBu8NKzWOozKaiLAcyyM/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/pOpPejdUBu8NKzWOozKaiLAcyyM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/pOpPejdUBu8NKzWOozKaiLAcyyM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/netinspirations/~4/homZRlHjdtY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/feeds/1233531590258449555/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3821535774702330514&amp;postID=1233531590258449555" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/1233531590258449555?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/1233531590258449555?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/netinspirations/~3/homZRlHjdtY/one-man-one-dream-one-chance.html" title="One Man. One Dream. One Chance." /><author><name>xujiren</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="15251500917813943997" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/2008/12/one-man-one-dream-one-chance.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUYMQ3Y8eip7ImA9WxRbGEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821535774702330514.post-1408257014347850709</id><published>2008-12-09T21:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T21:33:02.872-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-12-09T21:33:02.872-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Loyalty" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Dogs" /><title>Dog saves Dog</title><content type="html">&lt;object width="480" height="295"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/f5OEKA47xFI&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/f5OEKA47xFI&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3821535774702330514-1408257014347850709?l=netinspirations.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/u15Mzd9y4oLBG1M43ArCO_0Dyz8/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/u15Mzd9y4oLBG1M43ArCO_0Dyz8/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/u15Mzd9y4oLBG1M43ArCO_0Dyz8/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/u15Mzd9y4oLBG1M43ArCO_0Dyz8/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/netinspirations/~4/JwMevZnqc9M" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/feeds/1408257014347850709/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3821535774702330514&amp;postID=1408257014347850709" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/1408257014347850709?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/1408257014347850709?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/netinspirations/~3/JwMevZnqc9M/dog-saves-dog.html" title="Dog saves Dog" /><author><name>xujiren</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="15251500917813943997" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/2008/12/dog-saves-dog.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUEFRH8ycCp7ImA9WxRbFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821535774702330514.post-910234630662781834</id><published>2008-12-06T04:46:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-06T04:46:55.198-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-12-06T04:46:55.198-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Love" /><title>Cute Love Quotes Part 2</title><content type="html">Uploaded by ecoolsukm33 -&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"This is another bunch of my favorite love quotes. The layout is the same as the first, but there is a different song and no repeted quotes. The song is called "Kissing You" from the Romeo and Juliet soundtrack."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/p9PuVShqRVA&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/p9PuVShqRVA&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3821535774702330514-910234630662781834?l=netinspirations.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/89StDvq4OVMqQsHvI9aVulVolMg/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/89StDvq4OVMqQsHvI9aVulVolMg/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/89StDvq4OVMqQsHvI9aVulVolMg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/89StDvq4OVMqQsHvI9aVulVolMg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/netinspirations/~4/F7STxDP7Akc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/feeds/910234630662781834/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3821535774702330514&amp;postID=910234630662781834" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/910234630662781834?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/910234630662781834?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/netinspirations/~3/F7STxDP7Akc/cute-love-quotes-part-2.html" title="Cute Love Quotes Part 2" /><author><name>xujiren</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="15251500917813943997" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/2008/12/cute-love-quotes-part-2.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEUBQ348eip7ImA9WxRbFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3821535774702330514.post-2160824440665435926</id><published>2008-12-06T03:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-06T03:17:32.072-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-12-06T03:17:32.072-08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Love" /><title>Cute Love Quotes</title><content type="html">Uploaded by coolsukm33 -&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Here are some of my favorite love quotes. Really cute!! The song is called "And Then I Kissed Him" from the Pearl Harbor sountrack. Lots of people have been asking that!!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/F-fsnXymvd8&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/F-fsnXymvd8&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3821535774702330514-2160824440665435926?l=netinspirations.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hyJq8S01svSwQBroYFpfhuZhj08/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hyJq8S01svSwQBroYFpfhuZhj08/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hyJq8S01svSwQBroYFpfhuZhj08/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/hyJq8S01svSwQBroYFpfhuZhj08/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/netinspirations/~4/L3Yh-vqX3So" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/feeds/2160824440665435926/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3821535774702330514&amp;postID=2160824440665435926" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/2160824440665435926?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3821535774702330514/posts/default/2160824440665435926?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/netinspirations/~3/L3Yh-vqX3So/cute-love-quotes.html" title="Cute Love Quotes" /><author><name>xujiren</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="15251500917813943997" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://netinspirations.blogspot.com/2008/12/cute-love-quotes.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>
