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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:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;DUMGQ34-cCp7ImA9WhVUEUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225</id><updated>2012-05-16T21:10:22.058+07:00</updated><category term="paper" /><category term="Advise" /><category term="Inspiration" /><category term="Hope" /><category term="touching story" /><category term="Review" /><title>Touching &amp; Inspiring Stories</title><subtitle type="html">Read our touching story and wiseword collections that can inspire your spirit to live better</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>84</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/touchingstoriescollection" /><feedburner:info uri="touchingstoriescollection" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkMASH4yfip7ImA9WhVWEUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-187916311213069421</id><published>2012-04-23T11:59:00.000+07:00</published><updated>2012-04-23T12:20:49.096+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-23T12:20:49.096+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="touching story" /><title>Love</title><summary type="html">On my wedding day, I carried my wife in my arms. The bridal car stopped in front of our one-room flat. My buddies insisted that I carry her out of the car in my arms. So I carried her into our home. She was then plump and shy. I was a strong and happy bridegroom.

 This was the scene of ten years ago. 

The following days were as simple as a cup of pure water. We had a kid, I went into business &lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/7jwlR-bYQ9w" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/187916311213069421/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=187916311213069421" title="9 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/187916311213069421?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/187916311213069421?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/7jwlR-bYQ9w/love.html" title="Love" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>9</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2012/04/love.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEYDQXc9fCp7ImA9WhVWEUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-2992145749905670626</id><published>2012-04-23T11:36:00.002+07:00</published><updated>2012-04-23T11:42:50.964+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-04-23T11:42:50.964+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Inspiration" /><title>Pencil and Eraser</title><summary type="html">Pencil: I'm sorry

Eraser: For what? You didn't do anything wrong.

Pencil: I'm sorry because you get hurt because of me. Whenever I made a mistake, you're always there to erase it. But as you make my mistakes vanish, you lose a part of yourself. You get smaller and smaller each time.

Eraser: That's true. But I don't really mind. You see, I was made to do this. I was made to help you whenever &lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/928nwNWaNFg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/2992145749905670626/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=2992145749905670626" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/2992145749905670626?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/2992145749905670626?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/928nwNWaNFg/pencil-im-sorryeraser-for-what-you.html" title="Pencil and Eraser" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2012/04/pencil-im-sorryeraser-for-what-you.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUABR3o5eyp7ImA9WhZVE0o.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-3958632966256862836</id><published>2011-05-26T08:33:00.001+07:00</published><updated>2011-05-26T08:35:56.423+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-05-26T08:35:56.423+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="touching story" /><title>Sarah</title><summary type="html">We moved to a small town where my husband was assigned as aminister to a  local congregation. I was unpacking one day when thephone rang. A voice  on the other end said, "Your name was given tome as a possibility for a  mentor in our school." Knowing very few peoplein town, I tried to  imagine who might have volunteered me for this.Realizing the lady was  waiting for an answer, I replied, "Let me&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/C9qYt70f42g" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/3958632966256862836/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=3958632966256862836" title="30 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/3958632966256862836?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/3958632966256862836?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/C9qYt70f42g/sarah.html" title="Sarah" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>30</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2011/05/sarah.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEYHQno8fSp7ImA9Wx5UGUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-8081483947017190947</id><published>2010-10-25T10:06:00.002+07:00</published><updated>2010-10-25T10:08:53.475+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-10-25T10:08:53.475+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="touching story" /><title>The old fisherman</title><summary type="html">Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore.  We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to out-patients at the clinic.One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door.  I opened it to see a truly awful looking man.  "Why, he's hardly taller than my eight-year-old," I thought as I stared at the stooped, &lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/-Z8sGN_U-fw" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/8081483947017190947/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=8081483947017190947" title="67 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/8081483947017190947?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/8081483947017190947?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/-Z8sGN_U-fw/old-fisherman.html" title="The old fisherman" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>67</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2010/10/old-fisherman.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0cERnw9fCp7ImA9WxFVEk8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-8865367335915938196</id><published>2010-06-11T10:58:00.003+07:00</published><updated>2010-06-11T11:03:27.264+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-06-11T11:03:27.264+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="touching story" /><title>Mother and Son</title><summary type="html">My  mom only had one eye. I hated her, she was such an embarrassment.  My  mom ran a small shop at a flea market.She collected little weeds  and  such to sell, anything for the money we needed she was such an   embarrassment.There was this one day during elementary school. I   remember that it was field day, and my mom came. I was so embarrassed.   How could she do this to me? I threw her a &lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/_HCi7g_vmFI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/8865367335915938196/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=8865367335915938196" title="145 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/8865367335915938196?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/8865367335915938196?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/_HCi7g_vmFI/mother-and-son.html" title="Mother and Son" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>145</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2010/06/mother-and-son.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEENRXkzfyp7ImA9WxFSGUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-6101464719432260950</id><published>2010-04-23T08:35:00.002+07:00</published><updated>2010-04-23T08:38:14.787+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-04-23T08:38:14.787+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="touching story" /><title>Nobody Ever Invited John to Come</title><summary type="html">He was a blacksmith and a most wretchedly wicked man. He knew everything that was blatant and blasphemous in infidelity. He hated everything that was good, and loved everything that was bad. He studied to make himself an irritation to all who believed God, never sparing his wife who did the best she could in the patience and Kingdom of Jesus. This man was given up as altogether beyond moral &lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/6y7jQCK1Blo" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/6101464719432260950/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=6101464719432260950" title="14 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/6101464719432260950?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/6101464719432260950?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/6y7jQCK1Blo/nobody-ever-invited-john-to-come.html" title="Nobody Ever Invited John to Come" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>14</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2010/04/nobody-ever-invited-john-to-come.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkYFR30-cCp7ImA9WxBUFks.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-3016528486604171907</id><published>2010-03-04T07:40:00.002+07:00</published><updated>2010-03-04T07:55:16.358+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-03-04T07:55:16.358+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="touching story" /><title>Passing Along A Little Spark</title><summary type="html">Robby was 11 years old when his mother (a single mom) dropped him off for his first piano lesson. I prefer that students (especially boys!) begin at an earlier age, which I explained to Robby. But Robby said that it had always been his mother's dream to hear him play the piano. So I took him as a student. Well, Robby began with his piano lessons and from the beginning I thought it was a hopeless &lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/8UN8ReoyKHI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/3016528486604171907/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=3016528486604171907" title="23 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/3016528486604171907?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/3016528486604171907?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/8UN8ReoyKHI/passing-along-little-spark.html" title="Passing Along A Little Spark" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>23</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2010/03/passing-along-little-spark.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEMCRHs7fSp7ImA9WxBWEEo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-5466569625891978741</id><published>2010-02-02T08:57:00.003+07:00</published><updated>2010-02-02T09:07:45.505+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-02-02T09:07:45.505+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="touching story" /><title>How to explain God (written by an 8 year old)</title><summary type="html">How to Explain God was written by Danny Dutton, age8, from Chula Vista, California, for his third grade homework assignment"Explain God". "One of God's main jobs is making people. He makes them to replace the ones that die so there will be enough people to take care of things on earth. He doesn't make grown-ups, just babies. I think because they are smaller and easier to make. That way He doesn't&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/WOq6MtIIIgI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/5466569625891978741/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=5466569625891978741" title="23 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/5466569625891978741?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/5466569625891978741?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/WOq6MtIIIgI/what-he-valued-most.html" title="How to explain God (written by an 8 year old)" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>23</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2010/02/what-he-valued-most.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0IHSHw_fCp7ImA9WxNaGEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-8332572601090848607</id><published>2009-12-03T10:36:00.002+07:00</published><updated>2009-12-03T10:38:59.244+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-12-03T10:38:59.244+07:00</app:edited><title>Online Poker</title><summary type="html">Playing poker now is very easy since we are able to play it online. It mean that we don’t need to go to casino or gambling house because we can play it via internet in the home.  Online poker  is the game of poker played over the internet. There are many advantages of playing online poker, for example  Online poker are cheaper because their overhead costs are smaller. Online poker may also be &lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/CDt9Dse-OcI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/8332572601090848607/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=8332572601090848607" title="7 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/8332572601090848607?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/8332572601090848607?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/CDt9Dse-OcI/online-poker.html" title="Online Poker" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>7</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2009/12/online-poker.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUQEQnkyeyp7ImA9WxNbE0g.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-9027896181201123578</id><published>2009-11-16T14:38:00.002+07:00</published><updated>2009-11-16T14:41:43.793+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-11-16T14:41:43.793+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="touching story" /><title>Pickle Jar</title><summary type="html">As far back as I can remember, the pickle jar sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents' bedroom. When he got ready for bed, Dad would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar. As a small boy, I was always fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were dropped into the jar. They landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty. Then, the tones gradually muted to a &lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/JtA8Wm7YkxI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/9027896181201123578/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=9027896181201123578" title="9 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/9027896181201123578?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/9027896181201123578?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/JtA8Wm7YkxI/pickle-jar.html" title="Pickle Jar" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>9</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2009/11/pickle-jar.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEUHSHo5cSp7ImA9WxNSFE4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-5849187551001729570</id><published>2009-08-28T10:59:00.004+07:00</published><updated>2009-08-28T11:03:59.429+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-28T11:03:59.429+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="touching story" /><title>The Power of Your Actions</title><summary type="html">One day, when I was a freshman in high school, I saw a kid from my class walking home from school. His name was Kyle. It looked like he was carrying all of his books. I thought to myself, "Why would anyone bring home all his books on a Friday? He must really be a nerd." I had quite a weekend planned (parties and a football game with my friend the following afternoon), so I shrugged my shoulders &lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/DOl5LdxeO3Y" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/5849187551001729570/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=5849187551001729570" title="25 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/5849187551001729570?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/5849187551001729570?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/DOl5LdxeO3Y/one-day-when-i-was-freshman-in-high.html" title="The Power of Your Actions" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>25</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2009/08/one-day-when-i-was-freshman-in-high.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0YEQnY_fip7ImA9WxJbGUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-8805904746043699045</id><published>2009-07-30T08:50:00.002+07:00</published><updated>2009-07-30T08:58:23.846+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-07-30T08:58:23.846+07:00</app:edited><title>First Award</title><summary type="html">This month, I have got my first award from blogger friend Escampur88. Thanks for your award..&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/CCxDRfbQFZY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/8805904746043699045/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=8805904746043699045" title="7 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/8805904746043699045?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/8805904746043699045?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/CCxDRfbQFZY/first-award.html" title="First Award" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ISxRtPzPHkg/SnD-Nf9EumI/AAAAAAAAACo/k5DIesT6zjs/s72-c/award.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>7</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2009/07/first-award.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkMCRXc6eSp7ImA9WxJbGUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-4258054596169578466</id><published>2009-07-30T08:43:00.003+07:00</published><updated>2009-07-30T08:47:44.911+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-07-30T08:47:44.911+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="touching story" /><title>Ripple Effect</title><summary type="html">I am a mother of three and have recently completed my college degree. The last class I had to take was Sociology. The teacher was absolutely inspiring with the qualities that I wish every human being had been graced with. Her last project of the term was called "Smile."The class was asked to go out and smile at three people and document their reactions. I am a very friendly person and always &lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/VdWKzJNLLQU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/4258054596169578466/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=4258054596169578466" title="22 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/4258054596169578466?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/4258054596169578466?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/VdWKzJNLLQU/i-am-mother-of-three-and-have-recently.html" title="Ripple Effect" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>22</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2009/07/i-am-mother-of-three-and-have-recently.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak8ASXg_cSp7ImA9WxJUFUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-4353073455132900378</id><published>2009-07-14T17:52:00.001+07:00</published><updated>2009-07-14T17:54:08.649+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-07-14T17:54:08.649+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="touching story" /><title>Sandpiper To Bring You Joy</title><summary type="html">She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to close in on me.She was building a sandcastle or something and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea."Hello," she said.I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child."I'm building," she said."I see that. What &lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/iTFKgJ8gb4U" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/4353073455132900378/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=4353073455132900378" title="16 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/4353073455132900378?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/4353073455132900378?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/iTFKgJ8gb4U/sandpiper-to-bring-you-joy.html" title="Sandpiper To Bring You Joy" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>16</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2009/07/sandpiper-to-bring-you-joy.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkAERnk4eCp7ImA9WxJWEUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-2485616289061144946</id><published>2009-06-17T07:28:00.002+07:00</published><updated>2009-06-17T07:31:47.730+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-06-17T07:31:47.730+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="touching story" /><title>Something for Stevie</title><summary type="html">I try not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring Stevie. His placement counselor assured me that he would be a good, reliable busboy. But I had never had a mentally handicapped employee and wasn't sure I wanted one. I wasn't sure how my customers would react. Stevie was short, a little dumpy, with the smooth facial features and thick-tongued speech of Down syndrome. I wasn't worried about&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/XNSUVLHYXKs" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/2485616289061144946/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=2485616289061144946" title="9 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/2485616289061144946?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/2485616289061144946?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/XNSUVLHYXKs/something-for-stevie.html" title="Something for Stevie" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>9</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2009/06/something-for-stevie.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak4AR3o9eip7ImA9WxJQGU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-6153601541997751882</id><published>2009-06-02T09:11:00.003+07:00</published><updated>2009-06-02T09:15:46.462+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-06-02T09:15:46.462+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="touching story" /><title>Special Delivery</title><summary type="html">Sally jumped up as soon as she saw the Surgeon come out of the operating room, saying: "How is my little boy? Is he going to be O.K.? When can I see him?"The surgeon responded, "I'm sorry, we did all we could." Sally said, "Why do little children get cancer, doesn't GOD care any more? GOD, where were you when my son needed you?"The surgeon softly told her, "One of the nurses will be out in a few &lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/hQjeHvSxyeM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/6153601541997751882/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=6153601541997751882" title="19 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/6153601541997751882?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/6153601541997751882?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/hQjeHvSxyeM/sally-jumped-up-as-soon-as-she-saw.html" title="Special Delivery" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>19</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2009/06/sally-jumped-up-as-soon-as-she-saw.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CU4EQXg_eyp7ImA9WxJRFkQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-2853106560670875161</id><published>2009-05-19T07:35:00.004+07:00</published><updated>2009-05-19T07:45:00.643+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-05-19T07:45:00.643+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="touching story" /><title>Strongest Dad in the World</title><summary type="html">Rick Reilly for Sports IllustratedI try to be a good father. Give my kids mulligans. Work nights to pay for their text messaging. Take them to swimsuit shoots.But compared with Dick Hoyt, I'm lousy.Eighty-five times he's pushed his disabled son, Rick, 26.2 miles in marathons. Eight times he's not only pushed him 26.2 miles in a wheelchair but also towed him 2.4 miles in a dinghy while swimming &lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/ZCwbk9oUkBY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/2853106560670875161/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=2853106560670875161" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/2853106560670875161?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/2853106560670875161?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/ZCwbk9oUkBY/strongest-dad-in-world.html" title="Strongest Dad in the World" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2009/05/strongest-dad-in-world.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkQGSX0_fCp7ImA9WxJTEkU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-8188627527381691184</id><published>2009-04-21T07:34:00.001+07:00</published><updated>2009-04-21T10:25:28.344+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-04-21T10:25:28.344+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Inspiration" /><title>Surviving A Child on Mother's Day</title><summary type="html">If you’re looking for an answer this Mother’s Day to why God reclaimed your child, I don’t know. I only know that thousands of mothers out there today desperately need an answer as to why they were permitted to go through the elation of carrying a child and then lose it to miscarriage, accident, violence, suicide, disease or drugs.Motherhood isn’t just a series of contractions; it’s a state of &lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/zeGIQZdI5wk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/8188627527381691184/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=8188627527381691184" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/8188627527381691184?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/8188627527381691184?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/zeGIQZdI5wk/surviving-child-on-mothers-day.html" title="Surviving A Child on Mother's Day" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2009/04/surviving-child-on-mothers-day.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0IDRHk_fCp7ImA9WxVVGU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-678592474488556082</id><published>2009-03-13T13:24:00.001+07:00</published><updated>2009-03-13T13:26:15.744+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-03-13T13:26:15.744+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="touching story" /><title>The Father's Eyes</title><summary type="html">This teenager lived alone with his father, and the two of them had a very special relationship. Even though the son was always on the bench, his father was always in the stands cheering. He never missed a game.This young man was still the smallest of the class when he entered high school. But his father continued to encourage him but also made it very clear that he did not have to play football &lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/zVbVma8mONg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/678592474488556082/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=678592474488556082" title="19 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/678592474488556082?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/678592474488556082?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/zVbVma8mONg/fathers-eyes.html" title="The Father's Eyes" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>19</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2009/03/fathers-eyes.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkEAQnY7cCp7ImA9WxJXEUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-7755426275518177907</id><published>2009-03-10T08:39:00.017+07:00</published><updated>2009-06-05T09:57:23.808+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-06-05T09:57:23.808+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="paper" /><title>Shopwiki</title><summary type="html">My wife wanted to look for  babies equipment  last month as a present for her uncle’s baby. But she did not get anything after visiting store to store. She became confuse and frustated, too many kinds of product with different form, style, price and brand. Even, every stores had a different standard price for a same product.From short story above, We can get one important lesson. We must have &lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/_OnWXqK4rk8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/7755426275518177907/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=7755426275518177907" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/7755426275518177907?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/7755426275518177907?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/_OnWXqK4rk8/shopwiki.html" title="Shopwiki" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2009/03/shopwiki.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkIMRnk6eCp7ImA9WxVVEEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-6392055606417046238</id><published>2009-03-03T15:12:00.002+07:00</published><updated>2009-03-03T15:23:07.710+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-03-03T15:23:07.710+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="touching story" /><title>The Little Girl Who Dared to Wish</title><summary type="html">As Amy Hagadorn rounded the corner across the hall from her classroom, she collided with a tall boy from the fifth grade running in the opposite direction. "Watch it, Squirt," the boy yelled, as he dodged around the little third grader. Then, with a smirk on his face, the boy took hold of his right leg and mimicked the way Amy limped when she walked.Amy closed her eyes for a moment.Ignore him, &lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/1XQ5fjmr3-A" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/6392055606417046238/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=6392055606417046238" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/6392055606417046238?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/6392055606417046238?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/1XQ5fjmr3-A/as-amy-hagadorn-rounded-corner-across.html" title="The Little Girl Who Dared to Wish" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>6</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2009/03/as-amy-hagadorn-rounded-corner-across.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkECSH08fip7ImA9WxJXEUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-4572877872482292694</id><published>2009-03-03T08:19:00.005+07:00</published><updated>2009-06-05T09:57:49.376+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-06-05T09:57:49.376+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="paper" /><title>Roy Murphy</title><summary type="html">I never knew about Roy Murphy and Halpern Cowan site before. I also did not know the both relation. It made me curious. After browsing on internet, I just know that Halpern Cowan is a company and Roy Murphy is one of Halpern Cowans leader. He is a creative director. I got this information from personal website of  Roy Murphy .From  Roy Murphy  website, we will get a short explanation that Halpern&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/yD1txazTfKM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/4572877872482292694/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=4572877872482292694" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/4572877872482292694?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/4572877872482292694?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/yD1txazTfKM/roy-murphy.html" title="Roy Murphy" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2009/03/roy-murphy.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkIFRXc7fyp7ImA9WxVXGUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-71351043636619653</id><published>2009-02-18T17:36:00.005+07:00</published><updated>2009-02-18T17:55:14.907+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-02-18T17:55:14.907+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="touching story" /><title>The Rich Family In Church</title><summary type="html">I'll never forget Easter 1946. I was 14, my little sister Ocy was 12, and my older sister Darlene 16. We lived at home with our mother, and the four of us knew what it was to do without many things. My dad had died five years before, leaving Mom with seven school kids to raise and no money. By 1946 my older sisters were married and my brothers had left home. Amonth before Easter the pastor of our&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/DfWb2g6355I" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/71351043636619653/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=71351043636619653" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/71351043636619653?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/71351043636619653?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/DfWb2g6355I/rich-family-in-church.html" title="The Rich Family In Church" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>6</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2009/02/rich-family-in-church.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkEMRXc5eyp7ImA9WxJXEUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-8110827538155004900</id><published>2009-01-12T09:15:00.003+07:00</published><updated>2009-06-05T09:58:04.923+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-06-05T09:58:04.923+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="paper" /><title>Internet Dating Guide</title><summary type="html">If you want to make  internet dating  or dating online, you need a guidance to do that. Too much informations on internet will confuse everyone, so a guidance is needed to filter and collect only useful informations. Here is site that provide a complete guidance to dating : http://www.theinternetdatingguide.com.   This site  is simple and familiar to everyone, easy loading and very helpful.  On &lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/sr3fYdeOXxE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/8110827538155004900/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=8110827538155004900" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/8110827538155004900?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/8110827538155004900?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/sr3fYdeOXxE/internet-dating-guide.html" title="Internet Dating Guide" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>6</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2009/01/internet-dating-guide.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUIAQXo4fip7ImA9WxVTFkw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8696304827036575225.post-1788844162782218808</id><published>2008-12-30T11:59:00.002+07:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T12:05:40.436+07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-12-30T12:05:40.436+07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Review" /><title>A place to date with south asia girls</title><summary type="html">Everybody need a friend, because nobody can’t live alone. A friend is able to help us to solve a problem beside our family. Maybe you need  friend for dating, sharing or just for hobying. If you have a problem to make a real friend (maybe you feel ashamed or have no self confidence), you can look for friend via internet. Yeah, online friend, it’s called.Have many friends around the world, is it &lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~4/oxkk83rqHvI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</summary><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/feeds/1788844162782218808/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8696304827036575225&amp;postID=1788844162782218808" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/1788844162782218808?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8696304827036575225/posts/default/1788844162782218808?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/touchingstoriescollection/~3/oxkk83rqHvI/place-to-date-with-south-asia-girls.html" title="A place to date with south asia girls" /><author><name>John Deru</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08751176984852035939</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://touching-inspiringstory.blogspot.com/2008/12/place-to-date-with-south-asia-girls.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

