Rumour Mongering

There was this guy named Ugolin, who lived in the French village of Bourg in the years before World War II. He is a hunchback but was a kind man and a devout Christian. He was also ugly. In fact, he was so ugly that he scared children and stopped traffic. So the villagers mocked him. They stared at his hunched little body and pointed out that Ugolin’s hands twitched and hung to his knees. People followed Ugolin as he walked, and sometimes they jeered at him. “Whore’s child!” they shouted. “Devil’s spawn!” Ugolin made what he could of life in Bourg. During the night hours he would loiter near the village station, hoping to earn a few coins by carrying a bag for a visitor.

Ugolin has one older sister named Solange, who had taken care of Ugolin as he grew up. When Solange was a teenager she had gone to work for a farmer in order to make something to support herself and her brother. This arrangement worked until one day when the farmer tried to take advantage of Solange. She resisted, so the farmer took his revenge by accusing her of theft and getting her jailed for two years.

It was while Solange was in jail that Ugolin’s spine had become diseased. When she was released, she tried to get a job, but nobody would hire her. Wasn’t she a thief, after all?

Ugolin’s health deteriorated during this period and was restored only when Solange showed up one day not only with her usual words of kindness, but also with food and medicine. She also arranged for a physician to see Ugolin and even got her brother some treatment in a hospital. How had all this happened? Ugolin found out the truth only after he was discharged from the hospital. The truth was that his lovely sister had become a whore in order to pay for his care. Because she loved her brother, Solange had rented out
her body to some of the same customers who had treated Ugolin so shamefully.

One night Ugolin was making his way home when he ran into a crowd that was in a jovial mood. Some of the men were drunk, and one of them tied Ugolin to a lantern post, and stripped him. Then a ring formed, and pretty soon everybody in the ring was dancing around Ugolin and singing, “The lovers of your sister pay a dollar apiece.” Finally the village priest appeared, cut Ugolin loose, and carried him away. The village priest, Father de la Roudaire, the 80-year-old priest, hoisted Ugolin over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes, carried him home, and put him to bed.

In the morning, while the priest was at Mass, Ugolin woke up, walked to the river, and drowned himself. That afternoon Solange shot herself in a room at the brothel.

Father de la Roudaire performed a Mass of requiem, treating the deaths as murder, not suicide. Never was such a crowd at church as on the day of the funeral. Half the shops were closed, and all the dignitaries were there, and most of the local rowdies. Up in front, one black cloth covered the two coffins of Solange and Ugolin, sister and brother.

Father de la Roudaire mounted the pulpit and stood there for a moment in silence.

He slowly swept the congregation with his eyes, as if he wanted to peer into the soul of every man and woman who was there.
“Then he said: ‘CHRISTIANS!’ and the word was like a whiplash. ‘CHRISTIANS!’

When the Lord of life and death shall ask me on the Day of Judgment,

‘Pasteur de la Roudaire, where are your sheep?’

I will not answer Him. And when the Lord shall ask me for the second time:

‘Pasteur de la Roudaire, where are your sheep?’ I still will not answer him.

“But when the Lord shall ask me the third time,

‘Pasteur de la Roudaire . . . where. . . .are. . . .your. . . sheep? then I shall hang my head, and I shall say:

‘O Lord, I never had any sheep. All I had was a pack of wolves!’”

End of the story???!

[ This story is extracted from Pierre Van Passen's book titled “The Days of Our Years”]


Is there a conclusion to this story? Perhaps I will let you end this story yourself.


Proverbs 26:22 (NIV)
The words of a gossip are like choice morsels; they go down to a man's inmost parts.

Escaped!!!

Din realise that i havent been posting anything for 16 days. Being extremely busy lately. Last nite I went to DK 's house for a party. Those boys like Hong chai, banggala, BK, Ah Loi etc were there oso. These boys really crazy man, they used all kind of methods (force, pursuasion, elder's authority) to pursue me to take the tapai. Ha Ha HA, lucky i managed to escape. Sorry boys, i cant get myself drunk because got passenger in my car. I owed a responsibity to my passeger to send her home safely.

A short story: Papa Do You Love Me?

Papa, do you love me?
Parents and Grandparents take Notice


A very young grandfather was interrupted in his thoughts and his walk by his seven year old granddaughter's question.

"Papa, do you love me?"
"Of course. Why do you ask?"

She tugged at his finger. When they walked she held on to one of his fingers , wrapping her little hand tightly. Their walk stopped.

"Papa, do you love me?" This time much more emphatic and impatient. He knelt down to look at her, their eyes meeting. She never looked away. Eye on eye. She could see into his soul. Seemed like that since the delivery room. What a day that was! She repeated, "Do you love me?"

"Listen to Papa. I do love you. With all my heart. Where is this coming from?"

"Becky says I'm gitimate, and I don't have a daddy, and momma got in trouble, and gitimate kids don't get loved."

Papa was stunned. "and who is Becky?"

"You know, Becky at church." For a moment, Papa thought he might need to pay a visit to Becky at church and Becky's mom, who was known to be quite a talker.

As Papa tried to put into words what he felt, he looked into the eyes of this little seven year old girl who was much too soon, having to hear this stuff. Who talked like this about children? Suddenly, an emotional tidal wave swept over him.

In an instant he was re-living every emotion, back in the rocking chair, in his living room, exactly where he was sitting when he heard the news of his daughter's pregnancy. It was perhaps the most devastating news, the most painful experience of his entire life. He had wept uncontrollably. His dreams, her dreams, dashed. He remembered the bile rising. The spasms. The pain in his chest. A piano could not have weighed more if placed firmly on his solar plexus. He couldn't speak. He could barely breathe. He found it hard to focus, his vision, or his hearing.

And the emotions: Despair. Rage. Anger. Disappointment. Self doubt. Recriminations for not being a better father. More rage, this time directed at the boy. Oh yeah, "They were in love. He was going to do the right thing." Great plan. He could have literally taken the life of that boy, and felt no regret. A few years in prison would be a fair exchange. What to do. More weeping. Than just more pain. It seemed unbearable. It took a couple of days to even breathe properly.

Now as he looked into the eyes of this little girl, he remembered another thought. A filthy, vile, disgusting, embarrassing thought. For a few moments, off and on, over a few days, after he had first received this very unwelcome news, he had entertained the consideration of suggesting an abortion. He was a Christian, grounded in the faith from a tender age, and yet when faced with every implication of his daughter being an un-wed expectant teen age mother, he had temporarily wavered.

He was looking into the eyes of a child, that in a weak moment, a moment of absolute despair, he had thought of aborting. My God! My God! My God! Forgive me.

He reached fully around his granddaughter and hugged her so hard she squirmed. Tears rolled down his cheeks. She pulled back and looked at him completely puzzled.

"What's the matter Papa. Why did you get sad?"

"Papa's not sad honey. Papa's happy. Sometimes I get so happy, my eyes make lots of tears. Listen, let's talk about Becky, ok?" She nodded.

"Becky doesn't have it quite right. Are you listening to Papa?"

"Yeah. I'm listening."

"First of all, Papa is a pretty smart expert on one thing, and that is, there are no gitimate children. Second of all, you have two daddies. Becky just doesn't know it. You have a spiritual daddy. God is your spiritual daddy. You can't see Him but He can see you and He watches you all day and all night. He can't wait for you to get up in the morning. He thinks you are very special. And you have Papa. I'm not your daddy, but I'm your Papa, and I do love you, and I think about you all day, and I can't wait to see you and talk to you.

And one more thing. Your momma is terrific. She was very young when you were born. But you know what. She thought you being born was the most important thing in the world. It was no trouble. Ok? Do you understand Papa?"

She was a-ok. They continued their walk briefly before she asked, "Papa?"

"Yes"

"I'm tired of walking. Think we should get some ice cream?"

Papa thought that buying this ice cream might just be the most important appointment he could have in the entire world. How thankful the rocking chair experience, and all the thoughts he entertained in that chair were firmly and finally in the past. He thought he might just make a point of rocking this little girl in that chair today. Create a little different memory. Yes indeed. Today would be a good day for a rocking.

In a time, when confusing messages come from all quarters, and admittedly, sometimes even from those raised in the faith, it seems to us there are at least three important messages that need to be heard:

No matter how a baby started, that baby can be and should be loved.
No matter how desperate the circumstances look to those closest to the expectant mom, someone should say, "We can do this, as a family, and make it work. We can do this."

And, to lonely scared Moms, "You are not, and you will not be alone."

Create options for walks by the ponds and shared ice cream, and rocks in the rocking chairs. Turn "someone in trouble" to "No Trouble."

The Husband Store!

A store that sells husbands has just opened in Mid Valley Megamall, where a woman may go to choose a husband. Among the instructions at the entrance is a description of how the store operates. You may visit the store ONLY ONCE !

There are six floors and the attributes of the men increase as the shopper ascends the flights. There is, however, a catch . . .. you may choose any man from a particular floor, or you may choose to go up a floor, but you cannot go back down except to exit the building!

So, a woman goes to the Husband Store to find a husband .

On the first floor the sign on the door reads:
>>> Floor 1- These men have jobs and love the Lord.

The second floor sign reads:
>>> Floor 2- These men have jobs, love the Lord, and love kids.

The third floor sign reads:
>>> Floor 3- These men have jobs, love the Lord, love kids,and are extremely good looking.

"Wow," she thinks, but feels compelled to keep going.

She goes to the fourth floor and sign reads:

>>> Floor 4- These men have jobs, love the Lord, love kids, are drop-dead good looking and help with the housework. "Oh, mercy me!" she exclaims, "I can hardly stand it!" Still, she goes to the fifth floor and sign reads:

>>> Floor 5- These men have jobs, love the Lord, love kids, are drop-dead gorgeous, help with the housework, and have a strong romantic streak. She is so tempted to stay, but she goes to the sixth floor and the sign reads.

>>> Floor 6- You are visitor 4,363,012th to this floor. There are no men on this floor. This floor exists solely as proof that women are impossible to please.

Thank you for shopping at the Husband Store. Watch your step as you exit the building, and have a nice day!

P/S: I am stationed in one of the floor, just guess which floor is it. LOL!!!