Young and Old alike stood in long lines outside, only to come inside for more long lines... but we took opportunity to share and rejoice in testimonies of how God has been merciful in delivering and providing!
Prayerfully consider donating online {CLICK HERE} for these relief efforts
9/4/05
Somebody Cares!
Hurricane Katrina Relief
PLEASE FORWARD THIS POST TO ALL WHO WOULD LIKE TO HELP! Thanks!!!
For those of you who would like to volunteer your time or resources to help those who survived the loss of all they own and are now living with little or nothing as a result of this devastation, come to http://www.somebodycares.org and click on the link to Hurricane Katrina Relief.
Things that we are needing on a daily basis:
* Gift Card from Wal-Mart where they can buy gas, food & clothes
* Gas Cards they can use to go to other cities where housing and jobs may be available
* Bottled water
* Toiletry Kits for women and men
* Socks & Undergarments [new ones please!!] for all ages (clothes are being distributed through churches)
* School supplies
Understand that this ordeal will continue for months, possibly even years for some of these families. Please ask God to direct you where you could be involved in serving them and being a tangible expression of God's Love.
You can donate to Somebody Cares at our new Relief Location:
4501 S. Pinemont, Suite 114. (@ Clay Road) or online at www.somebodycares.org
YMCA's & KSBJ are also accepting donations for Somebody Cares.
Thanks for helping!
Max 713.927.3800 katrinarelief@rmaxtorres.com
9/1/05
Stretching a dollar.
In the morning gas was $2.51/gallon for regular, by 2pm, it had switched to $2.95!!! Obvious need for good mechanics with ingenious carbeuration skills.
8/31/05
The Nap Tube
It turns out that Erik had more of a nap than he expected. Worked for good though. Dr. Small said the pictures were very clear... coz Erik was still and snoring all thirty minutes of the MRI.
8/30/05
Richard Cantu for HISD School Board
Our friend Richard is running for a School Board position for Houston Independent School District. He will work diligently for our community.
8/27/05
The Pickle Jar
---contributed---
The pickle jar as far back as I can remember sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents' bedroom. When he got 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 dull thud as the jar was filled.
I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar and admire the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom window. When the jar was filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and roll the coins before taking them to the bank.
Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production. Stacked neatly in a small cardboard box, the coins were placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck.
Each and every time, as we drove to the bank, Dad would look at me hopefully. "Those coins are going to keep you out of the textile mill, son. You're going to do better than me. This old mill town's not going to hold you back."
Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled coins across the counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would grin proudly. "These are for my son's college fund. He'll never work at the mill all his life like me."
We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping for an ice cream cone. I always got chocolate. Dad always got vanilla. When the clerk at the ice cream parlor handed Dad his change, he would show me the few coins nestled in his palm. "When we get home, we'll start filling the jar again." He always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar. As they rattled around with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at each other. "You'll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters,"he said. "But you'll get there. I'll see to that."
The years passed, and I finished college and took a job in another town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone in their bedroom, and noticed that the pickle jar was gone. It had served its purpose and had been removed.
A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser where the jar had always stood. My dad was a man of few words, and never lectured me on the values of determination, perseverance, and faith.
The pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more eloquently than the most flowery of words could have done. When I married, I told my wife Susan about the significant part the lowly pickle jar had played in my life as a boy. In my mind, it defined, more than anything else, how much my dad had loved me.
No matter how rough things got at home, Dad continued to doggedly drop his coins into the jar. Even the summer when Dad got laid off from the mill, and Mama had to serve dried beans several times a week, not a single dime was taken from the jar.
To the contrary, as Dad looked across the table at me, pouring catsup over my beans to make them more palatable, he became more determined than ever to make a way out for me. "When you finish college, Son," he told me, his eyes glistening, "You'll never have to eat beans again - unless you want to."
The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born, we spent the holiday with my parents. After dinner, Mom and Dad sat next to each other on the sofa, taking turns cuddling their first grandchild. Jessica began to whimper softly, and Susan took her from Dad's arms.
"She probably needs to be changed," she said, carrying the baby into my parents' bedroom to diaper her. When Susan came back into the living room, there was a strange mist in her eyes.
She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand and leading me into the room. "Look," she said softly, her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser. To my amazement, there, as if it had never been removed, stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already covered with coins. I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my pocket, and pulled out a fistful of coins. With a gamut of emotions choking me, I dropped the coins into the jar. I looked up and saw that Dad, carrying Jessica, had slipped quietly into the room. Our eyes locked, and I knew he was feeling the same emotions I felt. Neither one of us could speak.
This truly touched my heart. I know it has yours as well. Sometimes we are so busy adding up our troubles that we forget to count our blessings.
Never underestimate the power of your actions. With one small gesture you can change a person's life, for better or for worse.
God puts us all in each other's lives to impact one another in some way. Look for God in others.
The best and most beautiful things cannot be seen or touched - they must be felt with the heart ~ Helen Keller
- Happy moments, praise God.
- Difficult moments, seek God.
- Quiet moments, worship God.
- Painful moments, trust God.
- Every moment, thank God.
A true friend reaches for your hand and touches your heart..........
8/19/05
T-Bar-M Nite
Well... coming to the end of a wonderful day in the Guadalupe River hill country. Around 40 students from a fantastic school off I-59 have gathered out here for an intense leadership development opportunity. I hope to bring pictures and expressions of the wonderful times these children are having as they are stretched into new levels of their lives.
Say good night Max... Good Night Max!
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