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Saw God in Life

“Life is an opportunity, benefit from it.

Life is beauty, admire it.

Life is a dream, realize it.

Life is a challenge, meet it.

Life is a duty, complete it.

Life is a game, play it.

Life is a promise, fulfill it.

Life is sorrow, overcome it.

Life is a song, sing it.

Life is a struggle, accept it.

Life is a tragedy, confront it.

Life is an adventure, dare it.

Life is luck, make it.

Life is life, fight for it.”

~ Mother Teresa

Ann–The Villages, FL

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Saw God in Baby Rocky


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Saw God in The Rock

There is a huge rock near a gravel pit on Hwy. 25 in rural Iowa. For generations, kids have painted slogans, names, and obscenities on this rock, changing its character many times.

A few months back, the rock received its latest paint job, and since then it has been left completely undisturbed. It’s quite an impressive sight.

Be sure to scroll and check out the multiple photos

(all angles) of the rock. At the very end, you’ll meet

the young artist.






Here’s the artist — Ray ‘Bubba’ Sorensen.




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Saw God Headed to the Urgent Care Facility


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Saw God in a Running Mate


Talk about going the distance.

Thanks to a successful crowd-funding campaign, Dion Leonard, an extreme marathon runner is adopting a stray pup he met while running a 155-mile race in the Gobi desert in China. The funds that were raised will help cover medical and quarantine expenses so that the dog can be transported from China to Leonard’s home of Edinburgh, Scotland.

The female dog, who Leonard appropriately named Gobi, joined Leonard on day two of the annual 4 Deserts Race Series and ran side-by-side with him for 77 miles, according to The Independent.

“At the finish line she followed me into the tent and we slept next to each other. That was it then.”
Leonard told the outlet that he had noticed Gobi running with 101 runners during the first day, but on the second day, Gobi was on the start line, looking up at him.

“This was the first contact I had with her and as I ran off the line I noticed her by my side,” he told the Independent. “I didn’t speak much to her that day thinking she wouldn’t stay with me, but at the finish line she followed me into the tent and we slept next to each other. That was it then.”
Leonard shared his sleeping space, water and food with his small companion during the race. He even lent her a hand when needed.

“I carried her across rivers and over sluice gates she could not cross on her own,” he wrote on his Crowdfunder page.
After the race, it was clear to Leonard that he had developed a special bond with the pooch and started researching ways to get Gobi to the UK.

He learned that it would take four months for Gobi to be medically checked, quarantined and cleared for entry. All of which will cost $6,560 USD, an amount that has been surpassed due to a successful Crowdfunder campaign that raised $13,330 USD.

Leonard told the BBC, that Gobi is currently in the care of a friend in China and hopes she will arrive in Scotland by Christmas.

“That would be amazing”, he told BBC. “That would be the best Christmas present ever.”

Pat–Scottsdale, AZ

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Saw God on the Walk

Ann Arbor – James Burns walked 600 miles over five weeks from Philadelphia to Michigan Stadium to honor the memory of a 5-year-old boy he never met.

Burns, 49, was so moved by Chad Carr’s story after seeing an ESPN feature on Chad and his family that aired the morning of the Michigan-Ohio State game, that he immediately knew he had something to do.

“When I saw you on TV,” Burns said Monday to Tammi Carr, Chad’s mother, “I started bawling my eyes out, and I told my wife, “Well, I know what I’m doing now. I’m walking to Michigan for them.’”

Chad was the 5-year old son of Tammi and Jason Carr, a former quarterback at Michigan, and the grandson of former U-M All-American Tom Curtis and of longtime Michigan head coach Lloyd Carr. He died last November from an inoperable brain tumor.

The Carrs created the ChadTough Foundation ( to raise money for research to cure Diffuse Intrinsic Pontine Glioma (DIPG), a tumor located in a small area of the brain stem. The median survival rate is nine months from diagnosis.

Burns, who said he never endured bad weather on his journey, walked to raise awareness for ChadTough and the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. Burns lives in Souderton, Pa., but began his walk in Philadelphia.

He arrived in Ann Arbor on Thursday, and on Monday he formally met the Carrs at Michigan Stadium.

“I can’t even put into words – it’s been the best experience of my life other than the birth of my children,” Burns told Tammi and Jason. “I’m changed forever. People I don’t even know were picking up hotel tabs for me. I’d sit down to eat and people would hear my story and next thing you know they’re buying my dinner.

“People would say, ‘Why would you do this for a kid you didn’t know?’ And I thought that’s immaterial to me. I want to make sure other kids don’t have this happen to them. I told my one son I could be walking for one of my grandchildren someday, you never know. I don’t think anyone should go at 5 years old. That shouldn’t happen.”
James Burns talks to former Michigan coach Lloyd Carr about training for his 600-mile walk that raised funds and awareness for DIPG. Angelique Chengelis, The Detroit News

Burns said he felt Chad’s presence during his 600-mile walk.

“He was with me every step, I firmly believe that,” Burns said. “I’d talk to him a lot. I’d be in the middle of nowhere, it would be dark, and I’d be like, ‘All right, buddy, help me out here.’ I was just following my GPS and I don’t even know where I was stepping next, and he took care of me every step, and I know he’s going to be part of me forever. It’s just the greatest feeling you have when you go beyond any level you have, thinking, ‘I can’t do this,’ and you keep doing it.”

Tammi Carr presented Burns with a special ChadTough mini helmet and khakis signed by Michigan coach Jim Harbaugh.

He spent some time chatting with Lloyd Carr, who told him, “You send a message all across America.”

Pat–Scottsdale, AZ

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Saw God in Rosie

This is a wonderful story about an amazing little girl:

Coming up Roses means everything is turning out okay. Even though Rosie is sometimes sad about her hair loss, she teaches us that everything is “Coming up Rosies.”

We noticed the first handful of soft brown curls on Rosie’s pink-princess pillow on a sunny Saturday morning in October. Rosie was already up and out of bed by then, a proud two-and-a-half year-old excited to help “dress” her new baby sister. Maybe she’s stressed about the new baby? we thought. We made a note to Google it later, but forgot about it until the next morning when even more curls appeared on her pillow. Maybe she’s allergic to her shampoo?, we wondered. We replaced her shampoo with another brand the next time we bathed her. When Monday brought more of the same — this time with twice as many curls — we called the pediatrician.

Over the phone, the pediatrician assured us it was probably just stress from the newest addition to our family, but he offered to see her to ease our minds. We’ll never forget the look on his face when he first saw Rosie waiting on the exam bed, and how his usual, pleasant chit-chat stopped as he carefully examined her patchy-haired scalp. “I don’t think this is stress.”, he finally said, “I think it’s Alopecia, so I’m referring you to the best specialist as quickly as possible.” By Thursday, Rosie’s hair was all but gone. The following week a specialist diagnosed Rosie with Alopecia, an autoimmune disorder wherein the body mistakenly attacks the hair follicle, causing the hair to fall out. “There is no cure,” the specialist said, before correcting himself to soften the impact, “– At least, not yet.”

As we struggled to understand the diagnosis and what it might mean for our sweet Rosie, the last of her remaining hair fell out. In the following months we relied on hats to shield Rosie from unwanted stares as we held onto hope that her hair loss would be temporary. We hoped that as long as we kept her happy and healthy, we’d soon begin to see those lovely brown curls poking out from her scalp, like flowers in the spring.

In the meantime we sought answers from books, from second (and third) opinions, and genetic testing. We read medical journal articles, sometimes in the middle of the night when we were up with Rosie’s little sister, looking for signs of hope that a cure was just around the corner. We scoured the Internet for miracles and success stories, for the magic bullet that would return those soft brown curls back to Rosie’s smiling face. We tried countless treatments; ointments, creams, steroids, herbal medicines, special diets, and even lifestyle changes designed to reduce any stress a two-and-a-half year-old might feel. We searched Rosie’s scalp daily, sometimes with a flashlight, for any sign of new hair growth. Our hope that this would be a temporary condition, even a funny story someday, slowly faded.

It soon grew harder to convince Rosie to wear a hat everywhere. Our strategy of hiding Rosie’s baldness until we could fix it became less realistic. We were still wrapping our minds around the the diagnosis itself, let alone the enormity of a potentially permanent diagnosis. But life doesn’t always wait for us to catch up, so we were forced to decide whether to double-down on Rosie’s privacy by making it seem fun to wear a hat during the summer and indoors, or whether to choose the path of “no secret, no shame.” We made our decision on a warm Saturday in late May when we left the house for the local park. For the first time since receiving her diagnosis, we left Rosie’s pink hat behind. Rosie charged ahead toward the slide, the sun shining directly on her bald little head, oblivious to the significance of the day, while we steeled our will:

We have a bald three year-old and we are embracing her difference.

The next few months were filled with ups and downs. Sympathetic smiles were far rarer than stares, and the stares were often paired with inquisitive finger-pointing from younger children. Parents would shush their children, “Shhh – don’t stare. Stop pointing. It’s not polite.” while grocery shopping or waiting in line at Starbucks. When Rosie asked why they were pointing, we’d explain they were simply curious, all the while whisking her away from the Pointers with a pit in our stomach. Over time, the unwanted attention began to seem normal. We stopped retreating from the stares and went about our business normally. We were surprised the first time a stranger reached out in sympathy about our child’s cancer, but we soon honed our response, “Thankfully our little girl is very healthy. She has an auto-immune condition called Alopecia which makes her bald.” Eventually we began encouraging Rosie to wave and say hello to the “curious people”, even to introduce herself.
Rosie’s “Forever Rainbow” and “Crazy Colors” paintings that were the inspiration for our first head scarves.
Rosie’s “Forever Rainbow” and “Crazy Colors” paintings that were the inspiration for our first head scarves.
When people – usually children – asked Rosie about her hair – Rosie gave them the creative answers, “My hair is on vacation.” Sometimes she’d say, “My hair is just taking a break, it might come back soon.” Other days she’d get right to the point, “I’m just bald and I have Alopecia.” If she was feeling especially gregarious, she’d seek out other bald people, approaching them to ask, “Did you know you are bald like me? We’re twins, we match!” Her confidence caught people off guard and left everyone with a smile.

It wasn’t all sunshine and roses. One particular type of public comment bothered Rosie more than any other; “Hey little guy, how are you today?”or, “Great scootering, buddy!” She’d frown and tell people she wasn’t a boy, and usually she’d be too annoyed to explain further. She began to ask, “Why do they think I’m a boy, I’m wearing pink? Boys don’t wear pink!” Of all the answers we’d had to provide, this one was the toughest. By the end of the discussion, we found ourselves explaining to our teary-eyed Rosie that sometimes things happen to us that we can’t control. That night, after Rosie fell asleep we decided that instead of rehashing the unfairness of it all, we’d focus on controlling what we could about her diagnosis: Rosie’s emotional development and self esteem.

Instead of focusing on fixing her baldness, we shifted to raising a little girl who loves herself unconditionally, hair or no hair. We spent more time with friends who loved Rosie for Rosie. We doubled-down on activities like painting, where she bubbled with pride in her natural ability. Every time she’d thrust a still-wet painting at us — “Look at my flower!” — we wished we could bottle up that pride and sprinkle it over her during the bad days, or the boy-comments.

The idea came to me out of the blue: why not transfer some of her most-prized paintings onto a head scarf? Not only would she have a beautiful head scarf to wear on days she didn’t feel like inviting comments, but the scarf would be her own work. People would be commenting on Rosie’s scarf – her art — instead of her loss. Best of all, by wearing her own beautiful artwork we could truly “sprinkle” Rosie with a reminder of her abilities all day long. We surprised her with a head scarf we’d had made using one of her more favored paintings. She was overjoyed, and quickly blurted out, “What about the other bald kids? We should make these for all the bald kids who look like me. Can we do that?”

Just like that, she changed a little gift to our daughter into an inspiration and a mission, something I never would have dreamed up myself.

These days, if you happen to look in our direction, you’ll see a beautiful little girl wearing an exuberantly colorful headscarf. If Rosie happens to catch your glance, you’ll get a wave and a hello along with an earful about her plan to “make scarves to help all of the bald kids.” She campaigned for me to leave my corporate job and sell the scarves to the “bald kids.” We debated whether this was just a phase, but eventually it became clear that her conviction would not be shaken, and I was persuaded. I have left Google to join Rosie in her incredible journey to make all of the bald kids smile. Rosie has shown me how to make lemonade out of lemons, and now I know, after all, that everything is Coming Up Rosies.





Carrie-Chicago, IL

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Saw God Under the Umbrella


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Saw God in Mother Goose


On Monday, Givens was sitting in his patrol car in a parking lot when he was accosted by one very unexpected visitor who seemed dead set on getting his attention.
“This goose came up and started pecking on the side of the car,” Givens told The Dodo. “I threw some food out for her, but she didn’t take it. She just kept pecking and quacking. Then she walked away, stopped and looked back. Then came over again and pecked some more.”
When the goose walked away a second time, and again looked back, Givens decided to follow her. And it’s a good thing that he did.

“She led me about 100 yards away to this grassy area near a creek. That’s when I saw one of her babies all tangled up in some string from a balloon. His little feet were kicking,” said Givens. “She led me straight to him.”
Though stunned by what just happened, Givens was wary of approaching the trapped gosling, fearing that the goose might attack if he did. So instead he radioed the SPCA, but no wildlife rescuers were immediately available.
Givens’ colleague, Officer Cecilia Charron, heard the call and volunteered to help.
“She showed up on her own,” he said. “I told her to be careful, but she just walked over and untangled the baby. The mother goose just watched, like she knew. It was amazing.”
Once the baby was untangled, Givens and Charron looked on as he rejoined his mom and swam away safely. Not surprisingly, the officers were in disbelief about how it all played out from start to finish.
Charron even started to tear up, telling Givens it was the highlight of her 24 years on the force.
“It seems like something made up. It was just incredible,” said Givens. “I honestly don’t know why I decided to follow her, but I did. It makes me wonder — do they know to turn to humans when they need help?”

Though we’ll never be sure if the desperate mother goose did indeed approach the officer knowing he would help, what is certain is that he did — and that’s what made the difference.
“I don’t know what it all means,” Givens said, “but I hope it might inspire more compassion in other people.”

Carolyn–Rochester Hills, MI

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Saw God in a Pack of Gum


John & Annie Glenn –

For half a century, the world has applauded John Glenn as a heart- stirring
American hero. He lifted the nation’s spirits when, as one of the original
Mercury 7 astronauts, he was blasted alone into orbit around the Earth;
the enduring affection for him is so powerful that even now people find
themselves misting up at the sight of his face or the sound of his voice.

But for all these years, Glenn has had a hero of his own, someone who
he has seen display endless courage of a different kind:

Annie Glenn.

They have been married for 68 years.

He is 90; she turned 92 on Friday.

This weekend there has been news coverage of the 50th anniversary of
Glenn’s flight into orbit. We are being reminded that, half a century down
the line, he remains America ‘s unforgettable hero.

He has never really bought that.

Because the heroism he most cherishes is of a sort that is seldom
cheered. It belongs to the person he has known longer than he has known
anyone else in the world.

John Glenn and Annie Castor first knew each other when — literally —
they shared a playpen.

In New Concord , Ohio , his parents and hers were friends. When the
families got together, their children played.

John — the future Marine fighter pilot, the future test-pilot ace,
the future astronaut — was pure gold from the start. He would end up having
what it took to rise to the absolute pinnacle of American regard during the
space race; imagine what it meant to be the young John Glenn in the small
confines of New Concord .

Three-sport varsity athlete, most admired boy in town, Mr. Everything.

Annie Castor was bright, was caring, was talented, was generous of
spirit. But she could talk only with the most excruciating of difficulty. It
haunted her.

Her stuttering was so severe that it was categorized as an “85%”
disability — 85% of the time, she could not manage to make words come out.

When she tried to recite a poem in elementary school, she was laughed
at. She was not able to speak on the telephone. She could not have a regular
conversation with a friend.

And John Glenn loved her.

Even as a boy he was wise enough to understand that people who could
not see past her stutter were missing out on knowing a rare and wonderful

They married on April 6, 1943. As a military wife, she found that life
as she and John moved around the country could be quite hurtful. She has
written: “I can remember some very painful experiences — especially the

In department stores, she would wander unfamiliar aisles trying to
find the right section, embarrassed to attempt to ask the salesclerks for
help. In taxis, she would have to write requests to the driver, because she
couldn’t speak the destination out loud. In restaurants, she would point to
the items on the menu.

A fine musician, Annie, in every community where she and John moved,
would play the organ in church as a way to make new friends. She and John
had two children; she has written: “Can you imagine living in the modern
world and being afraid to use the telephone? ‘Hello’ used to be so hard for
me to say. I worried that my children would be injured and need a doctor.
Could I somehow find the words to get the information across on the phone?”

John, as a Marine aviator, flew 59 combat missions in World War II and
90 during the Korean War. Every time he was deployed, he and Annie said
goodbye the same way. His last words to her before leaving were:

“I’m just going down to the corner store to get a pack of gum.”

And, with just the two of them there, she was able to always reply:

“Don’t be long.”

On that February day in 1962 when the world held its breath and the
Atlas rocket was about to propel him toward space, those were their words,
once again. And in 1998, when, at 77, he went back to space aboard the
shuttle Discovery, it was an understandably tense time for them. What if
something happened to end their life together?

She knew what he would say to her before boarding the shuttle. He
did — and this time he gave her a present to hold onto:

A pack of gum.

She carried it in a pocket next to her heart until he was safely home.

Many times in her life she attempted various treatments to cure her
stutter. None worked.

But in 1973, she found a doctor in Virginia who ran an intensive
program she and John hoped would help her. She traveled there to enroll and
to give it her best effort. The miracle she and John had always waited for
at last, as miracles will do, arrived. At age 53, she was able to talk
fluidly, and not in brief, anxiety-ridden, agonizing bursts.

John has said that on the first day he heard her speak to him with
confidence and clarity, he dropped to his knees to offer a prayer of

He has written: “I saw Annie’s perseverance and strength through the
years and it just made me admire her and love her even more.” He has heard
roaring ovations in countries around the globe for his own valor, but his
awe is reserved for Annie, and what she accomplished: “I don’t know if I
would have had the courage.”

Her voice is so clear and steady now that she regularly gives public
talks. If you are lucky enough to know the Glenns, the sight and sound of
them bantering and joking with each other and playfully finishing each
others’ sentences is something that warms you and makes you thankful just to
be in the same room.

Monday will be the anniversary of the Mercury space shot, and once
again, people will remember, and will speak of the heroism of Glenn the

But if you ever find yourself at an event where the Glenns are
appearing, and you want to see someone so brimming with pride and love that
you may feel your own tears start to well up, wait until the moment that
Annie stands to say a few words to the audience.

And as she begins, take a look at her husband’s eyes.

Carolyn–Rochester, MI

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