acceptance

A problem isn't a real problem till you decide to make it a problem... so what's the problem again?

For the wise have always known that no one can make much of his life until self-searching has become a regular habit, until he is able to admit and accept what he finds, and until he patiently and persistently tries to correct what is wrong. _ Bill W.

And now she began muttering to herself. "God , who created you, must have known what He did. Enough is enough.

People who fit don__ seek. The seekers are those that don__ fit.

Wisdom. . .is knowing what you have to accept.

I would rather be what God chose to make me than the most glorious creature that I could think of; for to have been born in God's thought, and then made by God is the dearest, grandest, and most precious thing in all thinking."This is a prayer of contentment

And then there is this jewel with its many facets of wisdom. It__ not difficult to imagine the breadth and depth of this sentiment _ at least where astuteness and faith are an inseparable dynamic duo running rampant: __while God does listen, knowing what He knows about us, and how well we take disappointment, often He will find a way to save us all the heartache and trouble we unwittingly plead and beseech and continually pester him for; ever a loving, wise Father, He will just simply answer, __o,_ by default; by not answering, __es.

Soldiers live. He dies and not you, and you feel guilty, because you're glad he died, and not you. Soldiers live, and wonder why.

There was a lot about my life that was crappy, now that I couldn't talk. But if I hadn't gotten drunk that night, if I hadn't gotten in that accident, would I have ever had this moment? Lying there in the sun, holding Sam's hand like time didn't exist and the real world couldn't touch us? Somehow I didn't think so.

One weekend it rained for 48 hours without stopping. The rain beat like bony fingers against the window panes. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Fungus was growing on the walls. I polished off a bottle of gin sitting huddled over the two-bar electric fire and wrote a poem, one of the few that has lasted through the moves and the years. It is called 'Where Can I Go?'If this is not the place where tears are understood where do I go to cry? If this is not the place where my spirits can take wing where do I go to fly?If this is not the place where my feelings can be heard where do I go to speak? If this is not the place where you__l accept me as I am where can I go to be me? If this is not the place where I can try and learn and grow where can I go to laugh and cry?

They say grief occurs in five stages. First there's denial followed by anger. Then comes bargaining, depression and acceptance. But grief is a merciless master. Just when you think you're free you realize you never stood a chance.

Why did you revive me?_ Alecto repeated. __ell_ uh, well_._ Mandy hesitated, her voice full of sudden misery. __hey say there are five stages of grief, you know_ five stages. denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Not in any particular order. Anyhow, I denied your death, I was angry about it, I bargained with Mearth to try and get her to un-bury your site and I was depressed about the whole ordeal. One thing I just froze up on though was acceptance. I just couldn__ accept your death. It was really cruel the way you died, and I missed you so much_ Mearth, my parents, the cops, Dr. Pottie, they all thought I was crazy. When people think you__e crazy, that label automatically dehumanizes you, because people can use it to discredit everything you say with, __h, pay no mind to her, she__ just this crazy lunatic with a dead imaginary friend._ I just wanted to do something, anything to make it all go away, and I decided that I wanted to revive you.

Letting go doesn't mean that you don't care about someone anymore. It's just realizing that the only person you really have control over is yourself.

Say No! Accept the burdens of revenge.

No religion can fully accept another religion, that__ the one belief all religions share

...definitely believe that, there's got to be a spark to a place...to make it feel like a home...

It is what writers do, imagine and feel the pain of others, sometimes at the expense of feeling their own. Here, then, in these pages is mine, the fear of death, of loss, of unexpressed love. Here is the truth told in a story. And in the telling of it perhaps I have found some way to have courage, to believe.

Anyone who accepts Jesus into his heart and believes Him always becomes great