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La Vie En Rose Melody Gardot
Des yeux qui font baiser les miens,
Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche,
Voila le portrait sans retouche
De l'homme auquel j'appartiensQuand il me prend dans ses bras
Il me parle tout bas,
Je vois la vie en roseIl me dit des mots d'amour,
Des mots de tous les jours,
Et ca me fait quelque choseIl est entre dans mon coeur
Une part de bonheur
Dont je connais la causeC'est lui pour moi. Moi pour lui
Dans la vie,
Il me l'a dit, l'a jure pour la vieEt des que je l'apercois
Alors je sens en moi
Mon coeur qui bat
Hold me close and hold me fast,
The magic spell you cast
This is La vie en rose.
When you kiss me heaven sighs,
And though I close my eyes
I see La vie en rose.
When you press me to your heart…
I'm in a world apart…
A world where roses bloom.
And when you speak… angels laugh from above,
Everyday words seem to turn into love songs.
Give your heart and soul to me,
And babe it's gonna be
La vie en rose.When you press me to your heart…
I'm in a world apart…
A world where roses bloom.
And when you speak… angels laugh from above,
Everyday words seem to turn into love songs.
Give your heart and soul to me,
And babe it's gonna be
La vie en rose.
vivre un rêve à l'amour que beaucoup rêvent.
Home
Another summer day has come and gone away
In Paris and Rome
But I want to go home
May be surrounded by a million people I,
Still feel all alone
I want to go home
Oh, I miss you, you know
And I've been keeping all the letters that I
wrote to you
Each one a line or two
I'm fine baby, how are you
I would send 'em but I know that it's just not enough
My words were cold and flat and you deserve more than that
Another airplane, another sunny place
I'm lucky I know, but I wanna go home
I've got to home
Let me go home
I'm just to far from where you are, I want to come home
And I feel just like I'm living someone else's life
It's like I just stepped outside when everything was going right
And I know just why you could not come along with me
This was not your dream
But you always believed in me
Another winter day has come and gone away
In even Paris and Rome
And I wanna go home,
Let me go home
And I'm surrounded by a million people I,
Still feel alone and I want to go home
Oh, I miss you, you know
Let me go home
I've had my run,
Baby I'm done
I'm coming back home
Let me go home
It'll all be alright,
I'll be home tonight
I'm coming back home
The Cracked Water Jug– A Story from India
A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck.
One of the pots had a crack in it, and the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master's house while the cracked pot always arrived only half full.
For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water in his master's house.
Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made.
But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream.
“I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to YOU.”
“Why?” asked the bearer
“What are you ashamed of?”
“I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master's house.
Because of my flaws, YOU have to do all of this work, and YOU don't get full value from YOUR efforts,” the pot said.
The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion he said
“As we return to the master's house, I want YOU to notice the beautiful flowers along the path.”
Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some.
But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.
The bearer said to the pot,
“Did YOU notice that there were flowers only on YOUR side of the path, but not on the other pot's side?
That's because I have always known about YOUR flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on YOUR side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, YOU have watered them.
For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master's table.
Without YOU being just the way YOU are, my master would not have this beauty to grace his house.”Each of us has our own unique flaws.
We are all cracked pots.
But if we will allow it, the Lord will use our flaws to grace His Father's table.
In God's great economy, nothing goes to waste.
So as we seek ways to minister together, and as God calls you to the tasks He has appointed for YOU, don't be afraid of YOUR flaws. God will use them for His good.
Acknowledge them, and allow Him to take advantage of them, and YOU, too, can be the cause of beauty in His pathway.
Go out boldly, knowing that in our weakness we find His strength,
and that “In Him every one of God's promises is a Yes.”
~ author unknown ~
THE TROUBLE TREE
The carpenter I hired to help me restore an old farmhouse had just
finished a rough first day on the job.
A flat tire made him lose an hour of work,his electric
saw quit and now his ancient pickup truck refused to start.
While I drove him home, he sat in stony silence.On arriving, he invited me in to meet his family.
As we walked toward the front door, he paused briefly at a small tree,
touching the tips of the branches with both hands.
When opening the door, he underwent an amazing transformation.
His tanned face was wreathed in smiles and he hugged his two small children and gave his wife a kiss
Afterward he walked me to the car.
We passed the tree and my curiosity got the better of me.
I asked him about what I had seen him do earlier.“Oh, that's my trouble tree,” he replied
“I know I can't help having troubles on the job, but one thing's for
sure–troubles don't belong in the house with my wife and the children.
So I just hang them on the tree every night when I come home.
Then in the morning I pick them up again.”He paused. “Funny thing is,” he smiled,
“When I come out in the morning to pick 'em up, there ain't nearly
as many as I remember hanging up the night before.”
KEEP ON SINGING
Like any good mother, when Karen found out that another baby was on the way, she did what she could to help her 3-year-old son, Michael, prepare for a new sibling.
They found out that the new baby was going to be a girl, and day after day, night after night, Michael would sing to his sister in Mommy's tummy.The pregnancy progresses normally for Karen, an active member of the Panther Creek United Methodist Church in Morristown, Tennessee.
Then the labor pains come.
Every five minutes … every minute.
But complications arise during delivery.
Hours of labor. Would a C-section be required?Finally, Michael's little sister is born.
But she is in serious condition.
With siren howling in the night, the ambulance rushes the infant to the neonatal intensive care unit at St. Mary's Hospital, Knoxville, Tennessee.The days inch by.
The little girl gets worse.
The pediatric specialist tells the parents, “There is very little hope. Be prepared for the worst.”
Karen and her husband contact a local cemetery about a burial plot.
They have fixed up a special room in their home for the new baby — now they plan a funeral.Michael, keeps begging his parents to let him see his sister,
“I want to sing to her,” he says.Week two in intensive care. It looks as if a funeral will come before the week is over.
Michael keeps nagging about singing to his sister, but kids are never allowed in Intensive Care.
Karen makes up her mind. She will take Michael whether they like it or not.
If he doesn't see his sister now, he may never see her alive.She dresses him in an oversized scrub suit and marches him into ICU.
He looks like a walking laundry basket, but the head nurse recognizes him as a child and bellows,
“Get that kid out of here now! No children are allowed.”The mother rises up strong in Karen, and the usually mild-mannered lady glares steely eyed into the head nurse's face, her lips a firm line.
“He is not leaving until he sings to his sister!”Karen tows Michael to his sister's bedside.
He gazes at the tiny infant losing the battle to live and he begins to sing.
In the pure hearted voice of a 3-year-old, Michael sings:
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray “Instantly the baby girl responds.
The pulse rate becomes calm and steady.“Keep on singing, Michael.”
“You never know, dear, how much I love you, Please don't take my sunshine away”
The ragged, strained breathing becomes as smooth as a kitten's purr.
“Keep on singing, Michael.”
“The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms…”
Michael's little sister relaxes as rest, healing rest, seems to sweep over her.
“Keep on singing, Michael.”
Tears conquer the face of the bossy head nurse.
Karen glows.“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. Please don't, take my sunshine away.”
The Funeral plans are scrapped.
The next, day — the very next day — the little girl is well enough to go home!
Woman's Day Magazine called it “The Miracle of a Brother's Song.”The medical staff just called it a miracle.
Karen called it a miracle of God's love!NEVER GIVE UP ON THE PEOPLE YOU LOVE
