Read a recent review of Signed, Sealed, Delivered: One In A Million by A&D.
Another review of Signed, Sealed, Delivered: From the Heart, is in. This one is by Kate O’Hare of Patheos.com
Click Here to read the review
Read the review of Signed, Sealed, Delivered: From the Heart by Cody Schultz of Hiddenremote.com:
2015 SUMMER TCA – On Wednesday, July 29th, Crown Media Family Networks’ President & CEO Bill Abbott and Executive Vice President, Programming and Network Publicity Michelle Vicary host the company’s 2015 Summer Press Tour for TV writers and critics at one of Beverly Hills’ most exclusive private residences, revealing the next 6 months of programming for Hallmark Channel and Hallmark Movies & Mysteries. http://www.crownmediapress.com/pressexpress Picture: Credit: Copyright 2015 Crown Media, Inc./Alexx Henry Studios
BBC News – Northern Ireland
18 July 2015
While things like postcodes and addresses are usually thought of as pretty much essential for letters to be delivered, it seems they’re not so important to the postmen and women of Donegal.
A letter addressed: “Your man Henderson, that boy with the glasses who is doing a PhD up here at Queen’s in Belfast. Buncrana, County Donegal, Ireland,” successfully reached its intended recipient last week – student Barry Henderson.
A friend of Barry’s sent the letter in an attempt to demonstrate how small Buncrana is.
The letter travelled more than 80 miles from Belfast, before being delivered to the office of Mr Henderson’s wife, Roisin in the town, which has a population of about 7,000.
Inside was a note saying: “If this has arrived, you live in a village.”
Royal Mail had stamped on the letter: “Please remember to write the postcode clearly.”
Roisin Henderson told BBC Radio Foyle she thought the local postmen were “wonderful”.
“They go above and beyond,” she said.
“I actually cornered the postman that came into the office this morning, but he claimed it wasn’t him.
“I’m not sure if he was being shy or it really wasn’t, but I’m going to find the postman.”
The letter arrived in the same week that the Republic of Ireland introduced postcodes for the first time, with every house receiving a unique seven-digit identifying code, known as an Eircode.
“I think it proves there’s no need for Eircode,” Roisin said.
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A long time ago in Illinois, maybe seventy years or so, my father worked in an office in Champaign-Urbana. It was the end of the day and one of his co-workers was running out the door to a dinner and suddenly remembered that he’d forgotten to pick up some documents for a meeting the next morning. It was a small errand, something that a messenger boy would have done back then in the 1930s.
But no one else was left in the office and so my father offered to help. The man gave my father an address and thanked him and ran out the door. My dad drove to the address he’d been given. It was small house and the lady who answered the door was a housewife preparing dinner. He introduced himself and she invited my father inside to wait in the living room while she went to get the papers. He’d never been in that house before and he’d never met the lady or anyone else in her family. But as he sat on the sofa, looking across the room into the front bedroom, he saw something familiar on the dresser. He stood up and walked a few steps until he could be sure he was really seeing what he thought he was seeing. It was a photograph of him, in a frame, set up there in a place of honor. He realized it was actually a picture that been clipped from a newspaper article about him and an award he had received a few months back for community service. He wasn’t a famous or celebrated person in the community and it had been just a small story about one citizen just doing something positive to help others. But someone had seen it, cut out, and put it in a frame. My dad was stunned. When the lady of the house returned with the papers he needed, he pointed to the photo and said “that’s my picture, isn’t it?” The lady nodded and said, “yes, that’s my little girls’ room. She read about you in the paper and she admires you so much. She says she wants to be just like you when she grows up.” Every time my dad told that story, he always ended it the same way. “I never met that little girl, but I never forgot about her. I realized that somewhere out there somebody had decided that I was a good example to follow. And I knew that I never wanted to disappoint her. I wanted to be the person she thought I was. I didn’t always succeed, but for the rest of my life, I tried.”
You know, it saddens me so much to see the news media create “heroes” out of sports figures and musicians and movie stars only to bring them down again, and in the process send the message to the people who admired them that no one is worth modeling. The truth is, there are real heroes, good people, quiet people, folks who just live what they believe, help when help is needed, give what they can and ask for nothing back. Those people are out there and if you know one, tell them thank you. And tell them that people do see them, that God sees them, and that their photos may not stand on a stranger’s dresser, but their good works are remembered and cherished in a stranger’s heart.
I found a scripture the other day that I’ve never noticed before. It’s “my voice shalt thou hear in the morning o Lord and in the morning will I direct my prayer unto Thee and I will look up.” That’s Psalm 5, verse 3.
And it reminded me of my dad. My dad was not the sort of person who would run around and grab people by the lapels and say “come to Jesus! Repent and be saved!” But people could always tell what he believed by the way he lived and the way he helped people. He was a kind, friendly gentleman and no one ever questioned his great faith.
And one of the ways I knew that he truly loved God was one little thing that he always did. Every morning as he walked into the kitchen he would stop at the back door, the kitchen door that faced the east where the sun was coming up. He would pull back the drape and look at the sunrise and he would say a little quiet prayer. I never knew what he said. I don’t know if it was the same prayer every day or if it was a different prayer every day, but I know that he always stopped there on that little step and spent a moment with the Lord, preparing himself for the day. I imagine that he prayed for his family and for our safety and for my future and certainly prayed that our family would come together again in saftey at the end of the day. And I’m sure it included some words of thanksgiving. It was a touching habit and a powerful example to me. And I’m sure that it came from a line from one of his favorite hymns “Great is Thy Faithfulness”: “morning by morning new mercies I see.” He taught me that every single morning God gives you a brand new sunrise, a brand new start. Every morning His mercies are new, yesterday is gone.
God has given you a brand new today. So, right now where you are sitting at your computer, whatever you have to do after you click away, remember that God is already preparing a brand new day tomorrow, with brand new mercies, with great forgiveness, and a chance to start over.
I wonder if any of you are like me, celebrating your own personal “new year” on another day besides January 1?
Of course, there are cultural new years on other days on the calendar, such as Chinese New Year. But I’m talking about the day that you might consciously or unconsciously choose as a sort of anniversary where you take stock of yourself compared to where you were a year ago.
For me, that day is the Fourth of July and it’s for a strange, sad sort of reason. The Fourth of July when I was twelve, I overheard two people I loved dearly talking about me. They were completely unaware that I was listening to them as they evaluated me as a person. They weren’t cruel or judgmental, just painfully honest about my shortcomings. Granted, they also quite generously acknowledged a lot of my positive attributes. But, of course, all I heard and remembered for years were the negatives. And after that, the Fourth of July became a sort of annual check-up for me, where I stopped to evaluate myself and see if I’d “improved” or at least tried to correct the weaknesses that I – and they – saw in me.
It wasn’t until a summer many years later – maybe even another Fourth of July week-end – in the very same place, that I came to moment of peace and self-acceptance.
That year, I was in bad shape, overweight. I’d been dumped by my boyfriend and I was out of work. It was one of the lowest points of my life. I felt unloved, unattractive, undesirable, unemployable, and oh, so lonely. So I decided to really make myself feel worse and I went up to the mountains of Colorado where I had grown up and I locked myself away and just wallowed in self pity and solitary nights in front of the fireplace writing in my journal and asking God over and over again when would I be loved?
One morning I took a walk alone in the woods. I remember walking and crying and finally calling out to God in absolute misery, “What’s the matter with me?” And I picked up a rock from the ground and threw it in frustration. It landed on another larger rock and broke open. Inside, geode.
And suddenly, I had my very own Touched By An Angel revelation except I was touched by a rock. It was like a message from God that said – I made this rock and all the beauty inside it and this rock has been here forever and if you hadn’t smashed it just now, it would still be sitting there on the ground looking brown and plain and ordinary. But I would know the beauty inside. I would still see the beauty inside and that is enough. And I made you, Martha. You are more beautiful than any rock on this earth, and if nobody else ever appreciates who and what you are, I do. Your God. Your Creator. And that is enough.
And everything changed after that. I knew that I was special and unique to the only One that really counts. I told a girlfriend what happened and she shrugged, “well that sounds inspiring but get real. You can’t take God out for dinner and a movie.”
But you know what? You can. I started going out alone if I didn’t have a date. I started writing scripts even if I didn’t have a job. I started getting dressed up and looking my best even if no one else was looking. And you know what? People started looking and noticing a new confidence in me. Even better, there was a new peace.
People like to talk about that “secret” to life where you’re supposed to draw positive things TO you? Well, I think it’s the other way around. Let God show you all the positive things he’s already put inside you. And trust that if he thinks you’re special, then you are.
By the way, you may wonder where that life changing rock is? I left it right there, in the woods. Who knows who else may need to find it a hundred years from now.
Whenever you find yourself being terribly hard on yourself – give yourself a break. Break open that rock, instead! And by the way, Happy Fourth of July!
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