<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1736514642678758756</id><updated>2011-11-30T00:46:02.867-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Random Ramblings</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1736514642678758756/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Vecseri Erzsébet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380168981196375110</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>9</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1736514642678758756.post-6042793434325405305</id><published>2011-11-30T00:14:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-30T00:14:34.110-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Been a While...</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="p1"&gt;Confession: I stayed up really late. but i updated my &lt;a href="http://queenelizabethanna.tumblr.com/"&gt;tumblr&lt;/a&gt;. also i realized that i can read depressing blogs about eating disorders and cutting and such without getting affected as strongly as i used to be. the joy of the L~rd *IS* my strength (: i need to find more worship music to listen to. and i need to make a plan for studying collegeplus and reading through the Bible in a year. that's all.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1736514642678758756-6042793434325405305?l=alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com/feeds/6042793434325405305/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1736514642678758756&amp;postID=6042793434325405305' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1736514642678758756/posts/default/6042793434325405305'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1736514642678758756/posts/default/6042793434325405305'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com/2011/11/its-been-while.html' title='It&apos;s Been a While...'/><author><name>Vecseri Erzsébet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380168981196375110</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1736514642678758756.post-466201365535285281</id><published>2010-10-16T10:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-16T10:10:38.771-07:00</updated><title type='text'>szeptember 27, 2010</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;Ughhhhhhh. I am so mad at this wireless. And just random stuff. But mostly the wireless. First off, I rly need to talk to my twin. Like, srsly. I cant rly talk to anyone else…I mean I can, but they wont/don’t understand. And I don’t wanna seem complainy to anyone cuz I’m not complaining, just stuff is rly hard for me right now. I know it’s not as difficult as some people, but for me this is hard. Im used to being around lots of people that I know…and everyone knows everyone else…and we’re all one big happy family. Here it’s like, most of them know each other already (from summer camps or last year) or they all have mutual friends somewhere in sometime. Or know some family member who’s a friend of someone who they used to know at some time and yeah. It kinda gets annoying, but I guess it’s good for them. Idk. I’m trying to find my way in it all, see if I belong there, and I know that can be a struggle just to figure that out, but even when I do feel like I’m part of something, I feel like I’m not at the same time. I feel like I don’t fit anywhere. I know zsuzsi and them are trying to make it family-like for me…they feel like I’m part of their family too…and I do too sometimes, but they don’t know me. I’m not a big family familyish type person. I am, but everyone is my family. I see people as equally important because we’re all G~d’s children. Idk. Here I am. Everyone keeps telling me: “you’re an adult! You need to live your own life now…make your own decisions…get out there and be the person G~d made you to be.” WHAT THE FREAKING LUKE IS THAT?!?!?! I know I’m an “adult” but I’m also still under my parent’s authority. So when do I make a decision on my own and when do I have them make the decision for me? Then knowing who G~d made me to be is a whole different story. I for one have absolutely no idea what G~d wants me to do. There are quite a few things that I can do…quite a few talents that He’s gifted me with…like being able to pretty much find a place with one of my talents somewhere to serve. But no specific great anything. The greatest thing I wanted to do with/in my life as a child was to be the queen. I &lt;i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"&gt;want&lt;/i&gt; to be what G~d wants me to be. I &lt;i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"&gt;want&lt;/i&gt; to do what G~d wants me to do. Just it seems like I’ll never know what that is. Should I be making plans and having goals for things in my life? Is that what G~d wants me to do? Should I just live my life not knowing anything daily and completely walk by faith? There’s no answer for that. You have to find out what G~d’s plan for you is. OKAY. I KNOW THAT ALREADY. TELL ME SOMETHING I DON’T KNOW!!! Only G~d knows my deepest thoughts and desires. I want to be a G~dly wife to some amazing man that G~d has for me. I don’t wanna get caught up thinking about someone specific because I don’t wanna put G~d in a box. I want to be open to whatever His will is for me. I want to love someone so deeply that no one can fathom it. I want to be wanted and needed by someone, and I want to need him too. I don’t wanna go around “looking for guys” because that should all be in G~d’s time. I don’t do that. But the thought is somehow always there. I don’t want it to be, but it is. G~d help me not to do something completely stupid because of my flesh. Please please help me. I don’t want to. I really don’t. the struggle against the flesh is so hard. Jesus, You alone can win this battle. I give it all up to You. I keep giving it up to You so I don’t take it back. Oh G~d, why am I so depressed??? Why me? Why here? Why now? I don’t have any reason to be. It doesn’t make any sense! Aren’t You all I need? Your grace is enough? You are sufficient to provide all my needs? Why doesn’t it seem to have an effect? Is my faith lacking? Am I doing something wrong? L~rd if it’s on my part, please convict me. But don’t leave me alone in this. Father, I need you so badly. I feel nothing. Absolutely nothing. I’m not sure if that’s worse than being under attack or not…at least then you can feel &lt;i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"&gt;something&lt;/i&gt;. I know I’m not a “sham,” I know I’ve been saved and that this is just probably a valley time or a wilderness time, but it seems to be never-ending. There have been words before, stuff I know G~d has done or He has said, but it’s not like directional stuff. It’s just been spiritual insight stuff. It bugs me when other people say they have no direction and don’t know what they want to do/what G~d wants them to do either. Aren’t they somewhere doing something?? I’m just floating. Each day I don’t know what I’ll wake up to. I keep having to remind myself that I’m here, that I’m being prepared, that there’s something G~d has for me that’s bigger and better than I ever imagined…and it’s the best for me. That sounds so cliché. And it is. It drives me nuts, but it’s true. I want hot chocolate. And a soft feather bed. This temperature is nice. And it’s 23:45. Yay. I don’t want to be a feelingless person. Not literally, cuz I feel a lot…especially for other people. But me? Uhm, I’m kinda afraid to analyze that. It’s too confusing. I don’t even want anyone to read this. Why will I send it to someone? Because I know I should. And if I don’t it’ll only make things worse on my part. And who knows how G~d will use it for somebody else? Ha. Rambling. Ouch…back hurts. I miss Hannah for back stuff. And random talks like this that no one else quite understands or wants to hear about or knows about or knows me well enough to know that I’m not crazy/creeper/obsessed/mental/those are probably all basically the same thing but w/e. intelligent conversations ftw. Especially when you’re not sure about what you’re talking about….what was even your point….or why you’ve been thinking about something….or anything else like that. I want my own room so I won’t bother anyone. Sometimes I wonder if it would really be all that bad living as a hermit….anywho. I’m like falling asleep now…tearstained. Good. I couldn’t sleep last night. So I guess I’ll try to sleep while this tiredness lasts. Maybe. I need a good verse. Oh well. Later. In Hungarian. Hahaha. Fail. I should oh dear I forgot what I was going to say Oh it was reading the Hungarian Bible just cause and see if I get anything from it…and I can learn new words that way. And I’m avoiding going to bed. Yay me. *slap* okay okay! I’m going. &lt;span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"&gt;ß&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;my mind. I’ll just leave it at that. Logic puzzles are pwn.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1736514642678758756-466201365535285281?l=alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com/feeds/466201365535285281/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1736514642678758756&amp;postID=466201365535285281' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1736514642678758756/posts/default/466201365535285281'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1736514642678758756/posts/default/466201365535285281'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com/2010/10/szeptember-27-2010.html' title='szeptember 27, 2010'/><author><name>Vecseri Erzsébet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380168981196375110</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1736514642678758756.post-5922441930168505598</id><published>2010-06-24T15:38:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-24T15:38:49.958-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Way of a Man with a Maid</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"&gt;by Timothy Geftakys&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"&gt;&lt;i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"&gt;The way of a man with a maid&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"&gt;…a topic that never grows old through generations of thought and meditation and experience. Solomon, one of the wisest men of all time, thousands of years ago wondered at the way of a man with a maid, and men and women are still pondering this intriguing subject today. Christians are not excluded from the questions, dilemmas and perplexities that accompany the relationship between a man and a woman; perhaps wondering in light of their commitment to Christ how to handle the natural feelings and longings within them toward the opposite sex. Others in a position of counseling may be perplexed in light of this topic, because they want to be able to help and give good counsel in an age when “anything goes.”&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;We can never really do justice to such a broad and universally appealing topic as relationships, but we can make an emphasis in light of Scriptural principles as to how Christians who want to honor the Lord ought to behave in their relationships. For the time being, let’s lay aside everything the marriage counselors of this world would say on the topic, and glean from the Word of God a few points of instruction concerning godly relationships. God the Father Himself has addressed the innermost needs of our lives; He has not left us alone to our own alternatives, but has provided everything we need through the instruction of His Word, the Bible. Indeed, He entreats us: “My son, attend to my words; incline thine ear unto my sayings. Let them not depart from thine eyes; keep them in the midst of thine heart. For they are life unto those that find them, and health to all their flesh” (Prov. 4:20-22).&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"&gt;The Christian’s Understanding&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"&gt;More often than not, what gets us into trouble in terms of relationships is the lack of understanding. Perhaps if Solomon were here today, he would say to young men and women: “Have a little understanding in the light of the normal desires of your heart.” God has put within us a desire for love and a relationship as expressed in marriage. To be attracted to a member of the opposite sex is good, normal, and healthy. But, there is a time and way to express and fulfill these desires. “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven….He [God] hath made every thing beautiful in his time” (Eccles. 3:1, 11). We live in a generation that demonstrates a lack of self-control and peace, particularly in relationships. Men and women are extremely restless and impatient today. Again, Solomon would say: “Have a little understanding…know that your life is made up of seasons.” As a fruit tree bears fruit in its season, so do our lives. God makes &lt;i&gt;everything&lt;/i&gt; beautiful in His time. But, what happens so often in our relationships is this: we see the fruit long before or maybe just a little while before it is ripe. We say: “There it is…I can see it! Oh, I know it’s not quite ripe, but I’m hungry!” So we pick the fruit before its season and we eat it, and it sours in our stomach, bringing sorrow and bitterness into our lives. Why? Because it was not quite God’s time. In His time the fruit would have been full and sweet and nutritious. But when we insist upon our timing, particularly in relationships, we experience frustration and bitterness. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;The desires within us are normal. The most deep and precious love between two people, ordained by God, is for their blessing and enjoyment. But that love must have a proper expression and timing. When we hurry to our desire, then that which was ultimately meant for our greatest good is spoiled, and can become the greatest evil by turning our hearts away from the Lord. Wait upon God! He wants to give you the very best. Take encouragement from Solomon’s assurance: “I know that, whatsoever God doeth, it shall be for ever: nothing can be put to it, nor any thing taken from it: and God doeth it, that men should fear before him” (Eccles. 3:14). All the fruits of life and love have enduring value when we allow God to give them to us in His time. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"&gt;The Christian’s Pursuit&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"&gt;So, in practical terms, what do we do? Wait around forever, doing nothing, only hoping and wishing “the spirit will move” in our behalf? No! Practical Christianity is not passive; as vital Christians we are on the move in the arena of faith! God says to Christians today who seriously want to honor Him in their relationships: “Seek ye &lt;i&gt;first&lt;/i&gt; the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you” [italics added] (Matt. 6:33). Let me put it another way. We will never know God’s perfect choices for our life by setting out to find a wife or a husband. We don’t learn of God’s will by experimentation with this, that or the other person. God’s perfect plan for our life is revealed when we seek only Him and leave all the variables in His hands. Does that sound a little radical? It is! To put it plainly, this kind of thinking opens “a can of worms” in our society.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;Many argue: “Well, if I don’t date, how will I get to know anyone, and be able to make a wise choice?” That sounds reasonable enough, but it is not God’s way. We do not know the will of God by trial and error. That is the world’s way. Contrary to the way of the world, the Lord Jesus says to men and women: “Take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed? (For after all these things do the Gentiles seek:) for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things. But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you” (Matt. 6:31-33). &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;Why is there so much confusion among Christians about relationships? It is because many seek relationships before they seek the Lord. Remember when you first heard the Lord’s call to you: “Follow me”? Did you say: “OK Lord, I’ll follow you &lt;i&gt;if&lt;/i&gt;…”? Is your commitment to the Lord conditioned upon whether or not you first find a wife or a husband? God calls us to leave all and follow Him. Yes, it is very costly, but we can trust the lover of our souls. He only wants to give us the very best. My challenge to young men and women is to lay aside your plans and get on with serving the Lord. Get into regular fellowships with God’s people (Acts 2:42). Take each opportunity you can to serve the Lord with His people in the work. Paul wrote to young Timothy: “Watch thou in all things, endure afflictions, do the work of an evangelist, make full proof of thy ministry” (II Tim. 4:5). Peter further assures us: “If these things be in you, and abound, they make you that ye shall neither be barren nor unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ: (II Pet. 1:8).&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"&gt;The Christian’s Behavior&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;As young men and women seek first the Lord and allow Him to lead them into relationships, there is then a specific behavior that should characterize those relationships. The apostle Paul gave to Timothy a very basic principle upon which to relate to young women. He instructed him to treat “the younger [women] as sisters, &lt;i&gt;with all purity&lt;/i&gt;” [italics added] (I Tim. 5:2). Purity is the guiding principle for relationships between brothers and sisters. Quite a contrast to the looseness we see dominating most of society today! The behavior of unmarried men and women to each other should be as a brother and sister, and the key to such relationships is purity! Many brothers and sister have a very difficult time getting close to each other without getting romantically involved, but it is something we need to learn before marriage. And after marriage, the only kind of relationships a man or woman can have with other besides his or her spouse is that of a brother and sister. For this reason it is valuable to learn before marriage how to relate in such a way. Young men and women’s behavior toward one another should be based upon friendship only until the Lord obviously leads them into a deeper kind of relationship; and this leading of the Lord can always be confirmed through sound counsel from mature spiritual leaders.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;Paul goes even further in his counsel. He instructs the Corinthians: “It is good for a man not to touch a woman” (I Cor. 7:1). Paul is not saying that brothers and sisters can never touch each other; he is writing in light of man’s affections. Of course, people today will say that holding hands or kissing does not matter and doesn’t really mean anything. That is all the more reason to stop that kind of behavior, because it &lt;i&gt;should&lt;/i&gt; mean something, and it &lt;i&gt;does&lt;/i&gt; matter! We always complain about words without action; well, action without words is as bad if not worse. To one, these actions may mean little or nothing, but that may not be the case with the other. We need to consider one another. A sister should be able to trust that the brother has the mind of the Lord and that he is behaving responsibly in light of what God wants, not in the light of what he wants. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;It is interesting to note that the New Testament refers to only three types of relationships between the sexes: husband to wife, parent to child, and brother to sister. There is no “boyfriend-girlfriend” relationship mentioned. This ambiguous pre-engagement arrangement is not according to God’s will. It is the product of a romantic age. If a man and a woman know it is God’s will for them to get married, they ought to get engages; otherwise, behave as brothers and sisters. They do not have exclusive claims on each other; and they have no right to give privileges to one another that God does not endorse. As Christians we should be able to fellowship with each other freely and within God’s will, and not be limited by unscriptural ties to one another.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;Granted, these thoughts are but an emphasis, but a much needed one in Christian lives. May they encourage and challenge you to prove the Lord’s faithfulness as you wait on Him only and allow Him to lead you into relationships. You may see that fruit long before it is ripe or just before it is ripe. Do not pick it before its season, before God’s time, lest it sour in your stomach! God wants to give you the best. He will lead you into such goodness that nothing could make it better, if you will trust Him for this area of your life. “This I speak for your own profit; not that I may cast a snare upon you, but for that which is comely, and that ye may attend upon the Lord without distraction” (I Cor. 7:35).&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1736514642678758756-5922441930168505598?l=alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com/feeds/5922441930168505598/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1736514642678758756&amp;postID=5922441930168505598' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1736514642678758756/posts/default/5922441930168505598'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1736514642678758756/posts/default/5922441930168505598'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com/2010/06/way-of-man-with-maid.html' title='The Way of a Man with a Maid'/><author><name>Vecseri Erzsébet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380168981196375110</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1736514642678758756.post-989414420610485006</id><published>2010-04-04T12:34:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-04T12:36:58.746-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Gàbor Vecseri - OO</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center" style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; text-align: center;"&gt;In the footsteps of my&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;father&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;He is 17. He is in a new country with a one relative whom he has never seen. He doesn’t know the language, hasn’t finished high school, and owns only the clothes on his back. Who is he and how did he get there?&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;The&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;true story that I will share with you today&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;is&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;of my hero, my role-model, my father.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;Before I can share this special connection with you, it is crucial first to explain my father’s background setting as a child in communist Hungary.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Then I’ll share the fulfillment of a prophecy&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;about&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;him visiting America, and then finally life today - why he is my hero, and why I have chosen to follow in the footsteps of my father.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;1. Background setting [family, birth date, war-torn country]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;On&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;the lovely, sunny, early spring day of&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;March 28, 1956, Gabor Vecseri was born to Ibolya and Jozsef Vecseri. The only boy, he had one older sister named Agnes.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Seven months later&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;in October of 1956&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;the Hungarian Revolution&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;broke out&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;against the harsh communist rule.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;As&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;war was raging around them in the capital, Budapest, the Vecseri family went into hiding in the basement of their four-story apartment building.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;The basement had a dirt floor, low ceiling, it was cold, damp, dark and dirty and was used by some of the residents for storing coal in small cubicles for their apartments. Cooking there was difficult, smoke and smell had to be disguised so that the soldiers would not see and find them.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Hygiene&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;was non-existent. Water was scarce and the pipes were lead. Hiding there for an extended period of time took a toll on the baby boy. He became very ill with a stomach virus and neared death. His father, however, remembered an old wives tale and decided to venture out to&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;find a cure for his son&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;At night he found a dead Russian soldier, put on the uniform&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;and went&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;to a city park in search of wild chestnuts to make brew out of them.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;It was this brave expedition that saved my father’s life as a baby.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;As a child,&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;my dad&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;was weak and sickly, spending weeks in the hospital every year with his stomach illness.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Otherwise a normal little boy,&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;-quite&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;cute from&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;the pictures- he liked to play by himself, and was very attached&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;and&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;affectionate with his family. When he did not talk yet at age three his parents thought it must be the result of a head injury at age one, but thankfully it wasn't, he was just a deep thinker. In school he did well in math and science, not so good in language, but did better than average even in the hated Russian language.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Thus&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;began my father’s life of growing up in communist Hungary.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; My grandmother,&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Ibolya or as we know her Nagymama,&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;worked&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;several&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;jobs&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;in the medical field&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;under the communist regime.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Daytime she was a nurse, at night she did pedicure in private homes,&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;besides being a mother and cooking meals from scratch and washing clothes by hand. My grandfather, Jozsef or Nagypapa, was one of the most educated men in Hungary. As a matter of fact, he was the first secretary of the president of the railroad before World War II. The war brought in the&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Soviet&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;rule, the&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;communist party, which stripped&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Nagypapa&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;of his high position because he refused to become a party member.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;He said&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;he valued integrity more than to&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;sell out his soul and&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;become part of their ‘regime’. However, he was able to keep a job at the railroad because of his education and&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;his exceptional work ethic.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;While still in middle school, my dad&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;visited&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;his father’s work. There he&lt;span style="font-size: small;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;helped with the homework of &lt;/span&gt;the other&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;communist party members, who were still laboring to earn their high school education; and yet those “workers”&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;sat around drinking and partying all day. They hadn’t even finished high school, yet they made more money than my grandpa. To you and me, it seems this would’ve created a harbor for bitterness against that kind of work, but&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;my dad&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;decided that he wanted to be&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;a&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;mechanical engineer working with trains.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Instead of going to regular high school, he went to a Railroad Technical School. He planned to continue education&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;at&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;the&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;technical&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;university to become a Railroad engineer.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;However,&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;shortly after he turned 17 and just before&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;his&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;senior year, an opportunity&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;arose&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;for him to visit his&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;mother’s sister,&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Aunt Maria&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;who&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;had&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;left Hungary to come to America during WWII.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;So it was&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;arranged for my dad to visit the United States for one month, then he&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;would come back and his sister Agnes would go. According to the plan, she would stay in America to have a better future. Little did everyone know, there was&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;a different, divine plan at work.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;My dad’s&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Aunt Maria&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;had a dream&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;as a little girl&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;that was yet to be fulfilled.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;But u&lt;/span&gt;p until that point, it had been long forgotten.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;2. The fulfillment of&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;prophecy&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;In&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;this prophetic&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;dream,&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Aunt Maria was&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;playing marbles&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;with her sister,&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Ibolya.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;They both&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;had a red and&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;a&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;blue marble. In the game,&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Nagymama’s&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;blue marble rolled over to&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Aunt&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Maria and&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;stayed there. This was&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;a foreshadowing of the future,&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;for when Gabor visited America, his&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;one month&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;visit&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;quickly turned into months, then years until at last it became permanent.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;His parents,&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;being concerned about his future in a strange country,&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;were&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;very upset&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;about him leaving home at such a young age. It did not fit their plan, but God had a higher plan.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;With his aunt in Chicago, my dad learned several skills in the construction and real estate management industries. During this period&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;of&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;my dad’s&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;life, God grabbed hold of his heart and he got saved. This was&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;a fulfillment of countless prayers by his&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;late grandmother who died before his birth. After his&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;salvation, he traveled&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;to several revivals&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;and churches&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;around the&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;States to gain&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;knowledge of God and&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;the Scriptures.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;He learned from many spiritual giants and mentors.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;For the next ten years, he worked&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;with other Hungarians in Chicago.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt; One such man of my Nagypapa’s age, Mr. Dobos, became my dad’s spiritual mentor, a second father&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Little did they know that&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;my dad’s&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;parents&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;in Budapest&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;were hosting a Hungarian&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;boy&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;in their home who happened to be&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Mr. Dobos’s son. The two families became good friends and the Dobos’s&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;have remained a&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;second family to my dad.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;After a series of unfortunate events at work, my father was reminded of his childhood dream of attending a technical school. His father's encouragement to continue his education motivated him to apply at&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;a university in Tulsa,&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Oklahoma&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;where he later received his&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;bachelor’s and master’s degrees in Mechanical Engineering. There&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;he met my mother, who&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;was working towards&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;her bachelor’s degree&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;in Sacred Music.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;They got married after graduation and the happy couple&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;two-stepped to Houston, Texas as a result of an excellent job offer for my dad. Two years later, I was born. My parents bought their first house and six other siblings quickly followed. As&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;he became established, my grandparents&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;at last&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;gave thanks for the&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;divine&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;provision through which my dad&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;could raise seven&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;children, which would have not been possible&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;in communist Hungary.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;We matured, our father began teaching us about our family heritage. He even took us to visit our grandparents and the places where he grew up in Budapest. This brings our story up to the present, and now I will share with you why my dad is my hero.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;3. Present time -&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;why he is my hero&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;During our last&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;family&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;trip to Hungary, my father pointed to an old black-and-white baby photo hanging in one of the bedrooms of my grandparents’ house. He asked me, “Who is that up there?” I looked at the picture, which seemed strangely familiar&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;from my poor recollections, and I&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;guessed&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;that it was&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;me&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;as an infant. Dad turned&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;to me&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;and said, “That’s me.”&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Somehow, that occasion became the&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;most precious event&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;in my relationship with my father. We think alike, talk alike, and even look alike in&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;those cute&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;baby pictures!&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;This&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;may sound&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;natural; after all&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;he is my father.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;However, it&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;was the&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;defining&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;moment&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;in our relationship and the beginning&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;of our&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;special&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;bond as father and daughter. Through my father's difficult childhood, his character was refined to make him into the person he is today. He works hard to provide the best that he can for us kids yet he reminds us of how privileged we are by using his experiences to teach us good character. My favorite example of this is our debate discussions that sometimes go long into the night as we try to piece a case together. My father's background provides insights to the arguments that I would not have come up with on my own. It is the little moments like these that I treasure. I stop and realize that the more I learn of my father’s heritage, the more I can relate to him because in growing older, I become like him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;I am 18,&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;finishing high school and working two part-time jobs.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;This fall I am planning to&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;go back to&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;Hungary, to my&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;father’s home country to&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;learn&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;the language and the&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;culture&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;of&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;our&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;people.&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;I know my&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;life’s story&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;is being written by the Heavenly Father, while&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;I am&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;following in the footsteps of&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;my&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;earthly hero,&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;my&lt;span class="apple-converted-space"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;dad.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1736514642678758756-989414420610485006?l=alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com/feeds/989414420610485006/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1736514642678758756&amp;postID=989414420610485006' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1736514642678758756/posts/default/989414420610485006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1736514642678758756/posts/default/989414420610485006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com/2010/04/gabor-vecseri-oo.html' title='Gàbor Vecseri - OO'/><author><name>Vecseri Erzsébet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380168981196375110</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1736514642678758756.post-8337274455193386875</id><published>2008-11-18T19:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-18T19:41:34.131-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Busyness</title><content type='html'>I am terribly sorry that I haven't posted anything for a while; school is very time-consuming these days. Come to think of it, I think I have a few notes typed up that need to be finished and posted here. Please pray that I will be able to concentrate long enough to keep my train-of-thought going! I desperately need help in that area....*goes off to finish posts*&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1736514642678758756-8337274455193386875?l=alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com/feeds/8337274455193386875/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1736514642678758756&amp;postID=8337274455193386875' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1736514642678758756/posts/default/8337274455193386875'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1736514642678758756/posts/default/8337274455193386875'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com/2008/11/busyness.html' title='Busyness'/><author><name>Vecseri Erzsébet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380168981196375110</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1736514642678758756.post-4666859278851829111</id><published>2008-11-06T11:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-18T19:51:34.371-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Candybar Maker 3 Doll</title><content type='html'>I had no other place to put this, so I'll put it here.&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;a alt="elouai's doll maker 3" href="http://elouai.com/doll-makers/new-dollmaker.php?reload=true&amp;sex=girl&amp;background=0000&amp;elements=0000&amp;wings=0000&amp;base=0001&amp;boystockings=0000&amp;boyshoes=0000&amp;boyskirt=0000&amp;boytop=0000&amp;boytwopiece=0000&amp;girlstockings=0041&amp;girlshoes=0371&amp;girlskirt=0843&amp;girltop=0940&amp;girltwopiece=0000&amp;head=0003&amp;mouth=0049&amp;nose=0028&amp;eyebrows=0004&amp;eyes=0028&amp;face=0058&amp;makeup=0000&amp;earings=0000&amp;glasses=0000&amp;hair=1034&amp;scarf=0000&amp;boyfullbody=0000&amp;girlfullbody=0000&amp;hat=0000&amp;accessory1=0000&amp;pets1=0000&amp;pets2=0000&amp;accessory2=0000&amp;cover=0000&amp;namedoll="&gt;&lt;img alt="elouai's doll maker 3" border=0 src="http://elouai.com/doll-makers/link-doll.php?&amp;sex=girl&amp;background=0000&amp;elements=0000&amp;wings=0000&amp;base=0001&amp;boystockings=0000&amp;boyshoes=0000&amp;boyskirt=0000&amp;boytop=0000&amp;boytwopiece=0000&amp;girlstockings=0041&amp;girlshoes=0371&amp;girlskirt=0843&amp;girltop=0940&amp;girltwopiece=0000&amp;head=0003&amp;mouth=0049&amp;nose=0028&amp;eyebrows=0004&amp;eyes=0028&amp;face=0058&amp;makeup=0000&amp;earings=0000&amp;glasses=0000&amp;hair=1034&amp;scarf=0000&amp;boyfullbody=0000&amp;girlfullbody=0000&amp;hat=0000&amp;accessory1=0000&amp;pets1=0000&amp;pets2=0000&amp;accessory2=0000&amp;cover=0000&amp;namedoll="&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1736514642678758756-4666859278851829111?l=alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com/feeds/4666859278851829111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1736514642678758756&amp;postID=4666859278851829111' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1736514642678758756/posts/default/4666859278851829111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1736514642678758756/posts/default/4666859278851829111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com/2008/11/candybar-maker-3-doll.html' title='Candybar Maker 3 Doll'/><author><name>Vecseri Erzsébet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380168981196375110</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1736514642678758756.post-2010887952551957157</id><published>2008-10-15T19:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-15T19:27:09.690-07:00</updated><title type='text'>PSAT  Day</title><content type='html'>Today I took the PSAT, in an actual high school. It was definitely an experience! I think I shall refer to high schools as “human zoos” from now on…lol. ;) Seriously, there were so many people that I kind of got disoriented just walking through the cafeteria to the main office. But I still want to go to school. I’m not exactly sure why I want to, but I guess it’s just because I’ve only been home schooled, and one always wants what they can’t have. Murphy’s law again. (Don’t you ever wonder who is Murphy?) Anyways, it gets annoying to be your own teacher: you give yourself the quizzes and tests, then grade them, and then you have to record them so that you can average out your grade for the school year. Although one thing I don’t mind is that I can wake up later (but not too much later) than kids who go to school…and I can do school in my PJs when I can’t seem to put together an outfit. I do know one thing; if I did go to school, I’d get up early and be awake for my classes, but as soon as I got home, I’d fall asleep for two hours. Then I would get to bed really late and therefore be really tired the next day and the pattern would continue. So I guess those are the pros and cons of both going to school and home schooling. But I also need to remember that G-d put me where I am for a special purpose that is part of His plan for my life, and I need to bloom where I am planted. I guess that’s it for now. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1736514642678758756-2010887952551957157?l=alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com/feeds/2010887952551957157/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1736514642678758756&amp;postID=2010887952551957157' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1736514642678758756/posts/default/2010887952551957157'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1736514642678758756/posts/default/2010887952551957157'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com/2008/10/psat-day.html' title='PSAT  Day'/><author><name>Vecseri Erzsébet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380168981196375110</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1736514642678758756.post-4335257350198889387</id><published>2008-10-14T09:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-14T09:27:56.165-07:00</updated><title type='text'>English (the subject in school)</title><content type='html'>Why, oh why do they make you learn to call parts of speech the "subject predicate" and other fancy titles when they are just plain nouns or verbs? I guess I'm not cut out to be an English major or teacher, so I think I'll try Engineering, or something interesting like that. Right now I'm already struggling to find something else to right about (this is why I don't keep a diary) . Ah! This is really bad: I'm making myself bored.... Oh, well. I'd best get back to studying for the PSAT which I take tomorrow morning. Tata!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1736514642678758756-4335257350198889387?l=alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com/feeds/4335257350198889387/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1736514642678758756&amp;postID=4335257350198889387' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1736514642678758756/posts/default/4335257350198889387'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1736514642678758756/posts/default/4335257350198889387'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com/2008/10/english-subject-in-school.html' title='English (the subject in school)'/><author><name>Vecseri Erzsébet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380168981196375110</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1736514642678758756.post-2857875264192947040</id><published>2008-10-13T14:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-13T14:35:22.698-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Total Randomness!</title><content type='html'>Hey peoplez! Welcome to my blog. I'll be your host (who has background whatsoever in hosting things ;) ) who will hopefully try not to bore you to no end. I wish there was more to say at the moment, but alas, there is nothing. Maybe, just maybe, I might write up something more extensive later; but until then, farewell!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1736514642678758756-2857875264192947040?l=alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com/feeds/2857875264192947040/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1736514642678758756&amp;postID=2857875264192947040' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1736514642678758756/posts/default/2857875264192947040'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1736514642678758756/posts/default/2857875264192947040'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://alittlepieceofmybrain.blogspot.com/2008/10/total-randomness.html' title='Total Randomness!'/><author><name>Vecseri Erzsébet</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380168981196375110</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
