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#QuoteOfTheDay (20230417):
“Tetap semangat beribadah di 10 hari terakhir meski malam genap.”
Bila kita memiliki waktu, atau mau meluangkan waktu, beri’tikaf tak hanya di malam ganjil 25 dan 27, berarti kita benar-benar menghidupkan sunnah Nabi ﷺ. Aisyah berkata, "Rasulullah ﷺ senantiasa beri'tikaf pada sepuluh hari terakhir Ramadhan dan beliau bersabda: 'Raihlah malam Lailatul Qadar pada sepuluh hari terakhir'.” (at-Tirmidzi: 722)
Ibnul Qayyim di dalam kitab Bada’ul Fawaid menyemangati kita, "Jika Lailatul Qadar itu harus dicari sepanjang tahun, maka niscaya aku akan menghidupkan seluruh (malam) dalam satu tahun hingga aku bisa mendapatkannya. Lalu bagaimana pendapatmu bila malam Lailatul Qadar terjadi hanya pada 10 hari (terakhir di bulan Ramadhan)?”
#keep #spirit #worship #last10 #days #even #nights #LaylatAlQadr #Ramadan #Day26
Telegram Channel https://t.me/x_QoTD
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Feathered Friends in High Places
TL;DR: Had issues with a neighbor over parking. Local crows I'd made friends with vandalized his cars in retaliation.
So for background: The day we moved into this apartment complex our across the hall neighbors started bullying us. Why? We parked in the handicap spot next to the sidewalk to the building. Why? I'm handicapped.
Turns out one of them liked to park one of his 6 project cars there (illegally) and us using it for it's intended purpose was inconvenient to him. So we'd get a bunch of nasty letters. Eventually this escalated to them filing false noise complaints against us. We are a very quiet, and introverted couple. We don't interact with people, we always wear headphones and do everything possible to cancel out any noise we make. We prefer to live in a way that most people don't know we're here.
Ok, enough background.
Our building has a decent sized crow population. I've always liked them, so I decided to make friends. Spent some time doing research on them and their diets and went out and got some snacks that would be nutritious for them. Every couple of days I'd chop up some fruits and veggies and grains and take them out to their favorite tree in a little tupperware box. I'd pick it up later and it would be empty. It got to the point where they'd know what days I was coming and gather in the tree. As soon as I started walking over they'd start calling out and more of them would show up.
Our neighbors hated the crows. They were really mean to them, screaming, tossing things at them. In turn the crows didn't like them.
This came to a head shortly after I witnessed one of them back into our car and then take off at mach 20. I was visibly frustrated and screaming at them as they drove off. Police didn't much care, so that was a dead end. Or so I thought.
A few days later I overheard the neighbors arguing. Apparently one of them wanted to set up cameras because someone was messing with his cars. He thought it was us. Claimed that there were small dents, scratches, and chips in his windshields. Other neighbor didn't want to deal with it. We were curious so we kept watch on the windows facing the the walkway and parking lot. He did indeed set up small field cams facing both the walkway and his cars.
It took a few weeks but I finally saw what was happening. I'd go feed the crows, then for the days between feedings these clever little guys would fly over the parking lot, high enough to be out of view of the cams, and drop small rocks on our neighbor's cars.
My friends were getting back at him for me.
They moved a couple of years later. Crows kept it up the whole time while this dude slowly went insane trying to catch the vandals. I don't think they ever figured it out.
(source) story by (/u/tempthethrowaway)
#pettyrevenge#by /u/tempthethrowaway#petty revenge#revenge story#petty revenge stories#revenge stories#last10
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My Grandmother Put Greedy Preachers In Their Places .... Twice .... Even After She Died
TL/DR - My grandmother generously served her "Bible Believing Christian" church for almost 50 years, without asking anything in return. But when she became elderly, disabled and homebound, her church acted like she did not exist - until she was in hospice care and literally on her deathbed, when that church showed a sudden interest in telling Grandma to, "Remember your church in your will". She waited until exactly the right moment, in front of exactly the right audience, to expose these greedy assholes for what they were.....twice.
My grandmother was a member of a large conservative "Bible Believing" church for her entire adult life. This church, which I'll call BigWhiteChurch, was a member of a large Evangelical denomination. BigWhiteChurch was located in a prosperous suburb of a large city in the Bible Belt of the Deep South of the USA.
Grandma was very active in BigWhiteChurch. She worked in the nursery every Sunday morning, helped cook hundreds of church fellowship breakfasts and dinners, accompanied her children and grandchildren on dozens of church retreats and choir tours, taught Youth Bible Study on Sunday nights and was very active in supporting Home Missions, as well as helping with other youth programs. She always tithed, and often gave extra for missions and special offerings.
Grandma's greatest talent was making other people feel important. I've seen this first-hand many times. Although I belonged to a different church, I often visited with Grandma, and when I did, I usually went to BigWhiteChurch functions with her. I've seen her single-handedly cook breakfast for dozens of BigWhiteChurch Youth, a task which took over 2 hours, even in the church's large kitchen. Then, after the meal, she asked the group for a round of applause for the high-school student leader for, "Doing such a great job of organizing the Prayer Breakfast".
I remember that, on a BigWhiteChurch youth retreat at a rural Church Camp, she drove most of the night to go back to the city and retrieve a big box of evangelistic materials, that one of the Assistant Pastors (whom I'll call AssPastor) had forgotten and asked her to get, in time for our morning program the next day. His boss, the Senior Pastor (I'll call him PompousPastor), never found out that AssPastor had screwed up or that Grandma had fixed it for him. AssPastor never even thanked Grandma. Even though I was a child, this bothered me so much that I asked her about it. She said that she didn't mind at all; she told me her reward would be that those materials, "Would help children find Jesus".
Grandma's service to her church ended abruptly at the age of 73, when she broke her back in a car accident. Afterwards, for the last 10 years of her life, she was homebound and could not go to church because of this injury and declining health due to old age. Her mind was just as sharp as ever, and her faith remained sincere, but her body wore out a little more every day.
During those 10 years, she made many efforts to reach out to her church, its leadership and her church friends, inviting them to visit her at her home, etc., without success. Every one of these invitations was declined or simply ignored.
Near the end, when she was in home hospice care, she decided to plan her own funeral. She and my Grandpa called her church and asked for the Senior Pastor, PompousPastor, whom she had known for over 30 years, to visit her so that they could plan her memorial service, which she and Grandpa wanted to be held at the church.
PompousPastor was too busy, but AssPastor stopped by a few days later. According to my Grandpa, here's what happened at that meeting, with my Grandma literally on her deathbed:
Grandma, Grandpa and AssPastor discussed her funeral for a couple of minutes. Then AssPastor started pressuring her to, "Lay up your treasure in Heaven" by, "Remembering your church in your will".
Grandpa told him firmly that, "This is neither the time nor the place to discuss her will."
They went back to discussing the funeral for a few minutes. Then AssPastor steered the conversation back to Grandma's will, with liberal injections of how badly "her" church needed "her support".
Grandpa told him several times that it was inappropriate to talk to Grandma about her will or the church's financial needs, because she was terminally ill and in an enormous amount of physical pain. AssPastor would agree and briefly talk about the funeral, but would then go back to talking about the church's financial needs, heavenly rewards, "Where your treasure is your heart will be also" (Matthew 6:21, Luke 12:34), etc.
My Grandma started crying.
To put this into context, Grandma was more than a "Steel Magnolia". She was "Titanium Coated With Diamond Wrapped In Kevlar". She rarely ever cried, and never EVER cried about herself. Not one tear when the doctor told her that her back was broken so badly that she would never walk again, nor during the following 6 months in futile rehab. She would shed sincere but well-managed tears at funerals and while visiting family members in the hospital when they received bad news. She would cry to console others, "Weep with those who weep". But nobody - not Grandpa, not her daughter (my mom), nor any of my uncles or Grandma's siblings - ever remembered her crying for herself.
My Grandma was sobbing uncontrollably.
Grandpa, a retired steelworker, ex-Marine Sergeant and Korean War combat veteran, physically grabbed AssPastor and "escorted" him out of their house, not too gently.
Contrary to everyone's expectations, Grandma lived another 6 months, mostly because of sheer force of will. Eventually, though, Grandma passed away and we held her memorial service at the funeral home, not BigWhiteChurch. PompousPastor and AssPastor were conspicuously absent. In fact, there were no "Professional Christians", from BigWhiteChurch, at the service at all, not even in the audience.
To start the service, Grandpa stood up at the podium in front of the crowd and said, "Some of you may have heard that I dis-invited PompousPastor and AssPastor from this funeral service. This service is not an appropriate place for me to give you my reasons for doing this, although you all know me and so you know that my reasons are good ones. Also, my wife asked me to exclude them."
"This funeral service may be different from other funerals that you have attended. It is going to be an "open microphone" funeral. Everyone who wants to say something is invited to come up here and describe your friendship with my wife, tell a story about her that is worth remembering, or anything else that you want to say that will honor her memory and bring comfort to everyone here today. I have asked several family members to prepare statements, but you don't have to have anything prepared. Please, if you want to say something, come up here and do so."
There were about a hundred people at the funeral service; at least a third of them eventually stepped up to the microphone. The service, which we had planned to last about 30 minutes, lasted for over two hours and, as best I can tell, not one person left early. There was laughing, crying and hugging, three of her grandchildren played some of her favorite songs on the piano and guitar, we all joined hands and sang her favorite hymns.
Afterwards, dozens of people told my Grandpa that it was one of the most comforting and uplifting funerals they had ever attended. More than a few remarked that, "Funerals are better without preachers anyway", or something similar.
REMEMBERING HER PASTORS AND HER CHURCH IN HER WILL: THE ONE-TWO PUNCH
A couple of weeks later, it was time to start distributing the bequests in Grandma's will. Although Grandma and Grandpa dearly loved each other, they had separate wills because, she told my Mom, "That makes it easier for us to respect each other's turf", and because their lawyer had recommended it. Nobody thought that my grandparents were wealthy. They had lived in the same small but charming house in a prosperous, well-maintained suburban neighborhood for the past 50+ years, and had worked hard and lived modestly. But it was rumored that they had a very nice nest egg.
Of course, there is no legal requirement for anyone to attend "The Reading Of The Will", or to even have a "Reading". Modern telecommunications and near-universal literacy have made this quaint custom practically extinct.
But "The Reading Of The Will" was a tradition in our family because it was one of those events that gave our close-knit, extended family an excuse to get together. We never had "Family Reunions". They were too difficult to schedule for our large family. But we got together at birthdays, holidays, funerals, baptisms, etc., so that if you attended several of these, you would see just about every one of your cousins, aunts, uncles, and even great aunts & uncles who were Grandma's and Grandpa's siblings and in-laws.
With this family tradition in mind, many of our family members' wills often contained very personal bequests of items that had little cash value, but were the departed family member's way of telling their loved ones that they wanted to share a cherished memory with them one last time.
As an added incentive to attend, the family rumor mill had been buzzing with speculation, encouraged by Grandpa, that Grandma's will contained some "surprises".
The "Reading" was held in a conference room at a lawyer's office. Unsurprisingly, the attendees included my mom, as well as aunts, uncles, great aunts, great uncles and many of the grandchildren.
We were all surprised, however, to see PompousPastor and AssPastor from BigWhiteChurch. They informed us that Grandma's lawyer had told them that Grandma's will had bequests not only for BigWhiteChurch, but also for them personally.
Maybe it was just our imagination; but my siblings, cousins and I couldn't help noticing that these Preachers appeared to be actively salivating over their good fortune at Grandma's generosity.
Grandma had a large family, so a sizeable number of beneficiaries were named in her will. The lawyer's conference room was a bit smaller than an average middle-class living room. Extra chairs had been brought in, every seat was filled and people were standing in every remaining space.
There was barely space for all of us. Grandma's lawyer suggested that PompousPastor and AssPastor sit in chairs which were in the front of the room, next to himself. Since there was a large table in the room, this meant that the lawyer and these two Preachers were the only ones who were directly facing everyone else. Although the Preachers were gratified to be physically next to the center of attention, they did not notice, as all of the rest of us quickly noticed, that these seats made it easy for everyone else in the room to watch them closely, and practically impossible for them to leave the packed-to-more-than-overflowing room before the entire meeting was over, because they were farthest from the room's single door, and there were almost two dozen people standing or sitting between them and their only path to escape.
The bequests were quite generous, but pretty much what we had expected. Grandpa kept their house, its contents, their retirement accounts and everything that remained after all of the bequests had been satisfied. Children, grandchildren and several local charities received nice, but not extravagant, amounts of money. Several sentimental items were named and given to various friends and relatives.
Grandpa was first beneficiary listed in the will. But, after him, all of the other bequests were arranged in order of increasing worth. They started with sentimental items, which had very small cash value. Then each grandchild received several thousand dollars, then each son, daughter, brother, sister, niece and nephew received a little more, then several local non-profits received very nice amounts, etc.
Bequests to BigWhiteChurch, PompousPastor and AssPastor were (almost) the last ones listed in the will. They listened politely to the other bequests, but with steadily growing anticipation, as they noticed the exponential upward trend in Grandma's largess.
When Grandma's lawyer got to the BigWhiteChurch and Preachers' part of the will, he said, "This is a bit unusual, but before I announce these bequests to BigWhiteChurch, PompousPastor and AssPastor, Ms [Grandma's name] requested that I read the following statement to everyone present."
He opened a letter that was written in Grandma's own handwriting...
"For the past 10 years, NOT ONE person from BigWhiteChurch has ever called me, come to visit me or sent me a note to tell me that they cared about me. Not one minister, not one deacon, not one of the church women, not one of the church members who I worked with for all of those years, loved dearly and thought were my friends. I worked very hard for you when you needed me, for many, many years. But when I needed you and your church, you all pretended that I didn't exist."
"I only got one visit. When I was dying and I invited PompousPastor to come to my house and help me plan my funeral."
"This was my last attempt, after many attempts that I had made over the past 10 years, to reach out to my church and Pastor, whom I still loved dearly even though they had made it clear that they did not love me. If only I could have my funeral at my church, maybe some of my church friends, whom I had not seen in a decade, would come to the service to see me one last time. And I know they loved to hear PompousPastor preach, so if he preached at my funeral, maybe they would come to my funeral to hear him, even if they would not have come to see me.
But PompousPastor couldn't find the time to visit me, or even call me to tell me whether or not he was willing to preach at my funeral. AssPastor came by my house, but he didn't want to talk about my funeral. He just wanted me to, 'Remember his church in my will'. That's all. Just, 'Remember his church in my will'".
"It was then that I realized that I had allowed my church to break my heart for one last time. But that was the last time. The VERY last time."
"AssPastor did not know it when he visited me, but Grandpa and I had already prepared my will, long before his visit, which did include a double tithe - TWENTY PERCENT - of my ENTIRE ESTATE, for what was now my former ... FORMER ... church ... BigWhiteChurch.
This amount was [named the amount - an enormous shitload of money - generating muffled "wows" from many of her heirs, including me].
"But I got to feeling badly that we had not personally remembered such nice people as PompousPastor and AssPastor. So I changed my will to include them by name. While I was at it, I changed the amount of money that I left to BigWhiteChurch to match all of the love that they have showed to me during the last 10 years of my life, when I was suffering and lonely, and no longer able to work my ass off for them, for free, like I had done for almost half a century."
"That is her entire written statement", the lawyer said. "Now let's get back to the bequests in the will."
"Bequest to AssPastor: One Cent".
"Bequest to PompousPastor: One Cent".
"Bequest to BigWhiteChurch: One Cent".
The PompousPastor and AssPastor sat there looking like someone had just injected a gallon of novacaine into their jaws.
Every one of Grandma's family and friends felt an overwhelming urge to laugh out loud. But we kept quiet because we knew Grandma. We knew she wasn't finished yet. Grandma was simply setting them up for a one-two punch. The best was yet to come, and we didn't want to miss it.
"There is one last bequest," the lawyer continued, "For a charity called ...", which he named and I'll call "BlackCharity", then he paused before naming the amount....
Most of us had no idea what BlackCharity was. But, by the looks on their faces, we could tell that PompousPastor and AssPastor knew BlackCharity very well. Their faces displayed the same expressions of shock, dread and horror that they would have if the lawyer had said, "This bequest goes to The Demonic Baby Eaters to buy extra large rotisserie barbecue grills and tons of charcoal".
Every eye in the room was now fixated on PompousPastor and AssPastor.
The lawyer, who happened to be my uncle, one of Grandma's and Grandpa's sons, let the silence continue a few seconds more....
If we had been able to read PompousPastor's and AssPastor's minds, we would have known the history behind the looks on their faces. BlackCharity was sponsored by a large Black church just a few miles from BigWhiteChurch. They ran a free food/clothing bank, assistance programs for foster children, home delivery of pre-cooked meals for homebound seniors, legal aid, and other social services.
A long time ago, BigWhiteChurch, which was (and still is) 100% Caucasian, had provided a few years of financial and other support to BlackCharity. Then there was a very bitter, acrimonious breakup, allegedly because BlackCharity was practicing "The Social Gospel", while BigWhiteChurch was preaching "The True Gospel". BigWhiteChurch even sued to try to get some of their money back, although the suit was eventually settled and very little money actually changed hands.
But, this being The Deep South, everyone knew the real reason why BigWhiteChurch, or any white church, would stop supporting a Black charity: "Those n****** were getting uppity and not staying in their place". Grandma and Grandpa had seriously considered leaving BigWhiteChurch at that time. But they had reasoned that it was better to stay there and teach tolerance by their words and example. They knew they would never persuade everyone, but maybe they could reach some of the youth at their white church and break the generational cycle of racism. Grandma used to tell us, "My church is my Mission Field". We did not learn the true depth of her statement until after she died.
Since then, Grandma and Grandpa had secretly sent a portion of their "Tithe" to BlackCharity every month.
Most of Grandma's family, including me, didn't find out about any of this until after the meeting had ended.
But PompousPastor and AssPastor obviously understood what Grandma, by her actions which are more powerful than words, was saying to them. If you had grown up as a white person in the Deep South, as Grandma, Grandpa, PompousPastor and AssPastor had, you would understand.
To many white Southerners, this was one of the most personally insulting things you could do to them. It simultaneously labeled them as racists, condemned their bigotry and crushed their delusions of white superiority by saying, "These Black human beings, whom you hate, disrespect and have mistreated, are better people than you are. So they deserve my money more than you do".
Having allowed time for everyone to observe PompousPastor and AssPastor while they thought about how their white church had treated this Black charity, and how they AND their church had treated our Grandma...
The lawyer said, "The amount is...."
Then he named the EXACT SAME AMOUNT that Grandma had named in her handwritten letter, the huge amount of money that would have gone to BigWhiteChurch if she had not changed her will.
(source) story by (/u/BamaFan4Jesus)
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Defense lawyers kept stealing our trash in hopes of making my aunt, who was raped by her doctor, look like she was “getting around”and wanted it. We placed something else in the trash...
Many moons ago (I was about 10ish) my aunt was a victim of rape while she was getting a routine surgery from her doctor. Needless to say things got really messed rather quickly. Now, we don’t have a lot of money so the doctors obviously lawyered up to the teeth and they were trying to dig up anything they could find to paint my aunt in a bad light. She get her one lawyer and soldiered on.
A few months into the lawsuit we noticed random cars kept stealing all of our trash so she hired a private eye and found it was the defense lawyers doing. Now, their cars were pretty nice. It was always a Range Rover or a black BMW, possible 7 series because it was quite large that would pull up and dump the ENTIRE contents of the trash in the trunk and speed off. This was unsettling to say the least so my aunt and mom hatched a brilliant plan.
Their were 4 cats in the house so we had a rather large supply cat piss and shit at our disposal. We simply saved up enough of this until the trash was about 3/4 full of straight up litter. Oh, not bagged either... just right into the can. It was then topped off with random shredded documents (it looked like a jackpot of a find) and ton of smell good stuff to help hide the stink. The next trash day, like clockwork, they showed up in the black BMW and two people quickly picked up the can and dumped the entire contents in the trunk. They were FURIOUS and started loosing their shit at the end of the driveway. To top it all off my aunt walked outside with a cup of coffee, waved and said good morning all cheerful like. They sped off and we never saw them again. She ended up winning the case about a year later.
(source) story by (/u/JawShoeWaah)
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Do Not Hurt the Tomatoes
Once, many years ago, we innocently bought a house next door to a retired marine couple. She was about 6'2" and strongly resembled Ahnold It's Not a Tumor in his current state, and he was about 5'7" and probably weighed 130#. They were very house/yard proud and and thoroughly obnoxious about it.
After living next to them for a short time, for some unknown reason (no, really!) they decided to mount a campaign of general obnoxiousness against us. It started small, a note on a friend's car that he was three inches over on their side when parked on the street in front of our house. Then it escalated. Rapidly. They reported us to animal control for farm animals inside the city limit (We had two shih tzu. They were not used to pull a plow.) They reported us to the health dept. for leaving our pool with a small amount of water in it and breeding mosquitoes (it was hydrochloric acid being used to wash the pool and prep it for repair as it was derelict when we moved in). They reported us for repairing our fence without a permit. Not moving it, not tearing it down or replacing it, we merely nailed some boards back up. They reported us for loud parties, and quiet parties and no parties...they called city hall on us so often it became a joke amongst those hallowed halls. All the while they continued with the small harassments as well.
We ignored all of this, just making sure we had an extra plate for whatever official they called out that day. But then, then, they committed the ultimate crime.
We were breakfasting on the patio one lovely morning when I happened to look over and see a sprayer nozzle come through the fence slats. And they sprayed poison on my tomato and jalapeno plants. Now we love our salsa and I make an absolutely exquisite fresh salsa. And they dared spray poison on my tomato and jalapeno plants.
Poison my tomatoes and peppers, will you? In Texas that's a killin' offense. Sadly, we did not live in Texas so I was forced to devise my own punishment.
One thing about their house is that it must have been built on an ant hill. They constantly fought ants. We regularly heard them complaining about ants as they tried to rid them from their backyard.
Our homes were built on a golf course and being considered patio homes all had lovely large patios with huge kitchen windows with sliding glass opening onto a pass through/serving counter.
So I made a very, very large batch of simple syrup and froze it in ice cube trays. Friends and I would sit on our patio and toss ice cubes. We had a points system that ranged from getting the cubes on the patio, to getting them up against the base of the sliding door, to getting them onto the counter and up against the opening of the window. We gave them ants. Lots of ants.
Not being particularly close neighbors, the Marines gave us no warning when they went on vacation. We did notice it got quieter and I didn't overhear any further discussion between them about the sticky mess that regularly showed up on their patio, but I didn't really think about it. Besides, I was behind on points. So the bombardment continued.
The ants celebrated. They sent out telegrams worldwide inviting all of their relatives to move. They had found paradise. The grass was green and there were regular supply drops.
They invaded. There were tiny black ants, larger brown ants and big red ants. Hosannas were sung. They built neighborhoods of McAntsions. Ant Rockettes did the can-can across the counter. They held parades. There were Friday night fiestas with live ant mariachi bands. It was beautemous.
I went through three 5lb bags of sugar.
We knew exactly when the Marines got home from their six week cruise. We could tell by the screeches of anguish. Apparently the ants had made their way inside. There were screams from the kitchen, and the pantry, and the laundry room, and the bathroom. It was ear shattering. (Who knew a 5'7" male could even make those sounds?)
Battle was enjoined. The Army Ants dug foxholes and built redoubts. The Fire Ants formed Special Forces teams and close protection units.
The war raged for months.
Despite regular resupply, the ants were decimated. The Marines were seen collapsed in patio chairs, hollow eyed with exhaustion, their once pristine backyard closely resembling the aftermath of the battle of Ypres.
Peace Talks were held. Detente was achieved. Calm reigned on Avenida Pancho Villa.
Until The Marines got their second breath and reinforcements in the form of their son, The Marine Jr. Further shenanigans ensued. And yours truly discovered that raccoons are not only exceedingly dextrous, they are inordinately fond of overripe figs. But that's another tale.
(source) story by (/u/KatiaV)
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