John Trent, Ph.D., Vice President of Today's Family, Men of Action, Winter 1993, Page 5
Friday, August 31, 2012
Handy Words and Phrases
If affirming words were something rarely spoken in your home growing up, let me give you some tips on words and phrases that can brighten your own child's eyes and life. These words are easy to say to any child who comes into your life. I'm proud of you, Way to go, Bingo ... you did it, Magnificent, I knew you could do it, What a good helper, You're very special to me, I trust you, What a treasure, Hurray for you, Beautiful work, You're a real trooper, Well done, That's so creative, You make my day, You're a joy, Give me a big hug, You're such a good listener, You figured it out, I love you, You're so responsible, You remembered, You're the best, You sure tried hard, I've got to hand it to you, I couldn't be prouder of you, You light up my day, I'm praying for you, You're wonderful, I'm behind you, You're so kind to your (brother/sister), You're God's special gift, I'm here for you.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Affirmation
Dads, I wish there was some way that I could communicate to you the incredible blessing which affirming words impart to children. I wish, too, that you could sit in my office, when I counsel, and hear the terrible damage that individuals received from not hearing affirming words - particularly affirming words from a father. While words from a godly teacher can melt a heart, words from a father can powerfully set the course of a life.
source unknown
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
The Power of Words
Recently, I heard a touching story which illustrates the power that words have to change a life - a power that lies right in the hands of those reading this article. Mary had grown up knowing that she was different from the other kids, and she hated it. She was born with a cleft palate and had to bear the jokes and stares of cruel children who teased her non-stop about her misshaped lip, crooked nose, and garbled speech. With all the teasing, Mary grew up hating the fact that she was “different". She was convinced that no one, outside her family, could ever love her ... until she entered Mrs. Leonard's class. Mrs. Leonard had a warm smile, a round face, and shiny brown hair. While everyone in her class liked her, Mary came to love Mrs. Leonard. In the 1950's, it was common for teachers to give their children an annual hearing test. However, in Mary's case, in addition to her cleft palate, she was barely able to hear out of one ear. Determined not to let the other children have another “difference" to point out, she would cheat on the test each year. The “whisper test" was given by having a child walk to the classroom door, turn sideways, close one ear with a finger, and then repeat something which the teacher whispered. Mary turned her bad ear towards her teacher and pretended to cover her good ear. She knew that teachers would often say things like, “The sky is blue," or “What colour are your shoes?" But not on that day. Surely, God put seven words in Mrs. Leonard's mouth that changed Mary's life forever. When the “Whisper test" came, Mary heard the words: “I wish you were my little girl."
source unknown
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Compliments
A compliment can be a great motivator, particularly if you put a little thought into the why, when, and how of delivering it. Be sure to comment whenever someone on your staff keeps working in the face of rejection, handles a difficult situation well, catches an error, given another employee a helping hand, sells a particular product for the first time, or gives you a lead that proves fruitful. Most of the time, a compliment should be given in public, either at a meeting or on the company bulletin board. If the situation is delicate, convey your praise through a personal note that the employee can share with his family. As with all rewards, praise should be given immediately after good performance to provide the greatest reinforcement.
source unknown
Monday, August 27, 2012
Recognition
Everyone needs recognition for his accomplishments, but few people make the need known quite as clearly as the little boy who said to his father: “Let's play darts. I'll throw and you say 'Wonderful!'"
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Gifts
One morning I opened the door to get the newspaper and was surprised to see a strange little dog with our paper in his mouth. Delighted with this unexpected "delivery service," I fed him some treats. The following morning I was horrified to see the same dog sitting in front of our door, wagging his tail, surrounded by eight newspapers. I spent the rest of that morning returning the papers to their owners.
Marion Gilbert in Reminisce: Reader's Digest, February, 1994
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Celebration
Forty thousand fans were on hand in the Oakland stadium when Rickey Henderson tied Lou Brock's career stolen base record. According to USA Today Lou, who had left baseball in 1979, had followed Henderson's career and was excited about his success. Realizing that Rickey would set a new record, Brock said, “I'll be there. Do you think I'm going to miss it now? Rickey did in 12 years what took me 19. He's amazing."
The real success stories in life are with people who can rejoice in the successes of others. What Lou Brock did in cheering on Rickey Henderson should be a way of life in the family of God. Few circumstances give us a better opportunity to exhibit God's grace than when someone succeeds and surpasses us in an area of our own strength and reputation.
The real success stories in life are with people who can rejoice in the successes of others. What Lou Brock did in cheering on Rickey Henderson should be a way of life in the family of God. Few circumstances give us a better opportunity to exhibit God's grace than when someone succeeds and surpasses us in an area of our own strength and reputation.
Our Daily Bread June 19, 1994
Friday, August 24, 2012
Beginnings
Mercedes Ruehl, one of the few actresses to win a Tony and an Oscar in the same year (for Lost in Yonkers and The Fisher King), saw her first Broadway show when she was in grade school. Her family was in New York visiting relatives and driving through Times Square. On the spur of the moment her parents decided to see if they could get tickets to The Unsinkable Molly Brown. “I remember waiting in the car," says Ruehl, “while my mother ran up to the box office. The only tickets left were for box seats. Box seats! To me there were no better seats, and I remember my father saying, sure, go for it. One of the best qualities of my parents was that they liked to have fun. “As we watched the play, I could not take my eyes off its star, Tammy Grimes. She must have felt my adoration, because at one point she looked up and held my eyes. It was probably for no more than one second, but it seemed like ten seconds. I always felt that was my official invitation to be an actress. With her gaze I was touched like a knight on both shoulders with a sword.”
Madeleine Blais in Lear's Reader's Digest
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Encouragement
The Duke of Wellington, the British military leader who defeated Napoleon at Waterloo, was not an easy man to serve under. He was brilliant, demanding, and not one to shower his subordinates with compliments. Yet even Wellington realized that his methods left something to be desired. In his old age a young lady asked him what, if anything, he would do differently if he had his life to live over again. Wellington thought for a moment, then replied. “I'd give more praise," he said.
source unknown
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
A Harvard Story
This was submitted by Beverly Lee \to Funnybone. She writes, “I received this story from several sources and I do not know if it is a true story or not. I like it and even though it is not the usual funny bone story I thought you might enjoy it." A lady in a faded gingham dress and her husband, dressed in a homespun threadbare suit, stepped off the train in Boston, and walked timidly without an appointment into outer office of the president of Harvard University.The secretary could tell in a moment that such backwoods, country hicks had no business at Harvard and probably didn't even deserve to be in Cambridge. She frowned. “We want to see the president," the man said softly. “He'll be busy all day," the secretary snapped. “We'll wait," the lady replied.
For hours, the secretary ignored them, hoping that the couple would finally become discouraged and go away. They didn't. And the secretary grew frustrated and finally decided to disturb the president, even though it was a chore she always regretted to do. “Maybe if they just see you for a few minutes, they'll leave," she told him. And he sighed in exasperation and nodded.
Someone of his importance obviously didn't have the time to spend with them, but he detested gingham dresses and homespun suits cluttering up his outer office. The president, stern-faced with dignity, strutted toward the couple.
The lady told him, “We had a son that attended Harvard for one year. He loved Harvard. He was happy here. But about a year ago, he was accidentally killed. And my husband and I would like to erect a memorial to him, somewhere on campus."
The president wasn't touched; he was shocked.
"Madam," he said gruffly, “We can't put up a statue for every person who attended Harvard and died. If we did, this place would look like a cemetery."
"Oh, no," the lady explained quickly, “We don't want to erect a statue. We thought we would like to give a building to Harvard."
The president rolled his eyes. He glanced at the gingham dress and homespun suit, then exclaimed, “A building! Do you have any earthly idea how much a building costs? We have over seven and a half million dollars in the physical plant at Harvard." For a moment the lady was silent. The president was pleased. He could get rid of them now.
And the lady turned to her husband and said quietly, “Is that all it costs to start a University? Why don't we just start our own?" Her husband nodded.
The president's face wilted in confusion and bewilderment.
And Mr. and Mrs. Leland Stanford walked away, travelling to Palo Alto, California, where they established the University that bears their name, a memorial to a son that Harvard no longer cared about.
For hours, the secretary ignored them, hoping that the couple would finally become discouraged and go away. They didn't. And the secretary grew frustrated and finally decided to disturb the president, even though it was a chore she always regretted to do. “Maybe if they just see you for a few minutes, they'll leave," she told him. And he sighed in exasperation and nodded.
Someone of his importance obviously didn't have the time to spend with them, but he detested gingham dresses and homespun suits cluttering up his outer office. The president, stern-faced with dignity, strutted toward the couple.
The lady told him, “We had a son that attended Harvard for one year. He loved Harvard. He was happy here. But about a year ago, he was accidentally killed. And my husband and I would like to erect a memorial to him, somewhere on campus."
The president wasn't touched; he was shocked.
"Madam," he said gruffly, “We can't put up a statue for every person who attended Harvard and died. If we did, this place would look like a cemetery."
"Oh, no," the lady explained quickly, “We don't want to erect a statue. We thought we would like to give a building to Harvard."
The president rolled his eyes. He glanced at the gingham dress and homespun suit, then exclaimed, “A building! Do you have any earthly idea how much a building costs? We have over seven and a half million dollars in the physical plant at Harvard." For a moment the lady was silent. The president was pleased. He could get rid of them now.
And the lady turned to her husband and said quietly, “Is that all it costs to start a University? Why don't we just start our own?" Her husband nodded.
The president's face wilted in confusion and bewilderment.
And Mr. and Mrs. Leland Stanford walked away, travelling to Palo Alto, California, where they established the University that bears their name, a memorial to a son that Harvard no longer cared about.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Rock Passenger
I can't credit this, but it sounds like something that really happened ....
While I was working in Sweden, I had many chances to visit London. Through a strange set of circumstances, while performing historical research I was able to be of service to the Abbot of Westminster Abbey. As a reward, I was presented with a weather worn carved capital from the Chapel of Henry VI which was being replaced with a new one. (The service had pertained to this restoration work.) Although weatherworn and a bit crumbly, it is delicately carved, and so I worked hard to protect it. Since it weighs 50+ pounds, this was not easy.
Fortunately, I had travelled from Sweden to England with my good Lady, her Mother, and her sister... Even though the latter two of our party were planning to travel onwards, rather than return to Sweden, it had been cheapest to buy everyone round trip tickets... So the fact that I had a 50+ pound chunk of Westminster Abbey didn't seem like it would present a problem... I had a pair of spare return trip tickets. It could fly as a passenger!!!!
Check in was fun...
"I'd like to check in three to Sweden..." presenting the tickets... “Yes sir... would you put your carry-on bag on the scale???" “No, that's one of the passengers". “Yes, sir, would you put your bag on the scale."
"No, I didn't make myself clear. That is not a bag belonging to a passenger... that bag IS the passenger."
"Excuse me sir... did you say the BAG is the PASSENGER?"
"Yes, and it would like a window seat."
At this point they decided I was definitely daft, and I spent the next ten minutes talking to various managers... Finally that was cleared up, and the bag got its window seat.
Arriving at the security gate, I placed my bag firmly (ka-thunk) on the x-ray machine... and of course no x-rays penetrated the rock...
So they asked me;
"What do you have in there, a rock?"
"Why yes, I do".
"Well sir, could you be so kind as to open it?"
"But of course..."
Well, they were very amused, but seeing as how I had the foresight to obtain a legal possession and export document, they finally let it through.
I thought I had it made, but the people at the boarding gate noticed that I was lugging this bag as if it contained somewhat over the 14 pounds weight allowance for carry on luggage. Also, I was treating it gingerly since it is a irreplaceable thing, and I didn't want to damage it... "Excuse me sir, but if that bag weighs more than 14 pounds you will have to check it..."
"No, that's okay, it isn't a bag, it's a passenger with it's own ticket... right here." With that, I showed the ticket.
"Yes sir, where is the person who's ticket this is?"
"No, let me make it clear, this bag is the passenger, it is going to sit in a seat, next to the window."
"Yes, sir, could you kindly step into the security office with us?..."
Sigh...
Finally we board the airplane... I thought we had it made... But alas, fate had a bit more planned for me. Shortly after the plane buttoned up, the stewardess came around and asked me if I could move the bag off of the seat (It was firmly seat belted in place), because a passenger wanted to move to the window (I should have realised that might cause problems).
"No, I am afraid I won't move the bag, and besides, I have paid for that seat...."
"Well yes sir, if that is your reserved seat, then could you sit in it and give the other gentleman the seat you are sitting in?"
"I'm afraid I have not made it clear... I have paid for a ticket for the bag... it is a passenger. That is its reserved seat.... I have a ticket, I am a passenger, and this is my reserved seat. We are both passengers, with tickets, and reserved seats... (and trying to suppress a grin...) and we would both like the chicken entree." ....
Eventually I was able to convince the co-pilot that the bag was a bonafide passenger with a ticket, that it didn't constitute a threat to the welfare of the airplane, and that it did have a right to both the window seat ... and the chicken entree
While I was working in Sweden, I had many chances to visit London. Through a strange set of circumstances, while performing historical research I was able to be of service to the Abbot of Westminster Abbey. As a reward, I was presented with a weather worn carved capital from the Chapel of Henry VI which was being replaced with a new one. (The service had pertained to this restoration work.) Although weatherworn and a bit crumbly, it is delicately carved, and so I worked hard to protect it. Since it weighs 50+ pounds, this was not easy.
Fortunately, I had travelled from Sweden to England with my good Lady, her Mother, and her sister... Even though the latter two of our party were planning to travel onwards, rather than return to Sweden, it had been cheapest to buy everyone round trip tickets... So the fact that I had a 50+ pound chunk of Westminster Abbey didn't seem like it would present a problem... I had a pair of spare return trip tickets. It could fly as a passenger!!!!
Check in was fun...
"I'd like to check in three to Sweden..." presenting the tickets... “Yes sir... would you put your carry-on bag on the scale???" “No, that's one of the passengers". “Yes, sir, would you put your bag on the scale."
"No, I didn't make myself clear. That is not a bag belonging to a passenger... that bag IS the passenger."
"Excuse me sir... did you say the BAG is the PASSENGER?"
"Yes, and it would like a window seat."
At this point they decided I was definitely daft, and I spent the next ten minutes talking to various managers... Finally that was cleared up, and the bag got its window seat.
Arriving at the security gate, I placed my bag firmly (ka-thunk) on the x-ray machine... and of course no x-rays penetrated the rock...
So they asked me;
"What do you have in there, a rock?"
"Why yes, I do".
"Well sir, could you be so kind as to open it?"
"But of course..."
Well, they were very amused, but seeing as how I had the foresight to obtain a legal possession and export document, they finally let it through.
I thought I had it made, but the people at the boarding gate noticed that I was lugging this bag as if it contained somewhat over the 14 pounds weight allowance for carry on luggage. Also, I was treating it gingerly since it is a irreplaceable thing, and I didn't want to damage it... "Excuse me sir, but if that bag weighs more than 14 pounds you will have to check it..."
"No, that's okay, it isn't a bag, it's a passenger with it's own ticket... right here." With that, I showed the ticket.
"Yes sir, where is the person who's ticket this is?"
"No, let me make it clear, this bag is the passenger, it is going to sit in a seat, next to the window."
"Yes, sir, could you kindly step into the security office with us?..."
Sigh...
Finally we board the airplane... I thought we had it made... But alas, fate had a bit more planned for me. Shortly after the plane buttoned up, the stewardess came around and asked me if I could move the bag off of the seat (It was firmly seat belted in place), because a passenger wanted to move to the window (I should have realised that might cause problems).
"No, I am afraid I won't move the bag, and besides, I have paid for that seat...."
"Well yes sir, if that is your reserved seat, then could you sit in it and give the other gentleman the seat you are sitting in?"
"I'm afraid I have not made it clear... I have paid for a ticket for the bag... it is a passenger. That is its reserved seat.... I have a ticket, I am a passenger, and this is my reserved seat. We are both passengers, with tickets, and reserved seats... (and trying to suppress a grin...) and we would both like the chicken entree." ....
Eventually I was able to convince the co-pilot that the bag was a bonafide passenger with a ticket, that it didn't constitute a threat to the welfare of the airplane, and that it did have a right to both the window seat ... and the chicken entree
source unknown
Monday, August 20, 2012
All You Need is Love
Affairs of the heart. They're tricky. Perilous. Delicious. To die for. And Valentine's Day has a history that's as rich and torrid as love itself. The story dates back to the Roman Empire, when Juno, patroness of marriage and women's well being, was revered each February 14. The Feast of Lupercalia, honouring Lupercus, protector of crops and livestock, began on February 15. On the eve of the feast, young women wrote their names on slips of paper and placed them in urns; young men drew names at random, and the pair would then be coupled during the festival. It has been said that the men pinned the names they drew to their sleeves, which has given us the expression “to wear your heart on your sleeve." Often, these couples would fall in love and later marry.
During the third century there was considerable strife and political upheaval in the Roman Empire. Claudius II (also known as Claudius the Cruel) was emperor during this time, and he decreed that there would be no engagements and no marriages because he believed a man's happiness at home had a direct impact on the fierceness of the empire's army. Without a wife, Claudius reasoned, his men would have no reason to stay home, and thus he could increase the size of his troops and their hunger for the fight. Despite his decree, the Italian Bishop Valentine clandestinely married young lovers. When Claudius discovered Valentine's secret nuptials, he had him clubbed to death and beheaded on February 14, A.D. 270.
During the third century there was considerable strife and political upheaval in the Roman Empire. Claudius II (also known as Claudius the Cruel) was emperor during this time, and he decreed that there would be no engagements and no marriages because he believed a man's happiness at home had a direct impact on the fierceness of the empire's army. Without a wife, Claudius reasoned, his men would have no reason to stay home, and thus he could increase the size of his troops and their hunger for the fight. Despite his decree, the Italian Bishop Valentine clandestinely married young lovers. When Claudius discovered Valentine's secret nuptials, he had him clubbed to death and beheaded on February 14, A.D. 270.
Stephanie Vollmer
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Evil Brothers
There were two evil brothers. They were rich, and used their money to keep their ways from the public eye. They even attended the same church, and looked to be perfect Christians.
Then, their pastor retired, and a new one was called. Not only could he see right through the brothers' deception, but he also spoke well and true, and the church started to swell in numbers. A fund-raising campaign was started to build a new sanctuary.
All of a sudden, one of the brothers died. The remaining brother sought out the new pastor the day before the funeral and handed him a check for the amount needed to finish paying for the new building.
"I have only one condition," he said. “At his funeral, you must say my brother was a saint." The pastor gave his word, and deposited the check. The next day, at the funeral, the pastor did not hold back. “He was an evil man," he said. “He cheated on his wife and abused his family." After going on in this vein for a time, he concluded with, “But, compared to his brother, he was a saint."
Then, their pastor retired, and a new one was called. Not only could he see right through the brothers' deception, but he also spoke well and true, and the church started to swell in numbers. A fund-raising campaign was started to build a new sanctuary.
All of a sudden, one of the brothers died. The remaining brother sought out the new pastor the day before the funeral and handed him a check for the amount needed to finish paying for the new building.
"I have only one condition," he said. “At his funeral, you must say my brother was a saint." The pastor gave his word, and deposited the check. The next day, at the funeral, the pastor did not hold back. “He was an evil man," he said. “He cheated on his wife and abused his family." After going on in this vein for a time, he concluded with, “But, compared to his brother, he was a saint."
source unknown
Saturday, August 18, 2012
It Could Be Worse
Next time you think you are having a bad day, remember these
1. The average cost of rehabilitating a seal after the Exxon Valdez oil spill in Alaska was $80,000. At a special ceremony, two of the most expensively saved animals were released back into the sea amid cheers and applause from onlookers. A minute later they were both eaten by a killer whale.
2. Iraqi terrorist Khay Rahnajet, didn't pay enough postage on a letter bomb. It came back with “return to sender" stamped on it. Forgetting it was the bomb, he opened it and was blown to bits.
1. The average cost of rehabilitating a seal after the Exxon Valdez oil spill in Alaska was $80,000. At a special ceremony, two of the most expensively saved animals were released back into the sea amid cheers and applause from onlookers. A minute later they were both eaten by a killer whale.
2. Iraqi terrorist Khay Rahnajet, didn't pay enough postage on a letter bomb. It came back with “return to sender" stamped on it. Forgetting it was the bomb, he opened it and was blown to bits.
source unknown
Friday, August 17, 2012
All Good Things... or... Tell Them Before It's Too Late
He was in the first third grade class I taught at Saint Mary's School in Morris, Minnesota. All 34 of my students were dear to me, but Mark Eklund was one in a million. Very neat in appearance, but had that happy-to-be-alive attitude that made even his occasional mischievousness delightful.
Mark talked incessantly. I had to remind him again and again that talking without permission was not acceptable. What impressed me so much, though, was his sincere response every time I had to correct him for misbehaving: “Thank you for correcting me, Sister!" I didn't know what to make of it at first, but before long I became accustomed to hearing it many times a day.
One morning my patience was growing thin when Mark talked once too often, and then I made a novice-teacher's mistake. I looked at Mark and said, “If you say one more word, I am going to tape your mouth shut!"
It wasn't ten seconds later when Chuck blurted out, “Mark is talking again." I hadn't asked any of the students to help me watch Mark, but since I had stated the punishment in front of the class, I had to act on it.
I remember the scene as if it had occurred this morning. I walked to my desk, very deliberately opened by drawer and took out a roll of masking tape. Without saying a word, I proceeded to Mark's desk, tore off two pieces of tape and made a big X with them over his mouth. I then returned to the front of the room.
As I glanced at Mark to see how he was doing, he winked at me. That did it!! I started laughing. The class cheered as I walked back to Mark's desk, removed the tape, and shrugged my shoulders. His first words were, “Thank you for correcting me, Sister."
At the end of the year, I was asked to teach junior-high math. The years flew by, and before I knew it Mark was in my classroom again. He was more handsome than ever and just as polite. Since he had to listen carefully to my instruction in the “new math," he did not talk as much in ninth grade as he had in third.
One Friday, things just didn't feel right. We had worked hard on a new concept all week, and I sensed that the students were frowning, frustrated with themselves - and edgy with one another. I had to stop this crankiness before it got out of hand. So I asked them to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name. Then I told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down. It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed me the papers. Charlie smiled.
Mark said, “Thank you for teaching me, Sister. Have a good weekend."
That Saturday, I wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and I listed what everyone else had said about that individual. On Monday I gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling. “Really?" I heard whispered. “I never knew that meant anything to anyone! "I didn't know others liked me so much." No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. I never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn't matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another again.
That group of students moved on. Several years later, after I returned from vacation, my parents met me at the airport. As we were driving home, Mother asked me the usual questions about the trip - the weather, my experiences in general. There was a lull in the conversation.
Mother gave Dad a side-ways glance and simply says, “Dad?" My father cleared his throat as he usually did before something important. “The Eklunds called last night," he began. “Really?" I said. “I haven't heard from them in years. I wonder how Mark is."
Dad responded quietly. “Mark was killed in Vietnam," he said. “The funeral is tomorrow, and his parents would like it if you could attend." To this day I can still point to the exact spot on I-494 where Dad told me about Mark. I had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. Mark looked so handsome, so mature. All I could think at that moment was, Mark I would give all the masking tape in the world if only you would talk to me.
The church was packed with Mark's friends. Chuck's sister sang “The Battle Hymn of the Republic." Why did it have to rain on the day of the funeral? It was difficult enough at the graveside. The pastor said the usual prayers, and the bugler played taps. One by one those who loved Mark took a last walk by the coffin and sprinkled it with holy water. I was the last one to bless the coffin. As I stood there, one of the soldiers who acted as pallbearer came up to me. “Were you Mark's math teacher?" he asked. I nodded as I continued to stare at the coffin. “Mark talked about you a lot," he said.
After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates headed to Chuck's farmhouse for lunch. Mark's mother and father were there, obviously waiting for me. “We want to show you something," his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket. “They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it."
Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times. I knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which I had listed all the good things each of Mark's classmates had said about him.
"Thank you so much for doing that," Mark's mother said. “As you can see, Mark treasured it."
Mark's classmates started to gather around us. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, “I still have my list. It's in the top drawer of my desk at home." Chuck's wife said, “Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album."
"I have mine too," Marilyn said. “It's in my diary."
Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group. “I carry this with me at all times," Vicki said without batting an eyelash. “I think we all saved our lists."
That's when I finally sat down and cried. I cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again.
Mark talked incessantly. I had to remind him again and again that talking without permission was not acceptable. What impressed me so much, though, was his sincere response every time I had to correct him for misbehaving: “Thank you for correcting me, Sister!" I didn't know what to make of it at first, but before long I became accustomed to hearing it many times a day.
One morning my patience was growing thin when Mark talked once too often, and then I made a novice-teacher's mistake. I looked at Mark and said, “If you say one more word, I am going to tape your mouth shut!"
It wasn't ten seconds later when Chuck blurted out, “Mark is talking again." I hadn't asked any of the students to help me watch Mark, but since I had stated the punishment in front of the class, I had to act on it.
I remember the scene as if it had occurred this morning. I walked to my desk, very deliberately opened by drawer and took out a roll of masking tape. Without saying a word, I proceeded to Mark's desk, tore off two pieces of tape and made a big X with them over his mouth. I then returned to the front of the room.
As I glanced at Mark to see how he was doing, he winked at me. That did it!! I started laughing. The class cheered as I walked back to Mark's desk, removed the tape, and shrugged my shoulders. His first words were, “Thank you for correcting me, Sister."
At the end of the year, I was asked to teach junior-high math. The years flew by, and before I knew it Mark was in my classroom again. He was more handsome than ever and just as polite. Since he had to listen carefully to my instruction in the “new math," he did not talk as much in ninth grade as he had in third.
One Friday, things just didn't feel right. We had worked hard on a new concept all week, and I sensed that the students were frowning, frustrated with themselves - and edgy with one another. I had to stop this crankiness before it got out of hand. So I asked them to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name. Then I told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down. It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed me the papers. Charlie smiled.
Mark said, “Thank you for teaching me, Sister. Have a good weekend."
That Saturday, I wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and I listed what everyone else had said about that individual. On Monday I gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling. “Really?" I heard whispered. “I never knew that meant anything to anyone! "I didn't know others liked me so much." No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. I never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn't matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another again.
That group of students moved on. Several years later, after I returned from vacation, my parents met me at the airport. As we were driving home, Mother asked me the usual questions about the trip - the weather, my experiences in general. There was a lull in the conversation.
Mother gave Dad a side-ways glance and simply says, “Dad?" My father cleared his throat as he usually did before something important. “The Eklunds called last night," he began. “Really?" I said. “I haven't heard from them in years. I wonder how Mark is."
Dad responded quietly. “Mark was killed in Vietnam," he said. “The funeral is tomorrow, and his parents would like it if you could attend." To this day I can still point to the exact spot on I-494 where Dad told me about Mark. I had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. Mark looked so handsome, so mature. All I could think at that moment was, Mark I would give all the masking tape in the world if only you would talk to me.
The church was packed with Mark's friends. Chuck's sister sang “The Battle Hymn of the Republic." Why did it have to rain on the day of the funeral? It was difficult enough at the graveside. The pastor said the usual prayers, and the bugler played taps. One by one those who loved Mark took a last walk by the coffin and sprinkled it with holy water. I was the last one to bless the coffin. As I stood there, one of the soldiers who acted as pallbearer came up to me. “Were you Mark's math teacher?" he asked. I nodded as I continued to stare at the coffin. “Mark talked about you a lot," he said.
After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates headed to Chuck's farmhouse for lunch. Mark's mother and father were there, obviously waiting for me. “We want to show you something," his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket. “They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it."
Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times. I knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which I had listed all the good things each of Mark's classmates had said about him.
"Thank you so much for doing that," Mark's mother said. “As you can see, Mark treasured it."
Mark's classmates started to gather around us. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, “I still have my list. It's in the top drawer of my desk at home." Chuck's wife said, “Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album."
"I have mine too," Marilyn said. “It's in my diary."
Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group. “I carry this with me at all times," Vicki said without batting an eyelash. “I think we all saved our lists."
That's when I finally sat down and cried. I cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again.
by Sister Helen P. Mrosla
Thursday, August 16, 2012
The Beggar's Rags
A beggar lived near the king's palace. One day he saw a proclamation posted outside the palace gate. The king was giving a great dinner. Anyone dressed in royal garments was invited to the party.
The beggar went on his way. He looked at the rags he was wearing and sighed. Surely only kings and their families wore royal robes, he thought. Slowly an idea crept into his mind. The audacity of it made him tremble. Would he dare?
He made his way back to the palace. He approached the guard at the gate. “Please, sire, I would like to speak to the king. "Wait here," the guard replied. In a few minutes, he was back. “His majesty will see you," he said, and led the beggar in.
"You wish to see me?" asked the king. “Yes, your majesty. I want so much to attend the banquet, but I have no royal robes to wear. Please, sir, if I may be so bold, may I have one of your old garments so that I, too, may come to the banquet?"
The beggar shook so hard that he could not see the faint smile that was on the king's face. “You have been wise in coming to me," the king said. He called to his son, the young prince. “Take this man to your room and array him in some of your clothes."
The prince did as he was told and soon the beggar was standing before a mirror, clothed in garments that he had never dared hope for. “You are now eligible to attend the king's banquet tomorrow night," said the prince. “But even more important, you will never need any other clothes. These garments will last forever." The beggar dropped to his knees. “Oh, thank you," he cried.
But as he started to leave, he looked back at his pile of dirty rags on the floor. He hesitated. What if the prince was wrong? What if he would need his old clothes again. Quickly he gathered them up.
The banquet was far greater than he had ever imagined, but he could not enjoy himself as he should. He had made a small bundle of his old rags and it kept falling off his lap. The food was passed quickly and the beggar missed some of the greatest delicacies.
Time proved that the prince was aright. The clothes lasted forever. Still the poor beggar grew fonder and fonder of his old rags. As time passed people seemed to forget the royal robes he was wearing. They saw only the little bundle of filthy rags that he clung to wherever he went. They even spoke of him as the old man with the rags.
One day as he lay dying, the king visited him. The beggar saw the sad look on the king's face when he looked at the small bundle of rags by the bed. Suddenly the beggar remembered the prince's words and he realised that his bundle of rags had cost him a lifetime of true royalty. He wept bitterly at his folly.
And the king wept with him.
We have been invited into a royal family, the family of God. To feast at God's dinner table, all we have to do is shed our old rags and put on the “new clothes" of faith which is provided by God's Son, Jesus Christ.
But we cannot hold onto our old rags. When we put our faith in Christ, we must let go of the sin in our life, and our old ways of living. Those things must be discarded if we are to experience true royalty and abundant life in Christ. “Behold, the old is passed away; the new has come!" (2 Co 5:17)
"Go now, leave your bonds of slavery. Put Babylon Behind you, with everything it represents, for it is unclean to you. You are the LORD's holy people." (Is 52:11)
The beggar went on his way. He looked at the rags he was wearing and sighed. Surely only kings and their families wore royal robes, he thought. Slowly an idea crept into his mind. The audacity of it made him tremble. Would he dare?
He made his way back to the palace. He approached the guard at the gate. “Please, sire, I would like to speak to the king. "Wait here," the guard replied. In a few minutes, he was back. “His majesty will see you," he said, and led the beggar in.
"You wish to see me?" asked the king. “Yes, your majesty. I want so much to attend the banquet, but I have no royal robes to wear. Please, sir, if I may be so bold, may I have one of your old garments so that I, too, may come to the banquet?"
The beggar shook so hard that he could not see the faint smile that was on the king's face. “You have been wise in coming to me," the king said. He called to his son, the young prince. “Take this man to your room and array him in some of your clothes."
The prince did as he was told and soon the beggar was standing before a mirror, clothed in garments that he had never dared hope for. “You are now eligible to attend the king's banquet tomorrow night," said the prince. “But even more important, you will never need any other clothes. These garments will last forever." The beggar dropped to his knees. “Oh, thank you," he cried.
But as he started to leave, he looked back at his pile of dirty rags on the floor. He hesitated. What if the prince was wrong? What if he would need his old clothes again. Quickly he gathered them up.
The banquet was far greater than he had ever imagined, but he could not enjoy himself as he should. He had made a small bundle of his old rags and it kept falling off his lap. The food was passed quickly and the beggar missed some of the greatest delicacies.
Time proved that the prince was aright. The clothes lasted forever. Still the poor beggar grew fonder and fonder of his old rags. As time passed people seemed to forget the royal robes he was wearing. They saw only the little bundle of filthy rags that he clung to wherever he went. They even spoke of him as the old man with the rags.
One day as he lay dying, the king visited him. The beggar saw the sad look on the king's face when he looked at the small bundle of rags by the bed. Suddenly the beggar remembered the prince's words and he realised that his bundle of rags had cost him a lifetime of true royalty. He wept bitterly at his folly.
And the king wept with him.
We have been invited into a royal family, the family of God. To feast at God's dinner table, all we have to do is shed our old rags and put on the “new clothes" of faith which is provided by God's Son, Jesus Christ.
But we cannot hold onto our old rags. When we put our faith in Christ, we must let go of the sin in our life, and our old ways of living. Those things must be discarded if we are to experience true royalty and abundant life in Christ. “Behold, the old is passed away; the new has come!" (2 Co 5:17)
"Go now, leave your bonds of slavery. Put Babylon Behind you, with everything it represents, for it is unclean to you. You are the LORD's holy people." (Is 52:11)
Author Unknown
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Big Oops
South African Health - Pelonomi Hospital
Date: 26 July 1996 10:08
"For several months, our nurses have been baffled to find a dead patient in the same bed every Friday morning" a spokeswoman for the Pelonomi Hospital (Free State, South Africa) told reporters.
There was no apparent cause for any of the deaths, and extensive checks on the air conditioning system, and a search for possible bacterial infection, failed to reveal any clues. "However, further inquiries have now revealed the cause of these deaths.
It seems that every Friday morning a cleaner would enter the ward, remove the plug that powered the patient's life support system, plug her floor polisher into the vacant socket, then go about her business. When she had finished her chores, she would plug the life support machine back in and leave, unaware that the patient was now dead. She could not, after all, hear the screams and eventual death rattle over the whirring of her polisher.
"We are sorry, and have sent a strong letter to the cleaner in question. Further, the Free State Health and Welfare Department is arranging for an electrician to fit an extra socket, so there should be no repetition of this incident. The enquiry is now closed."
Date: 26 July 1996 10:08
"For several months, our nurses have been baffled to find a dead patient in the same bed every Friday morning" a spokeswoman for the Pelonomi Hospital (Free State, South Africa) told reporters.
There was no apparent cause for any of the deaths, and extensive checks on the air conditioning system, and a search for possible bacterial infection, failed to reveal any clues. "However, further inquiries have now revealed the cause of these deaths.
It seems that every Friday morning a cleaner would enter the ward, remove the plug that powered the patient's life support system, plug her floor polisher into the vacant socket, then go about her business. When she had finished her chores, she would plug the life support machine back in and leave, unaware that the patient was now dead. She could not, after all, hear the screams and eventual death rattle over the whirring of her polisher.
"We are sorry, and have sent a strong letter to the cleaner in question. Further, the Free State Health and Welfare Department is arranging for an electrician to fit an extra socket, so there should be no repetition of this incident. The enquiry is now closed."
from (Cape Times, June 13, 1996) By the way, the headline of the newspaper story was, “Cleaner Polishes Off Patients."
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Retelling the Psalm
A leading actor was honoured at a banquet. In the after dinner ceremonies the actor was asked to recite for the pleasure of his guest. He consented, and asked if there was anything special anyone in the audience would like to hear.
There was a moment's pause, and then an old clergyman spoke up. “Could you, sir," he said, “recite the Twenty-Third Psalm?"
A strange look came over the actor's face, but he was speechless only for a moment. “I can sir - and I will, on one condition, and that is that after I have recited, you, my friend will do the same."
"I?" replied the surprised clergyman; “but I am not an elocutionist. However, if you wish, I will do so." Impressively the actor began the Psalm, holding his audience spellbound. As he finished, a great burst of applause broke from the guest.
After the applause had ceased, the old clergyman arose. The audience sat in intense silence. The Psalm was recited, and when it was done, there was not the slightest ripple of applause, but those in the audience whose eyes were yet dry had their heads bowed.
The great actor, with hand on the shoulder of the old clergyman, his voice trembling, exclaimed, “I reached your eyes and ears, my friends. This man reached your hearts. I know the Twenty-Third Psalm, but this man knows the Shepherd."
There was a moment's pause, and then an old clergyman spoke up. “Could you, sir," he said, “recite the Twenty-Third Psalm?"
A strange look came over the actor's face, but he was speechless only for a moment. “I can sir - and I will, on one condition, and that is that after I have recited, you, my friend will do the same."
"I?" replied the surprised clergyman; “but I am not an elocutionist. However, if you wish, I will do so." Impressively the actor began the Psalm, holding his audience spellbound. As he finished, a great burst of applause broke from the guest.
After the applause had ceased, the old clergyman arose. The audience sat in intense silence. The Psalm was recited, and when it was done, there was not the slightest ripple of applause, but those in the audience whose eyes were yet dry had their heads bowed.
The great actor, with hand on the shoulder of the old clergyman, his voice trembling, exclaimed, “I reached your eyes and ears, my friends. This man reached your hearts. I know the Twenty-Third Psalm, but this man knows the Shepherd."
source unknown
Monday, August 13, 2012
Letter from a Friend
Dear Friend,
How are you? I just had to send a note to tell you how much I care about you. Saw you yesterday as you were talking with your friends. I waited all day hoping you would want to talk to me too. I gave you a sunset to close your day and a cool breeze to rest you.. and I waited, but you did not come.......
It hurt me... but I still love you because I am your friend. I saw you sleeping last night and longed to touch your brow, so I spilled the moonlight upon your face. Again I waited, wanting to rush down so we could talk. I have so many gifts for you! You awoke and rushed off to work. My tears were in the rain......
If you would only listen to ME! I love you! I try to tell you in blue skies and in the quiet green grass. I whisper it in leaves on the trees and breathe it in colours of flowers, shouted it to you in mountain streams, give the birds love songs to sing. I clothe you with warm sunshine and perfume the air with nature scents. My love for you is deeper than the ocean and bigger than the biggest need in your heart!
Ask me! Talk with me! Please don't forget me. I have so much to share with you! I won't hassle you any further. It is YOUR decision. I have chosen you and I will wait - I love you...
Your friend,
Jesus
How are you? I just had to send a note to tell you how much I care about you. Saw you yesterday as you were talking with your friends. I waited all day hoping you would want to talk to me too. I gave you a sunset to close your day and a cool breeze to rest you.. and I waited, but you did not come.......
It hurt me... but I still love you because I am your friend. I saw you sleeping last night and longed to touch your brow, so I spilled the moonlight upon your face. Again I waited, wanting to rush down so we could talk. I have so many gifts for you! You awoke and rushed off to work. My tears were in the rain......
If you would only listen to ME! I love you! I try to tell you in blue skies and in the quiet green grass. I whisper it in leaves on the trees and breathe it in colours of flowers, shouted it to you in mountain streams, give the birds love songs to sing. I clothe you with warm sunshine and perfume the air with nature scents. My love for you is deeper than the ocean and bigger than the biggest need in your heart!
Ask me! Talk with me! Please don't forget me. I have so much to share with you! I won't hassle you any further. It is YOUR decision. I have chosen you and I will wait - I love you...
Your friend,
Jesus
source unknown
Sunday, August 12, 2012
The Story Behind the Picture of the Praying Hands
Back in the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a family with eighteen children. Eighteen! In order merely to keep food on the table for this mob, the father and head of the household, a goldsmith by profession, worked almost eighteen hours a day at his trade any other paying chore he could find in the neighbourhood. Despite their seemingly hopeless condition, two of Albrecht Durer the Elder's children had a dream. They both wanted to pursue their talent for art, but they knew full well that their father would never be financially able to send either of them to Nuremberg to study at the Academy. After many long discussions at night in their crowded bed, the two boys finally worked out a pact. They would toss a coin. The loser would go down into the nearby mines and, with his earnings, support his brother while he attended the academy. Then, when that brother who won the toss completed his studies, in four years, he would support the other brother at the academy, either with sales of his artwork or, if necessary, also by labouring in the mines.
They tossed a coin on a Sunday morning after church. Albrecht Durer won the toss and went off to Nuremberg. Albert went down into the dangerous mines and, for the next four years, financed his brother, whose work at the academy was almost an immediate sensation. Albrecht's etchings, his woodcuts, and his oils were far better than those of most of his professors, and by the time he graduated, he was beginning to earn considerable fees for his commissioned works. When the young artist returned to his village, the Durer family held a festive dinner on their lawn to celebrate Albrecht's triumphant homecoming. After a long and memorable meal, punctuated with music and laughter, Albrecht rose from his honoured position at the head of the table to drink a toast to his beloved brother for the years of sacrifice that had enabled Albrecht to fulfill his ambition. His closing words were, “And now, Albert, blessed brother of mine, now it is your turn. Now you can go to Nuremberg to pursue your dream, and I will take care of you." All heads turned in eager expectation to the far end of the table where Albert sat, tears streaming down his pale face, shaking his lowered head from side to side while he sobbed and repeated, over and over, “No ...no ...no ...no." Finally, Albert rose and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He glanced down the long table at the faces he loved, and then, holding his hands close to his right cheek, he said softly, “No, brother. I cannot go to Nuremberg. It is too late for me. Look ... look what four years in the mines have done to my hands! The bones in every finger have been smashed at least once, and lately I have been suffering from arthritis so badly in my right hand that I cannot even hold a glass to return your toast, much less make delicate lines on parchment or canvas with a pen or a brush. No, brother ... for me it is too late." More than 450 years have passed. By now, Albrecht Durer's hundreds of masterful portraits, pen and silver-point sketches, watercolours, charcoals, woodcuts, and copper engravings hang in every great museum in the world, but the odds are great that you, like most people, are familiar with only one of Albrecht Durer's works. More than merely being familiar with it, you very well may have a reproduction hanging in your home or office. One day, to pay homage to Albert for all that he had sacrificed, Albrecht Durer painstakingly drew his brother's abused hands with palms together and thin fingers stretched skyward. He called his powerful drawing simply “Hands," but the entire world almost immediately opened their hearts to his great masterpiece and renamed his tribute of love “The Praying Hands."
The next time you see a copy of that touching creation, take a second look. Let it be your reminder, if you still need one, that no one — no one — ever makes it alone!
They tossed a coin on a Sunday morning after church. Albrecht Durer won the toss and went off to Nuremberg. Albert went down into the dangerous mines and, for the next four years, financed his brother, whose work at the academy was almost an immediate sensation. Albrecht's etchings, his woodcuts, and his oils were far better than those of most of his professors, and by the time he graduated, he was beginning to earn considerable fees for his commissioned works. When the young artist returned to his village, the Durer family held a festive dinner on their lawn to celebrate Albrecht's triumphant homecoming. After a long and memorable meal, punctuated with music and laughter, Albrecht rose from his honoured position at the head of the table to drink a toast to his beloved brother for the years of sacrifice that had enabled Albrecht to fulfill his ambition. His closing words were, “And now, Albert, blessed brother of mine, now it is your turn. Now you can go to Nuremberg to pursue your dream, and I will take care of you." All heads turned in eager expectation to the far end of the table where Albert sat, tears streaming down his pale face, shaking his lowered head from side to side while he sobbed and repeated, over and over, “No ...no ...no ...no." Finally, Albert rose and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He glanced down the long table at the faces he loved, and then, holding his hands close to his right cheek, he said softly, “No, brother. I cannot go to Nuremberg. It is too late for me. Look ... look what four years in the mines have done to my hands! The bones in every finger have been smashed at least once, and lately I have been suffering from arthritis so badly in my right hand that I cannot even hold a glass to return your toast, much less make delicate lines on parchment or canvas with a pen or a brush. No, brother ... for me it is too late." More than 450 years have passed. By now, Albrecht Durer's hundreds of masterful portraits, pen and silver-point sketches, watercolours, charcoals, woodcuts, and copper engravings hang in every great museum in the world, but the odds are great that you, like most people, are familiar with only one of Albrecht Durer's works. More than merely being familiar with it, you very well may have a reproduction hanging in your home or office. One day, to pay homage to Albert for all that he had sacrificed, Albrecht Durer painstakingly drew his brother's abused hands with palms together and thin fingers stretched skyward. He called his powerful drawing simply “Hands," but the entire world almost immediately opened their hearts to his great masterpiece and renamed his tribute of love “The Praying Hands."
The next time you see a copy of that touching creation, take a second look. Let it be your reminder, if you still need one, that no one — no one — ever makes it alone!
source unknown
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Perfection
I once did a children’s message on perfection. I used 3 cups. one was a styrofoam cup, one was a plain coffee cop, and one was a fancy china cup. I asked the children “which of these is a perfect cup?" The answer is “all of them". Each one was different, yet each was a perfect cup, as long as it did the work it was intended to do. I then punched a hole in the bottom of the styrofoam cup and said “now this cup is not perfect because it can't do what it's maker intended it to do." Our perfection as Christians is in our being where God wants us to be, and doing what God wants us to do.
source unknown
Friday, August 10, 2012
The Trouble Tree
The carpenter I hired to help me restore an old farmhouse had just finished a rough first day on the job. A flat tire made him lose an hour of work, his electric saw quit, and now his ancient pickup truck refused to start.
While I drove him home, he sat in stony silence. On arriving, he invited me in to meet his family. As we walked toward the front door he paused briefly at a small tree, touching the tips of the branches with both hands.
After opening the door he underwent an amazing transformation. His tanned face was wreathed in smiles and he hugged his two small children and gave his wife a kiss. Afterwards he walked me to the car. We passed the tree and my curiosity got the better of me. I asked him about what I had seen him do earlier.
"Oh, that’s my trouble tree," he replied. “I know I can’t help having troubles on the job, but one things for sure, troubles don’t belong in the house with my wife and the children. So I just hang them up on the tree every night when I come home. Then in the morning I pick them up again."
"Funny thing is," he smiled, “when I come out in the morning to pick ‘em up, there ain’t nearly as many as I remember hanging up the night before."
While I drove him home, he sat in stony silence. On arriving, he invited me in to meet his family. As we walked toward the front door he paused briefly at a small tree, touching the tips of the branches with both hands.
After opening the door he underwent an amazing transformation. His tanned face was wreathed in smiles and he hugged his two small children and gave his wife a kiss. Afterwards he walked me to the car. We passed the tree and my curiosity got the better of me. I asked him about what I had seen him do earlier.
"Oh, that’s my trouble tree," he replied. “I know I can’t help having troubles on the job, but one things for sure, troubles don’t belong in the house with my wife and the children. So I just hang them up on the tree every night when I come home. Then in the morning I pick them up again."
"Funny thing is," he smiled, “when I come out in the morning to pick ‘em up, there ain’t nearly as many as I remember hanging up the night before."
source unknown
Thursday, August 09, 2012
Parachutes
Charles Plumb, a U.S. Naval Academy graduate, was a jet fighter pilot in Vietnam. After 75 combat missions, his plane was destroyed by a surface-to-air missile. Plumb ejected and parachuted into enemy hands. He was captured and spent six years in a Communist prison. He survived that ordeal and now lectures about lessons learned from that experience.
One day, when Plumb and his wife were sitting in a restaurant, a man at another table came up and said, “You're Plumb! You flew jet fighters in Vietnam from the aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk. You were shot down!"
"How in the world did you know that?" asked Plumb.
"I packed your parachute," the man replied. Plumb gasped in surprise and gratitude. The man pumped his hand and said, “I guess it worked!"
Plumb assured him, “It sure did - if your chute hadn't worked, I wouldn't be here today."
Plumb couldn't sleep that night, thinking about that man. Plumb says, “I kept wondering what he might have looked like in a Navy uniform - a Dixie cup hat, a bib in the back, and bell bottom trousers. I wondered how many times I might have passed him on the Kitty Hawk. I wondered how many times I might have seen him and not even said 'Good morning, how are you,' or anything because, you see, I was a fighter pilot and he was just a sailor."
Plumb thought of the many hours the sailor had spent on a long wooden table in the bowels of the ship carefully weaving the shrouds and folding the silks of each chute, holding in his hands each time the fate of someone he didn't know.
Now, Plumb asks his audience, “Who's packing your parachute? Everyone has someone who provides what they need to make it through the day." Plumb also points out that he needed many kinds of parachutes when his plane was shot down over enemy territory - he needed his physical parachute, his mental parachute, his emotional parachute, and his spiritual parachute. He called on all these supports before reaching safety. His experience reminds us all to prepare ourselves to weather whatever storms lie ahead.
SUGGESTION: Recognise and be gracious to people who pack your daily parachutes, and strengthen yourself to prevail through tough times.
One day, when Plumb and his wife were sitting in a restaurant, a man at another table came up and said, “You're Plumb! You flew jet fighters in Vietnam from the aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk. You were shot down!"
"How in the world did you know that?" asked Plumb.
"I packed your parachute," the man replied. Plumb gasped in surprise and gratitude. The man pumped his hand and said, “I guess it worked!"
Plumb assured him, “It sure did - if your chute hadn't worked, I wouldn't be here today."
Plumb couldn't sleep that night, thinking about that man. Plumb says, “I kept wondering what he might have looked like in a Navy uniform - a Dixie cup hat, a bib in the back, and bell bottom trousers. I wondered how many times I might have passed him on the Kitty Hawk. I wondered how many times I might have seen him and not even said 'Good morning, how are you,' or anything because, you see, I was a fighter pilot and he was just a sailor."
Plumb thought of the many hours the sailor had spent on a long wooden table in the bowels of the ship carefully weaving the shrouds and folding the silks of each chute, holding in his hands each time the fate of someone he didn't know.
Now, Plumb asks his audience, “Who's packing your parachute? Everyone has someone who provides what they need to make it through the day." Plumb also points out that he needed many kinds of parachutes when his plane was shot down over enemy territory - he needed his physical parachute, his mental parachute, his emotional parachute, and his spiritual parachute. He called on all these supports before reaching safety. His experience reminds us all to prepare ourselves to weather whatever storms lie ahead.
SUGGESTION: Recognise and be gracious to people who pack your daily parachutes, and strengthen yourself to prevail through tough times.
- Charles Plumb
Wednesday, August 08, 2012
The Rich Family in our Church
I'll never forget Easter 1946. I was 14, my little sister Ocy 12, and my older sister Darlene 16. We lived at home with our mother, and the four of us knew what it was to do without many things. My dad had died 5 years before, leaving Mum with seven school kids to raise and no money. By 1946 my older sisters were married, and my brothers had left home.
A month before Easter, the pastor of our church announced that a special Easter offering would be taken to help a poor family. He asked everyone to save and give sacrificially. When we got home, we talked about what we could do. We decided to buy 50 pounds of potatoes and live on them for a month. This would allow us to save $20 of our grocery money for the offering. Then we thought that if we kept our electric lights turned out as much as possible and didn't listen to the radio, we'd save money on that month's electric bill. Darlene got as many house-and-yard cleaning jobs as possible and both of us baby-sat for everyone we could. For 15 cents we could buy enough cotton loops to make three pot holders to sell for $1. We made $20 on pot holders.
That month was one of the best of our lives. Every day we counted the money to see how much we had saved. At night we'd sit in the dark and talk about how the poor family was going to enjoy having the money the church would give them. We had about 80 people in church, so we figured that whatever amount of money we had to give, the offering would surely be 20 times that much. After all, every Sunday the pastor had reminded everyone to save for the sacrificial offering.
The day before Easter, Ocy and I walked to the grocery store and got the manager to give us three crisp $20 bills and one $10 bill for all our change. We ran all the way home to show Mum and Darlene. We had never had so much money before. That night we were so excited we could hardly sleep. We didn't care that we could hardly sleep. We didn't care that we wouldn't have new clothes for Easter; we had $70 for the sacrificial offering. We could hardly wait to get to church!
On Sunday morning rain was pouring. We didn't own an umbrella and the church was over a mile from our home but it didn't seem to matter how wet we got. Darlene had cardboard in her shoes to fill the holes. The cardboard came apart, and her feet got wet. But we sat in church proudly. I heard some teenagers talking about the Smith girls having on their old dresses. I looked at them in their new clothes and felt so rich.
When the sacrificial offering was taken, we were sitting on the second row from the front. Mom put in the $10, and each of us girls put in a $20. As we walked home after church, we sang all the way. At lunch Mum had a surprise for us. She had bought a dozen eggs, and we had boiled Easter eggs with our fried potatoes!
Late that afternoon the minister drove up in his car. Mum went to the door, talked with him for a moment, and then came back with an envelope in her hand. We asked what it was, but she didn't say a word. She opened the envelope, and out fell a bunch of money. There were three crisp $20 bills, one $10, and seventeen $1's. Mum put the money back in the envelope. We didn't talk, just sat and stared at the floor. We had gone from feeling like millionaires to feeling like poor white trash.
We kids had such a happy life that we felt sorry for anyone who didn't have our mum and dad for parents and a house full of brothers and sisters and other kids visiting constantly. We thought it was fun to share silverware and see whether we got the fork or the spoon that night. We had two knives which we passed around to whoever needed them. I knew we didn't have a lot of things that other people had, but I'd never thought that we were poor. That Easter Day I found out we were. The minister had brought us the money for the poor family, so we must be poor.
I didn't like being poor. I looked at my dress and worn-out shoes and felt so ashamed that I didn't want to go back to church. Everyone there probably already knew we were poor! I thought about school. I was in the ninth grade and at the top of my class of over 100 students. I wondered if the kids at school knew we were poor. I decided I could quit school since I had finished the eighth grade. That was all the law required at that time.
We sat in silence for a long time. Then it got dark, and we went to bed. All that week, we girls went to school and came home, but no one talked much. Finally on Saturday, Mum asked us what we wanted to do with the money. What did poor people do with money? We didn't know. We'd never known we were poor.
We didn't want to go to church on Sunday, but Mum said we had to. Although it was a sunny day, we didn't talk on the way. Mum started to sing, but no one joined in, and she only sang one verse. At church we had a missionary speaker. He talked about how churches in Africa made buildings out of sun-dried bricks, but they needed money to buy roofs. He said $100 would put a roof on a church. The minister said, “Can't we all sacrifice to help these poor people?"
We looked at each other and smiled for the first time in a week. Mum reached in her purse and pulled out the envelope. She passed it to Darlene, Darlene gave it to me, and I handed it to Ocy. Ocy put it in the offering. When the offering was counted, the minister announced that it was a little over $100. The missionary was excited. He hadn't expected such an offering from our small church. He said, “You must have some rich people in this church". Suddenly it struck us! We had given $87 of that “little over $100." We were the rich family in the church! Hadn't the missionary said so?
From that day on I've never been poor again. I've always remembered how rich I am because I have Jesus.
A month before Easter, the pastor of our church announced that a special Easter offering would be taken to help a poor family. He asked everyone to save and give sacrificially. When we got home, we talked about what we could do. We decided to buy 50 pounds of potatoes and live on them for a month. This would allow us to save $20 of our grocery money for the offering. Then we thought that if we kept our electric lights turned out as much as possible and didn't listen to the radio, we'd save money on that month's electric bill. Darlene got as many house-and-yard cleaning jobs as possible and both of us baby-sat for everyone we could. For 15 cents we could buy enough cotton loops to make three pot holders to sell for $1. We made $20 on pot holders.
That month was one of the best of our lives. Every day we counted the money to see how much we had saved. At night we'd sit in the dark and talk about how the poor family was going to enjoy having the money the church would give them. We had about 80 people in church, so we figured that whatever amount of money we had to give, the offering would surely be 20 times that much. After all, every Sunday the pastor had reminded everyone to save for the sacrificial offering.
The day before Easter, Ocy and I walked to the grocery store and got the manager to give us three crisp $20 bills and one $10 bill for all our change. We ran all the way home to show Mum and Darlene. We had never had so much money before. That night we were so excited we could hardly sleep. We didn't care that we could hardly sleep. We didn't care that we wouldn't have new clothes for Easter; we had $70 for the sacrificial offering. We could hardly wait to get to church!
On Sunday morning rain was pouring. We didn't own an umbrella and the church was over a mile from our home but it didn't seem to matter how wet we got. Darlene had cardboard in her shoes to fill the holes. The cardboard came apart, and her feet got wet. But we sat in church proudly. I heard some teenagers talking about the Smith girls having on their old dresses. I looked at them in their new clothes and felt so rich.
When the sacrificial offering was taken, we were sitting on the second row from the front. Mom put in the $10, and each of us girls put in a $20. As we walked home after church, we sang all the way. At lunch Mum had a surprise for us. She had bought a dozen eggs, and we had boiled Easter eggs with our fried potatoes!
Late that afternoon the minister drove up in his car. Mum went to the door, talked with him for a moment, and then came back with an envelope in her hand. We asked what it was, but she didn't say a word. She opened the envelope, and out fell a bunch of money. There were three crisp $20 bills, one $10, and seventeen $1's. Mum put the money back in the envelope. We didn't talk, just sat and stared at the floor. We had gone from feeling like millionaires to feeling like poor white trash.
We kids had such a happy life that we felt sorry for anyone who didn't have our mum and dad for parents and a house full of brothers and sisters and other kids visiting constantly. We thought it was fun to share silverware and see whether we got the fork or the spoon that night. We had two knives which we passed around to whoever needed them. I knew we didn't have a lot of things that other people had, but I'd never thought that we were poor. That Easter Day I found out we were. The minister had brought us the money for the poor family, so we must be poor.
I didn't like being poor. I looked at my dress and worn-out shoes and felt so ashamed that I didn't want to go back to church. Everyone there probably already knew we were poor! I thought about school. I was in the ninth grade and at the top of my class of over 100 students. I wondered if the kids at school knew we were poor. I decided I could quit school since I had finished the eighth grade. That was all the law required at that time.
We sat in silence for a long time. Then it got dark, and we went to bed. All that week, we girls went to school and came home, but no one talked much. Finally on Saturday, Mum asked us what we wanted to do with the money. What did poor people do with money? We didn't know. We'd never known we were poor.
We didn't want to go to church on Sunday, but Mum said we had to. Although it was a sunny day, we didn't talk on the way. Mum started to sing, but no one joined in, and she only sang one verse. At church we had a missionary speaker. He talked about how churches in Africa made buildings out of sun-dried bricks, but they needed money to buy roofs. He said $100 would put a roof on a church. The minister said, “Can't we all sacrifice to help these poor people?"
We looked at each other and smiled for the first time in a week. Mum reached in her purse and pulled out the envelope. She passed it to Darlene, Darlene gave it to me, and I handed it to Ocy. Ocy put it in the offering. When the offering was counted, the minister announced that it was a little over $100. The missionary was excited. He hadn't expected such an offering from our small church. He said, “You must have some rich people in this church". Suddenly it struck us! We had given $87 of that “little over $100." We were the rich family in the church! Hadn't the missionary said so?
From that day on I've never been poor again. I've always remembered how rich I am because I have Jesus.
source unknown
Tuesday, August 07, 2012
Growing Old
Albert Amateau, who is 105 years old, says he expected longevity. “I lived my life in such a way that I knew I would live beyond 100," he explains.
Being an avid walker has always been a part of his life. He was once examined by a physician, 50 years is junior, who was amazed to hear that Mr. Amateau waked four or five miles every day.
"What do you do when it rains?" asked the doctor.
"I put on a raincoat," the old man replied.
Being an avid walker has always been a part of his life. He was once examined by a physician, 50 years is junior, who was amazed to hear that Mr. Amateau waked four or five miles every day.
"What do you do when it rains?" asked the doctor.
"I put on a raincoat," the old man replied.
source unknown
Monday, August 06, 2012
Possibilities
Master magician David Copperfield is one of the most successful entertainers of all time.
He says the secret of his success is “to consider nothing impossible. Then start treating possibilities as
probabilities."
The truth is that you can do anything anyone else can do if you use the same strategies that they used.
A lot of things we consider “impossible" are really possible-impossibles.
Something is a possible-impossible if someone else can do something but you can't. When you you start learning their strategies--you'll be able to do what they've done. You can make the impossible--possible.
So, if you want to stop smoking, lose weight, write a novel, get a Ph.D., etc... find someone who has “done the impossible" and interview them to discover what you need to do.
The four steps to doing the impossible:
1. Know where you are.
2. Know where you want to get to (your goal).
3. Discover the strategies that will take you from where you are to where you want to be.
4. DO IT!
He says the secret of his success is “to consider nothing impossible. Then start treating possibilities as
probabilities."
The truth is that you can do anything anyone else can do if you use the same strategies that they used.
A lot of things we consider “impossible" are really possible-impossibles.
Something is a possible-impossible if someone else can do something but you can't. When you you start learning their strategies--you'll be able to do what they've done. You can make the impossible--possible.
So, if you want to stop smoking, lose weight, write a novel, get a Ph.D., etc... find someone who has “done the impossible" and interview them to discover what you need to do.
The four steps to doing the impossible:
1. Know where you are.
2. Know where you want to get to (your goal).
3. Discover the strategies that will take you from where you are to where you want to be.
4. DO IT!
source unknown
Sunday, August 05, 2012
Struggle
A man found a cocoon of an emperor moth. He took it home so that he could watch the moth come out of the cocoon. On that day a small opening appeared, he sat and watched the moth for several hours as the moth struggled to force the body through that little hole.
Then it seemed to stop making any progress. It appeared as if it had gotten as far as it could and it could go no farther. It just seemed to be stuck. Then the man, in his kindness, decided to help the moth, so he took a pair of scissors and snipped off the remaining bit of the cocoon.
The moth then emerged easily. But it had a swollen body and small, shriveled wings. The man continued to watch the moth because he expected that, at any moment, the wings would enlarge and expand to be able to support the body, which would contract in time. Neither happened! In fact, the little moth spent the rest of its life crawling around with a swollen body and shriveled body and shriveled wings. It never was able to fly.
What the man in his kindness and haste did not understand was that the restricting cocoon and the struggle required for the moth to get through the tiny opening was the way of forcing fluid from the body of the moth into its wings so that it would be ready for flight once it achieved its freedom from the cocoon. Freedom and flight would only come after the struggle. By depriving the moth of a struggle, he deprived the moth of health.
Sometimes struggles are exactly what we need in our life. If we were to go through our life without any obstacles, we would be crippled. We would not be as strong as what we could have been. Give every opportunity a chance, leave no room for regrets.
Then it seemed to stop making any progress. It appeared as if it had gotten as far as it could and it could go no farther. It just seemed to be stuck. Then the man, in his kindness, decided to help the moth, so he took a pair of scissors and snipped off the remaining bit of the cocoon.
The moth then emerged easily. But it had a swollen body and small, shriveled wings. The man continued to watch the moth because he expected that, at any moment, the wings would enlarge and expand to be able to support the body, which would contract in time. Neither happened! In fact, the little moth spent the rest of its life crawling around with a swollen body and shriveled body and shriveled wings. It never was able to fly.
What the man in his kindness and haste did not understand was that the restricting cocoon and the struggle required for the moth to get through the tiny opening was the way of forcing fluid from the body of the moth into its wings so that it would be ready for flight once it achieved its freedom from the cocoon. Freedom and flight would only come after the struggle. By depriving the moth of a struggle, he deprived the moth of health.
Sometimes struggles are exactly what we need in our life. If we were to go through our life without any obstacles, we would be crippled. We would not be as strong as what we could have been. Give every opportunity a chance, leave no room for regrets.
source unknown
Saturday, August 04, 2012
Darwin Award Winner
These awards are given each year to bestow upon (the remains of) that individual, who through single-minded self sacrifice, has done the most to remove undesirable elements from the human gene pool.
(The late) John Pernicky and his friend, (the late) Sal Hawkins, of the great state of Washington, decided to attend a local Metallica concert at the George Washington amphitheatre. Having no tickets (but having had 18 beers between them), they thought it would be easy to “hop" over the nine-foot fence and sneak into the show. They pulled their pick-up truck over to the fence and the plan was for (the late) Mr. Pernicky (who was 100 pounds heavier than Mr. Hawkins) to hop the fence and then assist his friend over. Unfortunately for the late) Mr. Pernicky, there was a 30-foot drop on the other side of the fence. Having heaved himself over, he found himself crashing through a tree. His fall was abruptly halted (and broken, along with his arm, as it were) by a large branch that snagged him by his shorts. Dangling from the tree with a broken arm, he looked down and saw some bushes below him. (Possibly) figuring the bushes would break his fall, he removed his pocket knife and proceeded to cut away his shorts to free himself from the tree.
Finally free, (did I mention he is THE LATE) Mr. Pernicky crashed into Holly bushes. The sharp leaves scratched his ENTIRE body and now without the protection of his shorts, a Holly branch penetrated his rectal cavity. To make matters worse (?!), on landing, his pocket knife penetrated his thigh 3-inches.
(The late) Mr. Hawkins, on seeing his friend in considerable pain and agony, decided to throw him a rope and pull him to safety (now he thinks of the “S" word) by tying the rope to the pick-up truck and slowly driving away. However, in his drunken haste/state, he put the truck into reverse and crashed through the fence landing on his friend and killing him. Police arrived to find the crashed pick-up with its driver thrown 100-feet from the truck and dead at the scene from massive internal injuries. Upon moving the truck, they found John under it, half-naked with scratches on his body, a holly stick in his rectum, a knife in his thigh, and his shorts dangling from a tree branch 25-feet in the air.
Congratulations gentlemen, you win...
Remember THE safety question: “What's the worst that can happen if I do this?"
(The late) John Pernicky and his friend, (the late) Sal Hawkins, of the great state of Washington, decided to attend a local Metallica concert at the George Washington amphitheatre. Having no tickets (but having had 18 beers between them), they thought it would be easy to “hop" over the nine-foot fence and sneak into the show. They pulled their pick-up truck over to the fence and the plan was for (the late) Mr. Pernicky (who was 100 pounds heavier than Mr. Hawkins) to hop the fence and then assist his friend over. Unfortunately for the late) Mr. Pernicky, there was a 30-foot drop on the other side of the fence. Having heaved himself over, he found himself crashing through a tree. His fall was abruptly halted (and broken, along with his arm, as it were) by a large branch that snagged him by his shorts. Dangling from the tree with a broken arm, he looked down and saw some bushes below him. (Possibly) figuring the bushes would break his fall, he removed his pocket knife and proceeded to cut away his shorts to free himself from the tree.
Finally free, (did I mention he is THE LATE) Mr. Pernicky crashed into Holly bushes. The sharp leaves scratched his ENTIRE body and now without the protection of his shorts, a Holly branch penetrated his rectal cavity. To make matters worse (?!), on landing, his pocket knife penetrated his thigh 3-inches.
(The late) Mr. Hawkins, on seeing his friend in considerable pain and agony, decided to throw him a rope and pull him to safety (now he thinks of the “S" word) by tying the rope to the pick-up truck and slowly driving away. However, in his drunken haste/state, he put the truck into reverse and crashed through the fence landing on his friend and killing him. Police arrived to find the crashed pick-up with its driver thrown 100-feet from the truck and dead at the scene from massive internal injuries. Upon moving the truck, they found John under it, half-naked with scratches on his body, a holly stick in his rectum, a knife in his thigh, and his shorts dangling from a tree branch 25-feet in the air.
Congratulations gentlemen, you win...
Remember THE safety question: “What's the worst that can happen if I do this?"
source: Darwin Awards
Thursday, August 02, 2012
Idiot criminals
Louisiana: A man walked into a Circle-K, put a $20 bill on the counter and asked for change. When the clerk opened the cash drawer, the man pulled out a gun and asked for all the cash in the register, which the clerk promptly provided. The man took the cash from the clerk and fled, leaving the $20 bill on the counter. The total amount of cash he got from the drawer? $15. If someone points a gun at you and gives you money, was a crime committed?
Florida: [Pardon our English] Wearing a ski mask and carrying a gun, a thief burst into the bank one day. Taking aim at the armed security guard, the thief yelled, “FREEZE, MOTHER-STICKERS, THIS IS A _ _ _ _-UP!!" For a moment, everyone was silent. Then, the snickers started. The guard completely lost it and doubled over laughing. It probably saved his life, because he had been about to draw his gun. He could not have drawn and fired before the thief got him. The thief ran away and is still at large. In memory of the event, the bank has put an engraved plaque on the wall: “Freeze, Mother-Stickers, this is a _ _ _ _-up!"
Arkansas: Seems this guy wanted some beer pretty badly. He decided that he would just throw a cinder block through a liquor store window, grab some booze, and run. So, he lifted the cinder block and heaved it over his head at the window. The cinder block bounced back and hit the would-be thief on the head, knocking him unconscious. Seems the liquor store window was made of Plexiglas. The whole event was caught on videotape.
New York: As a female shopper exited a convenience store, a man grabbed her purse and ran. The clerk immediately called 9-1-1 and the woman was able to give the police a detailed description of the snatcher. Within minutes, the police had apprehended the snatcher. They put him in the cruiser and drove back to the store. The thief was then taken out of the car and told to stand there for a positive ID. To which he replied, “Yes, officer...that's her. That's the lady I stole the purse from."
Washington: When a man attempted to siphon gasoline from a motor home parked on a Seattle street, he got much more that he had bargained for.
Police arrived at the scene to find an ill man curled up next to a motor home near some spilled sewage. A police spokesman said that the man admitted to trying to steal gasoline and plugged his hose into the motor home's sewage tank by mistake. The owner of the vehicle declined to press charges, saying that it was the best laugh he'd ever had.
New Jersey: A Newark woman reporting her car as stolen mentioned that there was a car phone in it. The police officer taking the report called the phone and told the guy that answered that he had read the ad in the newspaper and wanted to buy the car. They arranged to meet, and the thief was arrested.
Michigan: The Ann Arbor News crime column reported that a man walked into a Burger King in Ypsilanti, Michigan at 7:50 a.m., flashed a gun, and demanded cash. The clerk turned him down because he said he couldn't open the cash register without a food order. When the man ordered onion rings, the clerk said they weren't available for breakfast. The man, frustrated, walked away.
Kentucky: Two men tried to pull the front off an ATM by running a chain from the machine to the bumper of their pickup truck. Instead of pulling the front panel off the machine, though, they pulled the bumper off their truck. Scared, they left the scene and drove home. ...With the chain still attached to the machine. ...With their bumper still attached to the chain. ...With their vehicle's license plate still attached to the bumper.
source unknown
Wednesday, August 01, 2012
The First and Last Day
Treat
this day as the first and last day of your life. My brother-in-law opened the
bottom drawer of my sister's bureau and lifted out a tissue-wrapped package.
"This," he said, "is not a slip. This is lingerie." He
discarded the tissue and handed me the slip. It was exquisite; silk, handmade
and trimmed with a cobweb of lace. The price tag with an astronomical figure on
it was still attached. “Jan bought this the first time we went to New York, at
least 8 or 9 years ago. She never wore it. She was saving it for a special
occasion. Well, I guess this is the occasion."
He
took the slip from me and put it on the bed with the other clothes we were
taking to the mortician. His hands lingered on the soft material for a moment,
then he jammed the drawer shut and turned to me. “Don't ever save anything for
a special occasion. Every day you're alive is a special occasion."
I
remembered those words through the funeral and the days that followed when I
helped him and my niece attend to all the sad chores that follow an unexpected
death. I thought about them on the plane returning to California from the
Midwestern town where my sister's family lives. I thought about all the things
that she hadn't seen or heard or done. I thought about the things that she had
done without realizing that they were special.
I'm
still thinking about his words, and they've changed my life. I'm reading more
and dusting less. I'm sitting on the deck and admiring the view without fussing
about the weeds in the garden. I'm spending more time with my family and
friends and less time in committee meetings. Whenever possible, life should be
a pattern of experience to savour, not endure.
I'm
trying to recognize these moments now and cherish them. I'm not “saving"
anything; we use our good china and crystal for every special event--such as
losing a pound, getting the sink unstopped, the first camellia blossom. I wear
my good blazer to the market if I feel like it. My theory is if I look
prosperous, I can shell out $28.49 for one small bag of groceries without
wincing. I'm not saving my good perfume for special parties; clerks in hardware
stores and tellers in banks have noses that function as well as my party-going
friends'.
"Someday"
and “one of these days" are losing their grip on my vocabulary.
If
it's worth seeing or hearing or doing, I want to see and hear and do it now.
I'm not sure what my sister would have done had she known that she wouldn't be
here for the tomorrow we all take for granted. I think she would have called
family members and a few close friends. She might have called a few former
friends to apologize and mend fences for past squabbles. I like to think she
would have gone out for a Chinese dinner, her favourite food. I'm guessing
--I'll never know.
It's
those little things left undone that would make me angry if I knew that my
hours were limited. Angry because I put off seeing good friends whom I was
going to get in touch with - someday. Angry because I hadn't written certain
letters that I intended to write - one of these days. Angry and sorry that I
didn't tell my husband and daughter often enough how much I truly love them.
I'm
trying very hard not to put off, hold back, or save anything that would add
laughter and lustre to our lives. And every morning when I open my eyes, I tell
myself that it is special.
Every day, every minute, every breath
truly is...a gift from God.
source unknown
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