ADRIFT AT SEA

In 1982 Steven Callahan was crossing the Atlantic alone in his sailboat when it struck something and sank. He was out of the shipping lanes and floating in a life raft, alone. His supplies were few. His chances were small. Yet when three fishermen found him seventy-six days later (the longest anyone has survived a shipwreck on a life raft alone), he was alive -- much skinnier than he was when he started, but alive.

His account of how he survived is fascinating. His ingenuity -- how he managed to catch fish, how he fixed his solar still (evaporates sea water to make fresh) -- is very interesting.

But the thing that caught my eye was how he managed to keep himself going when all hope seemed lost, when there seemed no point in continuing the struggle, when he was suffering greatly, when his life raft was punctured and after more than a week struggling with his weak body to fix it, it was still leaking air and wearing him out to keep pumping it up. He was starved. He was desperately dehydrated. He was thoroughly exhausted. Giving up would have seemed the only sane option.

When people survive these kinds of circumstances, they do something with their minds that gives them the courage to keep going. Many people in similarly desperate circumstances give in or go mad. Something the survivors do with their thoughts helps them find the guts to carry on in spite of overwhelming odds.

"I tell myself I can handle it," wrote Callahan in his narrative. "Compared to what others have been through, I'm fortunate. I tell myself these things over and over, building up fortitude...."

I wrote that down after I read it. It struck me as something important. And I've told myself the same thing when my own goals seemed far off or when my problems seemed too overwhelming. And every time I've said it, I have always come back to my senses.

The truth is, our circumstances are only bad compared to something better. But others have been through much worse. I've read enough history to know you and I are lucky to be where we are, when we are, no matter how bad it seems to us compared to our fantasies. It's a sane thought and worth thinking.

So here, coming to us from the extreme edge of survival, are words that can give us strength. Whatever you're going through, tell yourself you can handle it. Compared to what others have been through, you're fortunate. Tell this to yourself over and over, and it will help you get through the rough spots with a little more fortitude.

by Adam Khan

THE EMPEROR AND DESIRE

An emperor was coming out of his palace for his morning walk when he met a beggar. He asked the beggar, "What do you want?"

The beggar laughed and said, "You are asking me as though you can fulfill my desire!"

The king was offended. He said, "Of course I can fulfill your desire. What is it? Just tell me."

And the beggar said, "Think twice before you promise anything."

The beggar was no ordinary beggar, he was the emperor's past life master. He had promised in that life, "I will come and try to wake you in your next life. This life you have missed but I will come again." But the king had forgotten completely -- who remembers past lives? So he insisted, "I will fulfill anything you ask. I am a very powerful emperor, what can you possibly desire that I can not give to you?"

The beggar said, "It is a very simple desire. You see this begging bowl? Can you fill it with something?"

The emperor said, "Of course!" He called one of his viziers and told him, "Fill this mans begging bowl with money." The vizier went and got some money and poured it into the bowl, and it disappeared. And he poured more and more, and the moment he would pour it, it would disappear. And the beggging bowl remained always empty.

The whole palace gathered. By and by the rumor went throughout the whole capital, and a huge crowd gathered. The prestige of the emperor was at stake. He said to his viziers, "If the whole kingdom is lost, I am ready to lose it, but I cannot be defeated by this beggar."

Diamonds and pearls and emeralds, his treasuries were becoming empty.The begging bowl seemed to be bottomless. Everything that was put into it -- everything! -- immediately disappeared, went out of existence. Finally it was the evening, and the people were standing there in utter silence. The king dropped at the feet of the beggar and admitted his defeat. he said, "Just tell me one thing. You are victorious - but before you leave, just fulfill my curiosity. What is the begging bowl made of?"

The beggar laughed and said, "It is made up of the human mind. There is no secret. It is simple made up of human desire."

This understanding transforms life. Go into one desire -- what is the mechanism of it? First there is a great excitement, great thrill, adventure. you feel a great kick. Something is going to happen, you are on the verge of it. And then you have the car, you have the yacht, you have the house, you have the woman, and suddenly all is meaningless again.

What happens? Your mind has dematerialised it. The car is standing in the drive, but there is no excitement anymore. The excitement was only in getting it. You became so drunk with the desire that you forgot your inner nothingness. Now the desire is fulfilled, the car in the drive, the woman in your bed, the money in your bank account - again excitement disappears. Again the emptiness is there, ready to eat you up. Again you have to create another desire to escape this yawning abyss.

That's how one moves from one desire to another desire. That's how one remains a beggar. Your whole life proves it again and again -- every desire frustrates. And when the goal is achieved, you will need another desire.

The day you understand that desire as such is going to fail comes the turning point in your life.

The other journey is inwards. Move inwards, come back home.

THE AMBITIOUS VIOLET

There was a beautiful and fragrant violet who lived placidly amongst her friends, and swayed happily amidst the other flowers in a solitary garden. One morning, as her crown was embellished with beads of dew, she lifted her head and looked about; she saw a tall and handsome rose standing proudly and reaching high into space, like a burning torch upon an emerald lamp.

The violet opened her blue lips and said, "What an unfortunate am I among these flowers, and how humble is the position I occupy in their presence! Nature has fashioned me to be short and poor.... I live very close to the earth and I cannot raise my head toward the blue sky, or turn my face to the sun, as the roses do."

And the rose heard her neighbor's words; she laughed and commented, "How strange is your talk! You are fortunate, and yet you cannot understand your fortune. Nature has bestowed upon you fragrance and beauty which she did not grant to any other... Cast aside your thoughts and be contended, and remember that he who humbles himself will be exalted, and he who exalts himself will be crushed."

The violet answered, "You are consoling me because you have that I craved.... You seek to embitter me with the meaning that you are great.... How painful is the preaching of the fortunate to the heart of the miserable! And how severe is the strong when he stands as advisor among the weak!"

And Nature heard the conversation of the violet and the rose; she approached and said, "What has happened to you, my daughter violet? You have been humble and sweet in all your deeds and words. Has greed entered your heart and numbed your senses?" In a pleading voice, the violet answered her, saying, "Oh great and merciful mother, full of love and sympathy, I beg you, with all my heart and soul, to grant my request and allow me to be a rose for one day."

And Nature responded, "you know not what you are seeking; you are unaware of the concealed disaster behind your blind ambition. If you were a rose you would be sorry, and repentance would avail you but naught." The violet insisted, "Change me into a tall rose, for I wish to lift my head high with pride; and regardless of my fate, it will be my own doing." Nature yielded, saying, "Oh ignorant and rebellious violet, I will grant your request. But if calamity befalls you, your complaint must be to yourself."

And Nature stretched forth her mysterious and magic finger and touched the roots of the violet, who immediately turned into a tall rose; rising above all other flowers in the garden.

At eventide the sky became thick with black clouds, and the raging elements disturbed the silence of existence with thunder, and commenced to attack the garden, sending forth a great rain and strong winds. The tempest tore the branches and uprooted the plants and broke the stems of the tall flowers, sparing only the little ones who grew close to the friendly earth. That solitary garden suffered greatly from the belligerent skies, and when the storm calmed and the sky cleared, all the flowers were laid waste and none of them had escaped the wrath of Nature except the clan of small violets, hiding by the wall of the garden.

Having lifted her head and viewed the tragedy of the flowers and trees, one of the violet maidens smiled happily and called to here companions, saying, "See what the tempest has done to the haughty flowers!" Another violet said, "We are small, and live close to the earth, but we are safe from the wrath of the skies." And a third one added, "Because we are poor in height the tempest is unable to subdue us."

At that moment the queen of violets saw by her side the converted violet, hurled to earth by the storm and distorted upon the wet grass like a limp soldier in a battle field. The queen of the violets lifted her head and called to her family, saying, "Look, my daughters, and meditate upon that which Greed has done to the violet who became a proud rose for one hour. Let the memory of this scene be a reminder of your good fortune."

And the dying rose moved and gathered the remnants of her strength, and quietly said, "You are contended and meek dullards; I have never feared the tempest. Yesterday I, too, was satisfied and contented with Life, but Contentment has acted as a barrier between my existence and the tempest of Life, confining me to a sickly and sluggish peace and tranquility of mind. I could have lived the same life you are living now by clinging with fear to the earth.... I could have waited for winter to shroud me with snow and deliver me to Death, who will surely claim all violets.... I am happy now because I have probed outside my little world into the mystery of the Universe.... something which you have not yet done. I could have overlooked Greed, whose nature is higher than mine, but as I hearkened to the silence of the night, I heard the heavenly world talking to this earthly world, saying, 'Ambition beyond existence is the essential purpose of our being.' At that moment my spirit revolted and my heart longed for a position higher than my limited existence. I realized that the abyss cannot hear the song of the stars, and at that moment I commenced fighting against my smallness and craving for that which did not belong to me, until my rebelliousness turned into a great power, and my longing into a creating will.... Nature, who is the great object of our deeper dreams, granted my request and changed me into a rose with her magic fingers."

The rose became silent for a moment, and in a weakening voice, mingled with pride and achievement, she said, "I have lived one hour as a proud rose; I have existed for a time like a queen; I have looked at the Universe from behind the eyes of the rose; I have heard the whisper of the firmament through the ears of the rose and touched the folds of Light's garment with rose petals. Is there any here who can claim such honor?" Having this spoken, she lowered her head, and with a choking voice he gasped, "I shall die now, for my souls has attained its goal. I have finally extended my knowledge to a world beyond the narrow cavern of my birth. This is the design of Life.... This is the secret of Existence." Then the rose quivered, slowly folded her petals, and breathed her last with a heavenly smile upon her lips... a smile of fulfillment of hope and purpose in Life... a smile of victory... a God's smile.

by Khalil Gibran, Secret of the Heart

KEEP ON PLANTING

I first posted this story in my masterwordsmith-unplugged blog in mid-June and thought I'd post it here for those who missed out on this inspiring story. Have a nice day!

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Paul Rokich is my hero. When Paul was a boy growing up in Utah, he happened to live near an old copper smelter, and the sulfur dioxide that poured out of the refinery had made a desolate wasteland out of what used to be a beautiful forest.

When a young visitor one day looked at this wasteland and saw that there was nothing living there -- no animals, no trees, no grass, no bushes, no birds...nothing but fourteen thousand acres of black and barren land that even smelled bad -- well, this kid looked at the land and said, "This place is crummy." Paul knocked him down. He felt insulted. But he looked around him and something happened inside him. He made a decision: Paul Rokich vowed that some day he would bring back the life to this land.

Many years later Paul was in the area, and he went to the smelter office. He asked if they had any plans to bring the trees back. The answer was "No." He asked if they would let him try to bring the trees back. Again, the answer was "No." They didn't want him on their land. He realized he needed to be more knowledgeable before anyone would listen to him, so he went to college to study botany.

At the college he met a professor who was an expert in Utah's ecology. Unfortunately, this expert told Paul that the wasteland he wanted to bring back was beyond hope. He was told that his goal was foolish because even if he planted trees, and even if they grew, the wind would only blow the seeds forty feet per year, and that's all you'd get because there weren't any birds or squirrels to spread the seeds, and the seeds from those trees would need another thirty years before they started producing seeds of their own. Therefore, it would take approximately twenty thousand years to revegetate that six-square-mile piece of earth. His teachers told him it would be a waste of his life to try to do it. It just couldn't be done.

So he tried to go on with his life. He got a job operating heavy equipment, got married, and had some kids. But his dream would not die. He kept studying up on the subject, and he kept thinking about it. And then one night he got up and took some action. He did what he could with what he had. This was an important turning point. As Samuel Johnson wrote, "It is common to overlook what is near by keeping the eye fixed on something remote. In the same manner, present opportunities are neglected and attainable good is slighted by minds busied in extensive ranges." Paul stopped busying his mind in extensive ranges and looked at what opportunities for attainable good were right in front of him. Under the cover of darkness, he sneaked out into the wasteland with a backpack full of seedlings and started planting. For seven hours he planted seedlings.

He did it again a week later.

And every week, he made his secret journey into the wasteland and planted trees and shrubs and grass.

But most of it died.

For fifteen years he did this. When a whole valley of his fir seedlings burned to the ground because of a careless sheep-herder, Paul broke down and wept. Then he got up and kept planting.

Freezing winds and blistering heat, landslides and floods and fires destroyed his work time and time again. But he kept planting.

One night he found a highway crew had come and taken tons of dirt for a road grade, and all the plants he had painstakingly planted in that area were gone.

But he just kept planting.

Week after week, year after year he kept at it, against the opinion of the authorities, against the trespassing laws, against the devastation of road crews, against the wind and rain and heat...even against plain common sense. He just kept planting.

Slowly, very slowly, things began to take root. Then gophers appeared. Then rabbits. Then porcupines.

The old copper smelter eventually gave him permission, and later, as times were changing and there was political pressure to clean up the environment, the company actually hired Paul to do what he was already doing, and they provided him with machinery and crews to work with. Progress accelerated.

Now the place is fourteen thousand acres of trees and grass and bushes, rich with elk and eagles, and Paul Rokich has received almost every environmental award Utah has.

He says, "I thought that if I got this started, when I was dead and gone people would come and see it. I never thought I'd live to see it myself!"

It took him until his hair turned white, but he managed to keep that impossible vow he made to himself as a child.

What was it you wanted to do that you thought was impossible? Paul's story sure gives a perspective on things, doesn't it?

The way you get something accomplished in this world is to just keep planting. Just keep working. Just keep plugging away at it one day at a time for a long time, no matter who criticizes you, no matter how long it takes, no matter how many times you fall.

Get back up again. And just keep planting.

Just keep planting.

written by ADAM KHAN

THERE IS A WAY

When darkness comes and fear fills your heart,

Know, there is a way.

When all your dreams come crashing down,

Know, there is a way.

When friends cannot be found and there is

No one to comfort you,

Know, there is a way.

When you are ready to lay down and quit,

Know, there is a way.

To know is to find the way.

Knowing cannot be found out there.

Knowing is found in the silence

Of surrender within.

The way is within.

by: John McIntosh and Rev. JoAnn (Ananda) Polito, , Today's "Inner Guidance" Inspiration

COACH MCCORD

My teammates cheered.

Coach didn't say a word and neither did I.

I usually enjoyed Film Day, every Monday afternoon. Long before Camcorders and VHS tapes, our coach would have every game filmed on 16 mm, have it developed overnight and ready for Monday's practice.

Dressed only in football pants and our foul smelling T-shirts, we listened to Coach McCord's analysis of the previous game, his voice barely audible over the rat-a-tat-tat of the projector.

He rarely pointed out good plays, but was quick to find fault. One afternoon, he drilled me. The quarterback called my least favorite play -- I was supposed to pull from my right tackle position and trap the linebacker on the left side of the line. I was too slow for that play, coach knew I was too slow for that play, my feet just couldn't move fast enough to get my body over there. Why did he insist on calling a play he knew I couldn't do?

In the film room, Coach backed the play up five or six times, "Wilson, you've got to get the lead out of your pants. If you're going to remain as our strong-side, tackle, you're going to have to make these plays."

He really let me have it! Finally, he stopped toggling the reverse button and let the play finish. Though it looked like I wouldn't make the block, at the last millisecond, I left my feet, dove in front of the running back and took the linebacker out of the play. Our fullback ran through the hole and made a substantial gain.

I would have liked for the Coach to say "Good play, Wilson," but he didn't. He and I were silent as everyone else cheered.

I wasn't a good football player. The truth is, I was lucky to be on the team. I had size and strength, but was too slow to be effective. Coach was right in assuming I wouldn't make that block, normally I didn't. But this time I did. Not because of ability, but because of heart and determination. As Coach used to say, "Wilson, you've got to give it 110% if you're going to be a starter on my team."

He was right then, and is right now. Thanks Coach, that was a good life lesson.

by: Dr. James L. Wilson

MR. WASHINGTON

One day in 11th grade, I went into a classroom to wait for a friend of mine. When I went into the room, the teacher, Mr. Washington, suddenly appeared and asked me to go to the board to write something, to work something out. I told him that I couldn’t do it. And he said, "Why not?"

I said, "Because I’m not one of your students."

He said, "It doesn’t matter. Go to the board anyhow."

I said, "I can’t do that."

He said, "Why not?"

And I paused because I was somewhat embarrassed. I said, "Because I’m Educable Mentally Retarded."

He came from behind his desk and he looked at me and he said, "Don’t ever say that again. Someone’s opinion of you does not have to become your reality."

It was a very liberating moment for me. On one hand, I was humiliated because the other students laughed at me. They knew that I was in Special Education. But on the other hand, I was liberated because he began to bring to my attention that I did have to live within the context of what another person’s view of me was.

And so Mr. Washington became my mentor. Prior to this experience, I had failed twice in school. I was identified as Educable Mentally Retarded in the fifth grade, was put back from the fifth grade into the fourth grade, and failed again, when I was in the eighth grade. So this person made a dramatic difference in my life.

I always say that he operates in the consciousness of Goethe, who said, "Look at a man the way that he is, he only becomes worse. But look at him as if he were what he could be, and then he becomes what he should be." Like Calvin Lloyd, Mr. Washington believed that "Nobody rises to low expectations." This man always gave students the feeling that he had high expectations for them and we strove, all of the students strove, to live up to what those expectations were.

One day, when I was still a junior, I heard him giving a speech to some graduating seniors. He said to them, "You have greatness within you. You have something special. If just one of you can get a glimpse of a larger vision of yourself, of who you really are, of what it is you bring to the planet, of your specialness, then in a historical context, the world will never be the same again. You can make your parents proud. You can make your school proud. You can make your community proud. You can touch millions of people’s lives." He was talking to the seniors, but it seemed like that speech was for me.

I remember when they gave him a standing ovation. Afterwards, I caught up to him in the parking lot and I said, "Mr. Washington, do you remember me? I was in the auditorium when you were talking to the seniors."

He said, "What were you doing there? You are a junior."

I said, "I know. But that speech you were giving, I heard your voice coming through the auditorium doors. That speech was for me, Sir. You said they had greatness within them. I was in that auditorium. Is there greatness within me, Sir?"

He said, "Yes, Mr. Brown."

"But what about the fact that I failed English and math and history, and I’m going to have to go to summer school. What about that, Sir? I’m slower than most kids. I’m not as smart as my brother or my sister who’s going to the University of Miami."

"It doesn’t matter. It just means that you have to work harder. Your grades don’t determine who you are or what you can produce in your life."

"I want to buy my mother a home."

"It’s possible, Mr. Brown. You can do that." And he turned to walk away again.

"Mr. Washington?"

"What do you want now?"

"Uh, I’m the one, Sir. You remember me, remember my name. One day you’re gonna hear it. I’m gonna make you proud. I’m the one, Sir."

School was a real struggle for me. I was passed from one grade to another because I was not a bad kid. I was a nice kid; I was a fun kid. I made people laugh. I was polite. I was respectful. So teachers would pass me on, which was not helpful to me. But Mr. Washington made demands on me. He made me accountable. But he enabled me to believe that I could handle it, that I could do it.

He became my instructor my senior year, even though I was Special Education. Normally, Special Ed students don’t take

Speech and Drama, but they made special provisions for me to be with him. The principal realized the kind of bonding that had taken place and the impact that he’d made on me because I had begun to do well academically. For the first time in my life I the honor roll. I wanted to travel on a trip with the drama and you had to be on the honor roll in order to make the trip out of town. That was a miracle for me!

Mr. Washington restructured my own picture of who I am. He gave me a larger vision of myself, beyond my mental conditioning my circumstances.

Years later, I produced five specials that appeared on public television. I had some friends call him when my program, 'You Deserve,' was on the educational television channel in Miami. I was sitting by the phone waiting when he called me in Detroit. He said, "May I speak to Mr. Brown, please?"

"Who’s calling?"

"You know who’s calling."

"Oh, Mr. Washington, it’s you."

"You were the one, weren’t you?"

"Yes, Sir, I was."

by: Les Brown, A 3rd Serving of Chicken Soup for the Soul

THE EXTRAORDINARY DAD

My Dad is 87 years old, although tells everybody, because he believes it to be true that he is 77! He talks about people who are “getting on” but doesn’t put himself in the same category.

He was christened Kenneth, however, his family call him Jack and my mum’s family and most of his friends call him Mick! He was only known as Ken at his workplace. As you can imagine, this has led to confusion over the years!

Apparently, just after he was born, he was crying in his cot and his Grandfather said something along the lines of “Listen to Jack crying” and so Jack he became.

Mick came about when he first met my mum. There were a gang of lads and my Mum thought she heard someone call my Dad Mick, so that’s what she called him. He didn’t have the heart to tell her any different, until shortly before they were married.

When he was in hospital a couple of years ago, nursing staff and patients were very confused, when all the different visitors trooping in at various times,were calling him by different names. In the end, the nurses put a note over the top of his bed “Ken AKA Mick AKA Jack! Much to the amusement of us all.

To my sister and I he was “Dad”and he was a brilliant Dad when we were growing up. He should have had boys as every night when he came home from work, he would play cricket with us in the garden, take us on bike rides, take us walking, pointing out wildlife and birds nests and such like, climbing trees with us. In the Autumn, we would collect huge amounts of conkers and play endless rounds of conkers!

Talking of conkers, recently, he had a carpet fitted in the spare room, so I was emptying out the wardrobe to make it easier to move. As I was taking stuff out, a load of conkers fell out of the wardrobe, bouncing all over, hitting me on the head, probably about twenty in all. When I asked him why he had a load of conkers stuffed in the wardrobe, he informed that they keep the moths away! Now I don’t know if there is any scientific basis in that, all I know is that I’d never heard it before and nor has anybody else I’ve related the tale to, which is a fair few people!

Christmas was always magical. My poor Dad would be up super early, as my sister and I were awake about 5am. He would light the fire (coal fire, no convenient gas fire) and when he thought it was warm enough, he would call us and we would come thundering down the stairs, giggling and excited and ripping open our presents.

I know it’s an old cliche to say “We didn’t have a lot of money” we didn’t, but we never went without. My Dad worked all week and weekends to provide for his family, because it was what he wanted to do. He never saw it as a sacrifice.

He must have a very special place in God’s heart, as he has had some real close brushes with death and lived to tell the tale.

When I was two, one foggy morning, he went into the back of a bus whilst on his motorbike and he wasn’t wearing a crash helmet! Apparently, he hit the bus so hard, he went straight through the back of it, ending up in the aisle! He had a fractured skull, internal bleeding and my Mum was told to prepare for the worst. What they didn’t count on was my Dad’s incredible stubborn streak. He would not give up, was home in record time, with no long lasting damage and just a small scar on his forehead! (still there today! 54 years later!)

Another time, he got off a train at Barking station. It would have been fine, except he got out of the wrong door and fell straight onto a live line! Not even a scratch! Amazing everybody who witnessed this extraordinary event. That sums him up! Extraordinary! It is little wonder he has earned himself the nickname within his very close circle “Mad Mick!”

He was delighted when he got four grandsons within three years and although they are now all grown up, they all have a very special bond with their Grandad, although they believe him to be extremely eccentric!

Particularly as he told them how originally his family were gypsies, (Kings of the Road as he also told my sister and I) and he used to live in a caravan, travelling all over! They thought it was great, (As we did when we first heard it) even though untrue!

In the last few years, despite having two hip replacements within two years, he has dedicated himself to looking after my mum who sadly suffers from dementia. It is extremely hard work for him, particularly as both my sister and I live so far away. We get there as much as we can and do as much as we can when we are there, to give him a break. Of course he takes complete advantage!! I know how much he enjoys and appreciates it. We do it because we love him. Because he looked after us when we were growing up, now it’s time he was looked after.

He will not accept outside help. Far too stubborn. He once told me, he will always look after my Mum because before she was ill she was his wife, the mother of his children and his best friend. I just loved him for that!

My sister and I take him and my Mum to a cottage on a farm near St. Osyths Essex at least once a year. (He always seems to manipulate us into it, without us even realising!) and he really enjoys it. He loves walking round the farm, talking to the farmer and his wife (he got their life history out of them on his very first visit) and as it is close by to the farm, he loves going to Brightlingsea, sitting outside at the little cafe, in the sunshine, people watching. He always starts chatting to somebody.

So that’s my extraordinary Dad. There are hundreds of stories I could tell and no doubt will in future.

I know God at some point will decide we’ve had the pleasure of his company long enough and that it is now his turn to experience that and I’m sure my Dad will totally reorganise God and Heaven when he gets there!

In the meantime I am so grateful he is here and he is my Dad. He may be known by three different names, but to us who know and love him he is a one off, a very unique man.

Written by Janet Wilks

THE MOST EXPENSIVE QUARREL *MUST READ*

Dont lose the moments in life just because of a small quarrel

Just two years after our marriage, hubby brought up the idea of asking Mother to move from the rural hometown and spend her remaining years with us. Hubby's father passed away while he was still very young.

Mother endured much hardship and struggled all on her own to provide for him, see him through to a university degree. You could say that she suffered a great deal and did everything you could expect of a woman to bring hubby to where he is today.

I immediately agreed and started packing the spare room, which has abalcony facing the South to let her enjoy the sunshine and plant greenery. Hubby stood in the bright room, and suddenly just picked me up and started spinning round and round. As I begged him to put me down, he said: "Lets go fetch mother." Hubby is tall and big sized and I love to rest on his chest and enjoy the feeling that he could pick me up at any moment put the tiny me into his pockets.

Whenever we have an argument and both refuses to back down, he would pick me up and spin me over his head continuously until I surrender and beg for mercy. I became addicted to this kind of panic-joy feeling.

Mother brought along her countryside habits and lifestyle with her.

For example; I am so used to buying flowers to decorate the living room, she could not stand it and would comment: "I do not know how you young people spend your money, why do you buy flowers for? You also can't eat flowers!" I smiled and said: "Mum, with flowers in the
house, our mood will also become better." Mother continues to grumble away, and hubby smiled: "Mum, this is a city-people's habit; slowly you will get use to it."

Mother stopped saying anything. But every time thereafter, whenever I came home with flowers, she would ask me how much it costs. I told her and she would shake her head and express displeasure.

Sometimes, when I come home with lots of shopping bags, she would ask each and every item how much they cost, I would tell her honestly and she would get even more upset about it.. Hubby playfully pinched my nose and said: "You little fool, just don't tell her the full price of
everything would solve it."

There begins the friction to our otherwise happy lifestyle.

Mother hates it most when hubby wakes up early to prepare the breakfast. In your view, how could the man of the house cook for the wife? At the breakfast table, mother facial expression is always like the dark clouds before a thunderstorm and I would pretend not to notice. She would use her chopsticks and make a lot of noise with it
as her silent protest.

As I am a dance teacher in the Children's Palace and am exhausted from a long day of dancing around, I do not wish to give up the luxury of that additional few minutes in the comfort of my bed and hence I turned a deaf ear to all the protest mother makes.

From time to time, mother would help out with some housework, but soon her help created additional work for me. For example: she would keep all kinds of plastic bags accumulating them so that she sell them later on, and resulted in our house being filled with all the trash
bags; she would scrimp on dish washing detergent when helping to wash the dishes and so as not to hurt her feelings, I would quietly wash them again.

One day, late at night, mother saw me quietly washing the dishes, and "Bam" she slams her bedroom door and cried very loudly in her room. Hubby was placed in a difficult position, and after that, he did not speak to me for that entire night.

I pretended to be a spoilt child, tried acting cute, but he totally ignored me.... I got mad and asked him: "What did I do wrong?" Hubby stared at me and said: "Can't you just give in to her once? We couldn't possibly die eating from a bowl however unclean it is, right?" After that incident, for a long period of time, mother did not speak to me and you can feel that there is a
very awkward feeling hanging in the house. During that period of cold war, hubby was caught in dilemma as to who to please.

In order to stop her son from having to prepare breakfast, mother took on the "all important" task of preparing breakfast without any prompting. At the breakfast table, mother would look at hubby happily eating his breakfast and cast that reprimanding stare at me for having failed to perform my duty as a wife. To avoid the embarrassing breakfast situation, I resorted to buying my own breakfast on my way to work.

That night, while in bed, hubby was a little upset and asked me: "LD, is it because you think that mum's cooking is not clean that's why you chose not to eat at home?" He then turned his back on me and left me alone in tears as feeling of unfairness overwhelmed me. After some
time, hubby sighed: "LD, just for me, can you have breakfast at home?" I am left with no choice but to return to the breakfast table.

The next morning, I was having porridge prepared by mother and I felt a sudden churn in my stomach and everything inside seem to be rushing up my throat. I tried to suppress the urge to throw up but I could not. I threw down the bowl, rushed into the washroom, and vomited
everything out.

Just as I was catching my breath, I saw mother crying and grumbling very loudly in her dialect, hubby was standing at the washroom doorway staring at me with fire burning in his eyes.. I opened my mouth but no words came out of it, I really did not mean it.

We had our very first big fight that day; mother took a look at us, then stood up and slowly made her way out of the house. Hubby gave me a final stare in the eye and followed mother down the stairs. For three days, hubby did not return home, not even a phone call.

I was so furious, since mother arrived; I had been trying my best and putting up with her, what else do you want me to do? For no reason, I keep having the feeling to throw up and I simply have not appetite for food, coupled with all the events happening at home, I was at then low
point in my life.

Finally, a colleague said: "LD, you look terrible; you should go and see a doctor." The doctor confirmed that I am pregnant. Now it became clear to me why I threw up that fateful morning, a sense of sadness floated through that otherwise happy news. Why didn't hubby, and mother who had been through this before, thought of the possibility of this being the reason that day?

At the hospital entrance, I saw my hubby standing there. It had only been three days, but he looked haggard. I had wanted to turn and leave, but one look at him and my heart soften, I couldn't resist and called out to him. He followed my voice and finally found me but he
pretended that he doesn't know me; he has that disgusted look in his eyes that cut right through my heart. I told myself not to look at him anymore, and hail a cab.

At that moment, I have such a strong urge inside me to shout to my hubby: "Darling, I am having your baby!" and have him lift me up and spin me around in circles of joy. What I wanted didn't happen and as I sat in the cab, my tears started rolling down. Why? Why our love couldn't even withstand the test of one fight?

Back home, I lay on the bed thinking about my hubby, and the disgusted look in his eyes. I cried and wet the corner of the blanket. Thatnight, sound of the drawers opening woke me up. I switched on the lights and I saw hubby with tears rolling down his face. He was removing the money. I stared at him in silence; he ignored me, took the bank deposit book and some money and left the house.

Maybe he really intends to leave me for good.. What a rational man, so clear-cut in love and money matters. I gave a few dried laugh and tears starting streaming down again. The next day, I did not go to work. I wanted to clear this out and have a good talk with hubby. I reached his office and his secretary gave me a weird look and said: "Mr. Tan's mother had a traffic accident and is now in the hospital."

I stood there in shock. I rushed to the hospital and by the time I found hubby, mother had already passed away. Hubby did not look at me, his face was expressionless. I looked at mother's pale white and thin face and I couldn't control the tears in my eyes. My God, how could this happen?

Throughout the funeral, hubby did not say a single word to me, with only the occasional disgusted stare at me. I only managed to find out brief facts about the accident from other people. That day, after mother left the house, she walked in dazed toward the bus stop,
apparently intending to go back to her old house back in the countryside.

As hubby ran after her, she tried to walk faster and as she tried to cross the street, a public bus came and hit her... I finally understood how much hubby must hate me, if I had not thrown up that morning, if we had not quarreled, if....In his heart, I am indirectly the killer of his mother..

Hubby moved into mother's room and came home every night with a strong liquor smell on him. And me, I am buried under the guilt and self-pity and could hardly breathe. I wanted to explain to him, tell him that we are going to have our baby soon, but each time, I saw the dead look in his eyes, all the words I have at the brink of my mouth just fell back in.

I had rather he hit me real hard or give me a big and thorough scolding though none of these events happening had been my fault at all. Many days of suffocating silence went by and as the days went by, hubby came home later and later. The deadlock between us continues, we
were living together like strangers who don't know each other. I am like the dead knot in his heart.

One day, I passed by a western restaurant, looking into the glass window, I saw hubby and a girl sitting facing each other and he very lightly brushed her hair for her, I understood what it meant. After recovering from that moment of shock, I entered the restaurant, stood
in front of my hubby and stared hard at him, not a tear in my eyes. I have nothing to say to him, and there is no need to say anything. The girl looked at me, looks at hubby, stands up and wanted to go, hubby stretched out his hand and stopped her. He stared back at me,
challenging me. I can only hear my slow heart beat, beating, one by one as if at the brink of death.

I eventually backed down, if I had stood that any longer, I will collapse together with the baby inside me.. That night, he did not come home; he had chosen to use that as a way to indicate to me: Following mother's death so did our love for each other...

He did not come home anymore after that. Sometimes, when I returned home from work, I can tell that the cupboard had been touched - he had returned to take some of his stuff. I no longer wish to call him; the initial desire to explain everything to him vanished.

I lived alone; I go for my medical checkups alone, my heart breaks again and again every time I see a guy carefully helping his wife through the physical examination. My office colleagues hinted to me to consider aborting the baby, I told them No, I will not.. I insisted on having to this baby, perhaps it is my way of repaying mother for causing her death.

One day, I came home and I saw hubby sitting in the living room. The whole house was filled with cigarette smoke. On the coffee table, there was this piece of paper. I know what it is all about without even looking at it. In the two months plus of living alone, I have gradually learned to find peace within myself. I looked at him, removed my hat and said: "You wait a while, I will sign." He looked atme, mixed feelings in his eyes, just like mine.

As I hang up my coat, I keep repeating to myself "You cannot cry, you cannot cry..." my eyes hurt terribly, but I refused to let tears come out from there. After I hung up my coat, hubby's eyes stared fixed at my bulging tummy. I smiled, walked over to the coffee table and pulled the paper towards me. Without even looking at what it says, I signed my name on it and pushed the paper to him. "LD, are you pregnant?" Since mother's accident, this is the first time he spoke to me. I could not control my tears any further and they fell like raindrops. I said: "Yes, but its ok, you can leave now." He did not go, in the dark, we sat, facing each other.

Hubby slowly moved over me, his tears wet the blanket. In my heart, everything seems so far away, so far that even if I sprint, I could never reach them. I cannot remember how many times he repeated "sorry" to me. I had originally thought that I would forgive him, but now I
can't. In the western restaurant, in front of that girl, that cold look in his eyes, I will never forget, ever.

We have drawn such deep scars in each other's heart. For me, it's unintentional; for him, totally intentional. I had been waiting for this moment of reconciliation, but I realized now, what had gone past is gone forever and could not repeated.

Other than the thought of the baby inside me that would bring some warmth to my heart, I am totally cold towards him, I no longer eat anything he buys for me, I don't take any presents from him and I stopped talking to him..

From the moment I signed on that piece of paper, marriage and love had vanished from my heart. Sometimes, hubby will try to come into the bedroom, but when he walks in, I will walk out to the living room.

He had no choice but to sleep in mother's room. At night, from his room, I can hear light sounds of groaning, I kept quiet. This used to be his trick; last time, whenever I ignore him, he would fake illness and I will surrender and find out what is wrong with him, he would then grab me and laugh.


He has forgotten that last time I cared for him and am concerned because there was love, but now, what is there between us? Hubby's groaning came on and off continuing but I continuously ignored him.

Almost everyday, he would buy something for the baby, infant products, children products and books that kids like to read. Bags and bags of it stacked inside his room till it is full. I know he is trying to use this to reach out to me, but I am no longer moved by his actions. He has no choice but to lock himself in his room and I can hear his typing away on his computer keyboard, maybe he is now addicted to web surfing but none of that matters to me anymore.


It was sometime towards the end of spring in the following year, one late night, I screamed because of a sudden stomach pain, hubby came rushing into the room, its like he did not change and sleep, and had been waiting for this moment. He carried me and ran down the stairs,
stopped a car, holding my hand very tightly and kept wiping the sweat off my brow, throughout the journey to the hospital.

Once we reached the hospital, he carried me and hurried into the delivery suite. Lying on the back of his skinny but warmth body, a thought crossed my mind: In my lifetime, who else would love me as much as he did?

He held the delivery suite door opened and watch me go in; his warm eyes caused me to manage a smile at him despite my contraction pain. Coming out of the delivery room, hubby looked at our son and me, eyes tear with joy and he kept smiling. I reached out and touched his hand.

Hubby looked at me, smiling and then he slowly collapsed onto the floor. I cried out for him in pain... He smiled, but without opening that tired eyes of his.... I had thought that I would never shed any tear for him, but the truth is, I have never felt a deeper pain cutting through my body at that moment.

Doctor said that by the time hubby discovered he had liver cancer, it was already in terminal stage and it was a miracle that he managed to last this long. I asked the doctor when he first discovered he had cancer. Doctor said about 5 months ago and consoled me saying:
"Prepare for his funeral."

I disregarded the nurse's objection and rushed home, I went into his room and checked his computer, and a suffocating pain hits me.

Hubby's cancer was discovered 5 months ago, his groaning was real, and I had thought that... the computer showed over 200 thousand words he wrote for our son: "Son, just for you, I have persisted, to be able to take a look at you before I fall, is my biggest wish now... I know
that in your life, you will have many happiness and maybe some setbacks, if only I can accompany you throughout that journey, how nice would it be. But daddy now no longer has that chance. Daddy has written inside here all the possible difficulties and problems you may
encounter during your lifetime, when you meet with these problems, you can refer to daddy's suggestion....

Son, after writing these 200 thousand words, I feel as if I have accompanied you through life journey. To be honest, daddy is very happy. Do love your mother, she has suffered, she is the one who loves you most and also the one who loves me most..."

From play school to primary school, to secondary, university, to work and even in dealing with questions of love, everything big and small was written there.

Hubby has also written a letter for me:

"My dear, to marry you is my biggest happiness, forgive me for the pain I have caused you, forgive me for not telling you my illness, because I want to see you be in a joyful mood waiting for the arrival of our baby...My dear, if you cried, it means that you have forgiven
me and I would smile, thank you for loving me...These presents, I'm afraid I cannot give them to our son personally, could you help me to give some of them to him every year, the dates on what to give when are all written on the packaging... "

Going back to the hospital, hubby is still in coma. I brought our son over and place him beside him. I said: "Open your eyes and smile, I want our son to remember being in the warmth of your arms..." He struggled to open his eyes and managed a weak smile. Our son still in
his arms was happily waving his tiny hands in the air. I press the button on the camera and the sound of the shutter rang through the air as tears slowly rolled down my face....

A fatal misunderstanding and the person who loves me the most in this world is gone forever..."Cruel misunderstandings one after another disrupted the blissful footsteps to our family. Our originals intend of having Mother enjoy some quiet and peaceful moments in her
remaining years with us went terribly wrong as destiny's secret is finally revealed at a price, every thing became too late.".........

This is a true story...
LEARNING POINT - DO NOT EVER HOLD ON TO OFFENCES!!!

I am totally speechless, this story brought tears to my eyes as I read through each line eager to know what would happen next. It truly showed the devastating power of grudges and anger!

Simple humility and communication would have resolved most of the problems in that story, as well as patience.... This story has really touched my heart and life as a whole and it has
stimulated a paradigm shift.. Though it is very sad, it is also very refreshing to know that from today, I can consciously start to live a life free of grudge. People please let's live a life devoid of
grudges.

Communication with your loved ones is THE key.

THE OLD MAN AND ME

The old man turned to me and asked
"How many friends have you?"
Why 10 or 20 friends have I,
And named off just a few...

He rose quite slow with effort
And sadly shook his head
"A lucky child you are
To have so many friends," he said

But think of what you're saying
There is so much you do not know
A friend is just not someone
To whom you say "Hello".

A friends a tender shoulder
On which to softly cry
A well to pour your troubles down
And raise your spirits high

A friend is a hand to pull you up
From darkness and despair...
When all your other "so called" friends
Have helped to put you there

A true friend is an ally
Who can't be moved or bought
A voice to keep your name alive
When others have forgot

But most of all a friend is a heart
A strong and sturdy wall
For from the hearts of friends
There comes the greatest love of all!!!

So think of what I've spoken
For every word is true
And answer once again my child
How many friends have you???

And then he stood and faced me
Awaiting my reply
Softly I answered
"If lucky...... one have "I"

"You!!!!"

-Author Unknown-

This poem is dedicated to all my friends and blog readers. Have a nice day.

THE WOODEN BOWL

I guarantee you will remember the tale of the Wooden Bowl tomorrow, a week from now, a month from now, a year from now.

A frail old man went to live with his son, daughter-in-law, and four-year - old grandson.. The old man's hands trembled, his eyesight was blurred, and his step faltered.

The family ate together at the table. But the elderly grandfather's shaky hands and failing sight made eating difficult. Peas rolled off his spoon onto the floor. When he grasped the glass, milk spilled on the tablecloth.

The son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess.

'We must do something about father,' said the son.

'I've had enough of his spilled milk, noisy eating, and food on the floor.'

So the husband and wife set a small table in the corner.

There, Grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed dinner.

Since Grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in a wooden bowl.

When the family glanced in Grandfather's direction, sometimes he had a tear in his eye as he sat alone.

Still, the only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled food.

The four-year-old watched it all in silence.

One evening before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps on the floor.

He asked the child sweetly, 'What are you making?' Just as sweetly, the boy responded,
'Oh, I am making a little bowl for you and Mama to eat your food in when I grow up.'

The four-year-old smiled and went back to work.

The words so struck the parents so that they were speechless. Then tears started to stream down their cheeks. Though no word was spoken, both knew what must be done.

That evening the husband took Grandfather's hand and gently led him back to the family table.
For the remainder of his days he ate every meal with the family. And for some reason, neither husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk spilled, or the tablecloth soiled.

On a positive note, I've learned that, no matter what happens, how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow.

I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles four things:
a rainy day, the elderly, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights.

I've learned that, regardless of your relationship with your parents, you'll miss them when they're gone from your life.

I've learned that making a 'living' is not the same thing as making a 'life..'

I've learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance.

I've learned that you shouldn't go through life with a catcher's mitt on both hands. Y you nee d to be able to throw something back sometimes.

I've learned that if you pursue happiness, it will elude you
But, if you focus on your family, your friends, the needs of others,
your work and doing the very best you can, happiness will find you.

I've learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision.

I've learned that even when I have pains, I don't have to be one.

I've learned that every day, you should reach out and touch someone.

People love that human touch -- holding hands, a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back.

I've learned that I still have a lot to learn.

THE WINGS OF GOD

Mr Kitahara is a famous Japanese TV satire movie star cum director..

He has recently won another international film award. A few years ago his mother passed away. He went home to attend her funeral. He never quite liked his mother, because she kept asking him for money. Should he missed a payment,his mother would call him up and scolded him. On top of that, the more famous he became the more money his mother demanded from him.

When he arrived at the funeral, he still cried very miserably. He felt that he did not fulfill his duties as a son to take care of his mother during her living years. At the end of the service, as he was about to leave, his brother handed him a small parcel saying,"Mother asked me to pass this to you."

Carefully he opened the parcel. He found within, a savings passbook and a letter. The savings account was under his name with a balance of tens of million Yen. In the letter his mother wrote, 'Dear son, among all my children, you are the one whom got me most worried. You were never an academic, a true spendthrift and over generous to your friends. When I knew that you were going to work in Tokyo, I was worried that one day you would become a bankrupt. That is why I insist on you sending me money every month. This is to give you a drive to earn more money, at the same time help you to save. Here is all your money, I did not have to spend a cent,for your brother has taken care of me very well. Now take the money and spend wisely."

After reading the letter he broke down with tears and sorrow...The richest man in Taiwan, late Mr.Wang Yoong Ching once said: The dollar that you earned does not belong to you. The dollar you saved is genuinely yours.

With the worldwide economy down turn, growth rate and interest rates are decreasing while inflation is on the hike. Do not underestimate the little expanses that we have, like a cup of coffee, a packet of cigarettes or a nice new shirt. If we can save it, it might change our life.

If you have friends who find it hard to save, please share with the little story of Mr Kitahara.

The cause of a future that can not be sustained financially is not due to income that is too low, it is expanses that is overly high.

A BEAUTIFUL STORY

The man slowly looked up.

This was a woman clearly accustomed to the finer things of life. Her coat was new. She looked like she had never missed a meal in her life.

His first thought was that she wanted to make fun of him, like so many others had done before. "Leave me alone," he growled....

To his amazement, the woman continued standing.

She was smiling -- her even white teeth displayed in dazzling rows.

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

"No," he answered sarcastically. "I've just come from dining with the president. Now go away."

The woman's smile became even broader.

Suddenly the man felt a gentle hand under his arm.

"What are you doing, lady?" the man asked angrily. "I said to leave me alone.

Just then a policeman came up. "Is there any problem, ma'am?" he asked..

"No problem here, officer," the woman answered. "I'm just trying to get this man to his feet. Will you help me?"

The officer scratched his head. "That's old Jack. He's been a fixture around here for a couple of years. What do you want with him?"

"See that cafeteria over there?" she asked. "I'm going to get him something to eat and get him out of the cold for awhile."

"Are you crazy, lady?" the homeless man resisted. "I don't want to go in there!" Then he felt strong hands grab his other arm and lift him up. "Let me go, officer. I didn't do anything."

"This is a good deal for you, Jack," the officer answered. "Don't blow it."

Finally, and with some difficulty, the woman and the police officer got Jack into the cafeteria and sat him at a table in a remote corner.

It was the middle of the morning, so most of the breakfast crowd had already left and the lunch bunch had not yet arrived...

The manager strode across the cafeteria and stood by his table.

"What's going on here, officer?" he asked. "What is all this, is this man in trouble?"

"This lady brought this man in here to be fed," the policeman answered.

"Not in here!" the manager replied angrily. "Having a person like that here is bad for business."

Old Jack smiled a toothless grin. "See, lady. I told you so. Now if you'll let me go. I didn't want to come here in the first place."

The woman turned to the cafeteria manager and smiled. "Sir, are you familiar with Eddy and Associates, the banking firm down the street?"

"Of course I am," the manager answered impatiently. "They hold their weekly meetings in one of my banquet rooms."

"And do you make a goodly amount of money providing food at these weekly meetings?"

"What business is that of yours?"

"I, sir, am Penelope Eddy, president and CEO of the company."

"Oh."

The woman smiled again. "I thought that might make a difference." She glanced at the cop who was busy stifling a giggle. "Would you like to join us in a cup of coffee and a meal, officer?"

"No thanks, ma'am," the officer replied. "I'm on duty."

"Then, perhaps, a cup of coffee to go?"

"Yes, ma'am. That would be very nice."

The cafeteria manager turned on his heel, "I'll get your coffee for you right away, officer."

The officer watched him walk away. "You certainly put him in his place," he said.

"That was not my intent. Believe it or not, I have a reason for all this."

She sat down at the table across from her amazed dinner guest. She stared at him intently.

"Jack, do you remember me?"

Old Jack searched her face with his old, rheumy eyes. "I think so -- I mean you do look familiar."

"I'm a little older perhaps," she said. "Maybe I've even filled out more than in my younger days when you worked here, and I came through that very door, cold and hungry."

"Ma'am?" the officer said questioningly. He couldn't believe that such a magnificently turned out woman could ever have been hungry.

"I was just out of college," the woman began. "I had come to the city looking for a job, but I couldn't find anything. Finally I was down to my last few cents and had been kicked out of my apartment. I walked the streets for days. It was February and I was cold and nearly starving. I saw this place and walked in on the off chance that I could get something to eat."

Jack lit up with a smile. "Now I remember," he said. "I was behind the serving counter. You came up and asked me if you could work for something to eat. I said that it was against company policy."

"I know," the woman continued. "Then you made me the biggest roast beef sandwich that I had ever seen, gave me a cup of coffee, and told me to go over to a corner table and enjoy it. I was afraid that you would get into trouble... Then, when I looked over and saw you put the
price of my food in the cash register, I knew then that everything would be all right."

"So you started your own business?" Old Jack said.

"I got a job that very afternoon. I worked my way up. Eventually I started my own business that, with the help of God, prospered." She opened her purse and pulled out a business card. "When you are finished here, I want you to pay a visit to a Mr. Lyons...He's the personnel director of my company. I'll go talk to him now and I'm certain he'll find something for you to do around the office." She smiled. "I think he might even find the funds to give you a little advance so that you can buy some clothes and get a place to live until you get on your feet. If you ever need anything, my door is always opened to you."

There were tears in the old man's eyes. "How can I ever thank you?" he said.

"Don't thank me," the woman answered. "To God goes the glory. Thank God.... He led me to you."

Outside the cafeteria, the officer and the woman paused at the entrance before going their separate ways...

"Thank you for all your help, officer," she said.

"On the contrary, Ms. Eddy," he answered. "Thank you. I saw a miracle today, something that I will never forget. And..And thank you for the coffee."



Have a Wonderful Day . May God Bless You Always and don't forget that when you "cast your bread upon the waters," you never know how it will be returned to you. God is so big He can cover the whole world with his Love and so small He can live inside your heart..

When God leads you to the edge of the cliff, trust Him fully and let go.

Only 1 of 2 things will happen, either He'll catch you when you fall, or He'll teach you how to fly!

God closes doors no man can open & God opens doors no man can close..

Have a blessed day and remember to be a blessing...

TRUE FRIENDS

Here are some bits of advice telling you the meanings of true friends and hopefully help you to make new true friends and to keep them.

Need to know how to make new friends? Having trouble making new friends? Well these little bits of advice I got off a friendship card will certainly give you a few tips on making new friends. Keep these in mind as you go out and soon you will lots of new TRUE friends. Good Luck!

1. Don't worry about knowing people, just make yourself worth knowing.

2. Be friendly with the folks you know. If it weren't for them you would be a total stranger.

3. Friends are those who speak to you after others don't.

4. The reason a dog has so many friends is that he wags his tail and not his tongue.

5. The way to have friends is to be willing to lose some arguments.

6. Deal with other's faults as gently as if they were your own.

7. A friend is a person who can step on your toes without messing your shine.

8. You will never have a friend if you must have one without faults.

9. You can make more friends by being interested in them than trying to have them be interested in you.

10. A real friend is a person who, when you've made a fool of yourself, lets you forget it.

11. A friend is a person who listens attentively while you say nothing.

12. A friend is someone who thinks you're a good egg even though you're slightly cracked.

. . . and most important, A FRIEND IS A TREASURE!

LEARN TO WRITE IN THE SAND

A touching story about friendship. So true, so true. A short excerpt about two friends and how one of them learns what true friendship is all about.

Two friends were walking through the desert. In a specific point of the journey, they had an argument, and one friend slapped the other one in the face.

The one, who got slapped, was hurt, but without anything to say, he wrote in the sand: "TODAY, MY BEST FRIEND SLAPPED ME IN THE FACE".

They kept on walking, until they found an oasis, where they decided to take a bath. The one who got slapped and hurt started drowning, and the other friend saved him. When he recovered from the fright, he wrote on a stone: "TODAY MY BEST FRIEND SAVED MY LIFE".

The friend who saved and slapped his best friend, asked him, "Why, after I hurt you, you wrote in the sand, and now you write on a stone?"

The other friend, smiling, replied: "When a friend hurts us, we should write it down in the sand, where the winds of forgiveness get in charge of erasing it away, and when something great happens, we should engrave it in the stone of the memory of the heart, where no wind can erase it"

Learn to write in the sand.

CAN I SEE MY BABY?

Real treasure lies not in what can be seen, but what cannot be seen. Real love lies not in what is done and known, but in what that is done but not known. Love sometimes no need to say much." An excerpt for an awesome inspirational short love story about the love of a mother for her child.

"Can I see my baby?" the happy new mother asked. When the bundle was nestled in her arms and she moved the fold of cloth to look upon his tiny face, she gasped. The doctor turned quickly and looked out the tall hospital window.

The baby had been born without ears. Time proved that the baby's hearing was perfect. It was only his appearance that was marred. When he rushed home from school one day and flung himself into his mother's arms, she sighed, knowing that his life was to be a succession of heartbreaks. He blurted out the tragedy. "A boy, a big boy...called me a freak."

He grew up, handsome for his misfortune. A favorite with his fellow students, he might have been class president, but for that. He developed a gift, a talent for literature and music. "But you might mingle with other young people," his mother reproved him, but felt a kindness in her heart.

The boy's father had a session with the family physician..."Could nothing be done?" "I believe I could graft on a pair of outer ears, if they could be procured" the doctor decided. Whereupon the search began for a person who would make such a sacrifice for a young man.

Two years went by. One day, his father said to the son, "You're going to the hospital, son. Mother and I have someone who will donate the ears you need. But it's a secret," said the father. The
operation was a brilliant success, and a new person emerged. His talents blossomed into genius, and school and college became a series of triumphs.

Later he married and led the diplomatic service. One day, he asked his father, "Who gave me the ears? Who gave me so much? I could never do enough for him or her." "I do not believe you could, "said the father, "but the agreement was that you are not to know...not yet." The years kept their profound secret, but the day did come. One of the darkest days that ever pass through a son. He stood with his father over his mother's casket. Slowly, tenderly, the father stretched forth a hand and raised the thick, reddish-brown hair to reveal the mother had no outer ears. "Mother said she was glad she never let her hair be cut," his father whispered gently, "and nobody ever thought mother less beautiful, did they"?

REMEMBER...

Real treasure lies not in what can be seen, but what cannot be seen. Real love lies not in what is done and known, but in what that is done but not known. Love sometimes no need to say much.

Read the following, it's meaningful If we die tomorrow, the company that we are working for could easily replace us in a matter of days. But the family we left behind will feel the lost for the rest of their lives. And come to think of it, we pour ourselves more into work than to our family, an unwise investment indeed.

FAMILY = (F)ATHER (A)ND (M)OTHER,
(I) (L)OVE (Y) OU

THE FORK

There was a woman who had been diagnosed with cancer and had been given three months to live. Her doctor told her to start making preparations to die (something we all should be doing all of the time.) So she contacted her pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes.

She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what she wanted to be wearing. The woman also told her pastor that she wanted to be buried with her favorite Bible. Everything was in order and the pastor was preparing to leave when the woman suddenly remembered something very important to her.

"There's one more thing," she said excitedly. "What's that?" came the pastor's reply. "This is very important," the woman continued, "I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand."

The pastor stood looking at the woman, not knowing quite what to say. "That shocks you, doesn't it?" the woman asked. "Well, to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request," said the pastor.

The woman explained. "In all my years of attending church socials and functions where food was involved (and let's be honest, food is an important part of any church event; spiritual or otherwise), my favorite part was when whoever was clearing away the dishes of the main course leaned over and said, 'you can keep your fork.' It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming. When they told me to keep my fork, I knew that something great was about to be given to me. It wasn't Jell-O or pudding. It was cake or pie. Something with substance. So I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder 'What's with the fork?' Then I want you to tell them: "Something better is coming so keep your fork.'"

The pastor's eyes were welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the woman goodbye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that the woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She KNEW that something better was coming.

At the funeral people were walking by the woman's casket and they saw the pretty dress she was wearing and her favorite Bible and the fork placed in her right hand. Over and over the pastor heard the question "What's with the fork?" And over and over he smiled.

During his message, the pastor told the people of the conversation he had with the woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her. The pastor told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either. He was right.

So the next time you reach down for your fork, let it remind you oh so gently that there is something better coming.

-Author Unknown-

THE STORY OF A RUNAWAY

I took the $5.00 that was left on the table for my weekly allowance and walked out. After walking for about a hundred meters, I stepped into the bushes and took my jeans and T-shirt out from my bag and immediately changed. I have made a decision that I was not going to school and will not go back to where I came from. Nothing and no one mattered except that I had to get out.

I knew where I was going and I have planned on how I was going to get there. I walked to the main road and hitched a ride. A 5-tonne lorry stopped and the driver asked where I was going. He said he could dropped me half way through my journey. I agreed and sat in silence, refusing to answer any question until he dropped me.

The next vehicle that picked me up was a sedan. The man said that he was on his way to the same destination. Somehow he knew that I was a runaway. He asked me questions and I only answered those that I wanted to. It was a long two hours journey but he did not push me to talk and left me with my thoughts.

When we reached the jetty, he invited me to join him for lunch. I was hungry as I had not eaten since morning and knew that if I rejected, I won't be able to afford my own with the meager cash that I had in my pocket.

I thanked him and we parted, never knowing each other's name.

It was three hours later and after approaching many strangers when I finally reached the address that I had in my hand. My sister was home and was speechless to see me. We had not met and contacted each other for several years and there I was at her doorstep.

My visit was short and brief. I thought that I could get away from the sorrowful state at home and find solace some place else. What I witnessed was domestic violence and physical abuse. I could not take that and I bade farewell to her. I felt sorry for her for having to live a life that our mom had to go through. But what can a runaway teen do but move on.

I did not know where to go and to whom I could turn to. I can't ask for help from the few friends that I had because their parents would send me to my dad or take me to the police. But if I did not decide on something, I would continue to be a runaway, maybe even a hobo. I knew that I would never want to end in the streets.

I thought of my own mother. That was the only person and place left. Could I turn to her? We've separated for a long time and I thought that she hated me for living with my dad and his wife. Although it was not my choice, I think she had refused to accept. I knew that because all my mails were returned without being opened. And I received words that she did not want to hear or see me ever.

I had to know for sure and I figured the worst that could happen would be getting chased out and continue to become a runaway. I did not want to think of what would happen next.

It was an emotional and difficult reunion. We had lots of arguments as the days went by but we both tried to make things work.

And we did. I finally felt worthy and have a place that I can call home although the standard of living was lower than where I came from. I did not have to keep running away any more.

I told my step mom that I chose to live with my own mother. I went back to school and completed my high school education.

To this day, I think that was my biggest decision in my teenage life. After that episode, I have built the courage to face any situation and make my own decisions. I have learned to trust my intuitions and to have faith that things will work out no matter how bleak they may appear.

I wish though that parents and teachers are more sensitive. At times I wonder who is actually the delinquent. Parents and teachers only see the wild child and the truant. They fail to help kids from opening up. They do not want to listen. They think that the runaway teenagers are rebellious and stubborn.

I am glad that I made it through. I was so naive then. I wish I could thank those strangers who have helped me. I could have ended being raped or murdered. But here I am, grown and living a life like how I should.

- Author Unknown-

THE INSPIRING STORY OF A SINGLE MOTHER

t was 1976. She was 39 years old and a single parent. Two years back she was a married woman whose routine was doing the household chores and bringing up her children. Things changed when her husband deserted them.

She became a very unhappy and angry woman. She could not see any way out of her predicament. With only 3 years of schooling, the only thing she could do involved physical labor.

She then decided that she had to do whatever it took to continue living. With that decision, her day started at 5.30 each morning. By noon she had finished doing the daily washing for five families in the neighborhood. After that it was rushing back home to prepare lunch for her children and getting the housework done.

There were many times when she came home feeling very exhausted. On certain days when she had to do heavy washing, she would come back with aches and pains. Her hands and feet were rough and callused from scrubbing and getting soaked daily.

While her hands were busy, her mind was troubled and she was hurting inside. At times she could hardly go on but she had to continue her struggle to feed her children and to ensure that they continued with their education.

She didn't know how her future as a single parent would turn out but she set out to do something and did. She fought for child support from her ex-husband and appealed for scholarships. She was the breadwinner, the disciplinarian, the counselor and most of all the mother to her children.

She put in lots of effort and was determined to see things through. The pains, miseries and uncertainties made her wiser. Slowly she picked herself up and got herself involved with activities that kept her away from feeling sorry.

She celebrates her 71st birthday this year and has fulfilled her dream and her responsibility. It was not to make money or to become rich. Her desire was to provide the best she could for her children even as a single mother. She has succeeded.

The most wonderful thing is having her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren gather during the Eid festival.

In her opinion, what she did was what any single mom would. What she does not know is that she is my pillar of strength. She is my mother.

-author unknown-

A BURDEN OF MY OWN

A Monarch of long ago had twin sons. As they grew to young manhood, the king sought a fair way to designate one of them as crown prince. All who knew the young men thought them equal in intelligence, wit, personal charm, health, and physical strength. Being a keenly observant king, he thought he detected a trait in one which was not shared by the other.

Calling them to his council chamber one day, he said, "My sons, the day will come when one of you must succeed me as king. The weight of sovereignty is very heavy. To find out which of you is better able to bear them cheerfully, I am sending you together to a far corner of the kingdom.

One of my advisors there will place equal burdens on your shoulders. My crown will one day go to the one who first returns bearing his yoke like a king should."

In a spirit of friendly competition, the brothers set out together. Soon they overtook an aged woman struggling under a burden that seemed far too heavy for her frail body. One of the boys suggested that they stop to help her. The other protested: "We have a saddle of our own to worry about. Let us be on our way."

The objector hurried on while the other stayed behind to give aid to the aged woman. Along the road, from day to day, he found others who also needed help. A blind man took him miles out of his way, and a lame man slowed him to a cripple's walk.

Eventually he did reach his father's advisor, where he secured his own yoke and started home with it safely on his shoulders. When he arrived at the palace, his brother met him at the gate, and greeted him with dismay. He said, "I don't understand. I told our father the weight was too heavy to carry. However did you do it?"

The future king replied thoughtfully, "I suppose when I helped others carry their yoke, I found the strength to carry my own."

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Heaven grant that the burden you carry may have as easy an exit as it had an entrance.

Desiderius Erasmus

THE OLD MAN AND THE DURIAN TREE

An old man aged over 80 years old. He was planting a durian tree when he was observed by a neighbor. (A durian is a thorny fruit with a very pungent smell. It is known as the King of Fruits and is very popular in South East Asia)

The neighbor asked the old man “Do you expect to eat durian from that tree?” The durian tree will take about 8 to 10 years to bear fruit.

The old man rested smilingly on his spade. He said “No, at my age I know I won’t. All my life I have been enjoying durians but never from a tree I have planted before. I wouldn’t have had durians if other men have not done have not done what I am doing now. I am just trying to pay the other men who planted durians for me.” No wonder he is so happy.

We should be GIVERS first and GETTERS second in everything we do. We will not only get what we want but will actually be really happy in the end. Because we need to sow first before we can reap.

MARK TWAIN'S SPEECH ON WOMEN

Ladies and Gentlemen - It is a small help that I can afford, but it is just such help that one can give as coming from the heart through the mouth. The report of Mr. Meyer was admirable, and I was as interested in it as you have been. Why, I'm twice as old as he, and I've had so much experience that I would say to him, when he makes his appeal for help: "Don't make it for today or tomorrow, but collect the money on the spot."

We are all creatures of sudden impulse. We must be worked up by steam, as it were. Get them to write their wills now, or it may be too late by-and-by. Fifteen or twenty years ago I had an experience I shall never forget. I got into a church which was crowded by a sweltering and panting multitude. The city missionary of our town - Hartford - made a telling appeal for help. He told of personal experiences among the poor in cellars and top lofts requiring instances of devotion and help. The poor are always good to the poor. When a person with his millions gives a hundred thousand dollars it makes a great noise in the world, but he does not miss it; it's the widow's mite that makes no noise but does the best work.

I remember on that occasion in the Hartford church the collection was being taken up. The appeal had so stirred me that I could hardly wait for the hat or plate to come my way. I had four hundred dollars in my pocket, and I was anxious to drop it in the plate and wanted to borrow more. But the plate was so long in coming my way that the fever-heat of beneficence was going down lower and lower - going down at the rate of a hundred dollars a minute. The plate was passed too late. When it finally came to me, my enthusiasm had gone down so much that I kept my four hundred dollars - and stole a dime from the plate. So, you see, time sometimes leads to crime. Oh, many a time have I thought of that and regretted it, and I adjure you all to give while the fever is on you.

Referring to woman's sphere in life, I'll say that woman is always right. For twenty-five years I've been a woman's rights man. I have always believed, long before my mother died, that, with her gray hairs and admirable intellect, perhaps she knew as much as I did. Perhaps she knew as much about voting as I.

I should like to see the time come when women shall help to make the laws. I should like to see that whiplash, the ballot, in the hands of women. As for this city's government, I don't want to say much, except that it is a shame - a shame; but if I should live twenty-five years longer - and there is no reason why I shouldn't - I think I'll see women handle the ballot. If women had the ballot to-day, the state of things in this town would not exist.

If all the women in this town had a vote today they would elect a mayor at the next election, and they would rise in their might and change the awful state of things now existing here.

Written by Mark Twain

THE FEATHER LADY

If you have received an email with Painted Feathers in it and have been searching for their origins, this is it! I have no idea who began that email, or why it would be sent without a link or name. You will find those feathers from the email within this site, and so many others... welcome! I received that email from Angela and then forwarded it to Walt who (as I expected) was able to tell me the background and origin of the painted feathers. Thanks Angela and Walt!


Pacific Northwest feather artist Julie Thompson has been creating her intricate feather paintings on naturally-molted peacock wing-feathers since 1990. Her first markets were along the cruise ship route in the southeast of Alaska, her home state - in such towns as Ketchikan and Skagway. Since then her style has grown and representation has spread dramatically. Her meticulously painted feather works are now sought after internationally - many of her painted feathers have found homes in countries across the globe.

All painted feather pieces are fully framed, triple-matted with acid-free mats, wire-hung, with UV glass. Framing size averages around 8 inches by 18 or 19 inches, and is cut to the proportions of each feather.

Click on THIS LINK to watch clips of her wonderful art work on feathers and be inspired!

Have a nice day!

LESSONS IN LIFE

Please wait a while for this file to upload. If it takes too long to upload, please click THIS LINK.

Many thanks to Freddie who sent me this set of slides.

Take care, dear reader and have a nice day.