THE SANDS OF FORGIVENESS

A story tells that two friends were walking through the desert. During some 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 saying anything, 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 had been slapped got stuck in the mire and started drowning, but the friend saved him.

After he recovered from the near drowning, he wrote on a stone:

TODAY MY BEST FRIEND SAVED MY LIFE.

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

The other friend replied "When someone hurts us we should write it down in sand where winds of forgiveness can erase it away. But, when someone does something good for us, we must engrave it in stone where no wind can ever erase it."

LEARN TO WRITE YOUR HURTS IN THE SAND AND TO CARVE YOUR BENEFITS IN STONE.


-Author Unknown-

THE ABC OF FRIENDSHIP

This post is dedicated to all my blog readers and friends who have been with me in this blog. Thank you for showing me the meaning of friendship. You'll always be in my heart.

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(A)ccepts you as you are
(B)elieves in "you"
(C)alls you just to say "HI"
(D)oesn't give up on you
(E)nvisions the whole of you (even the unfinished parts)
(F)orgives your mistakes
(G)ives unconditionally
(H)elps you
(I)nvites you over
(J)ust "be" with you
(K)eeps you close at heart
(L)oves you for who you are
(M)akes a difference in your life
(N)ever Judges
(O)ffer support
(P)icks you up
(Q)uiets your fears
(R)aises your spirits
(S)ays nice things about you
(T)ells you the truth when you need to hear it
(U)nderstands you
(V)alues you
(W)alks beside you
(X)-plains thing you don't understand
(Y)ells when you won't listen and
(Z)aps you back to reality

MOMENTS IN LIFE

There are moments in life when you miss someone
so much that you just want to pick them from
your dreams and hug them for real!


When the door of happiness closes, another opens;
but often times we look so long at the
closed door that we don't see the one
which has been opened for us.



Don't go for looks; they can deceive.
Don't go for wealth; even that fades away.
Go for someone who makes you smile,
because it takes only a smile to
make a dark day seem bright.
Find the one that makes your heart smile.



Dream what you want to dream;
go where you want to go;
be what you want to be,
because you have only one life
and one chance to do all the things
you want to do.


May you have enough happiness to make you sweet,
enough trials to make you strong,
enough sorrow to keep you human, and
enough hope to make you happy.


The happiest of people don't necessarily
have the best of everything;
they just make the most of
everything that comes along their way.



The brightest future will always
be based on a forgotten past;
you can't go forward in life until
you let go of your past failures and heartaches.


When you were born, you were crying
and everyone around you was smiling.
Live your life so at the end,
you're the one who is smiling and everyone
around you is crying.



Please send this message
to those who have touched your life in one way or another;
to those who make you smile when you really need it;
to those who make you see the
brighter side of things when you are really down;
to those whose friendship you appreciate;
to those who are so meaningful in your life.

ROSES OF LIFE

I've dreamed many dreams that never came true.
I've seen them vanish at dawn.
But I've realized enough of my dreams, Thank God,
To make me want to dream on.

I've prayed many prayers, when no answers came,
Though I waited patient and long,
But answers came to enough of my prayers
To make me keep praying on.

I've trusted many a friend that failed
And left me to weep alone,
But I've found enough of my friends true blue
To make me keep trusting on.

I've sown many seeds that fell by the way
For the birds to feed upon,
But I have held enough golden sheaves in my hands
To make me keep sowing on.

I've drained the cup of disappointment and pain
And gone many days without song,
But I've sipped enough nectar from the roses of life
To make me want to live on.

- Author Unknown

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WALKING THE TALK

Every morning I wake up bright and early and read the news. This has long been my routine - my quiet time, when the house is still, and the sun is spreading liquid gold all over the world around me. I have grown used to sitting in a favorite chair, sipping cappuccino, and learning what journalists yesterday deemed important enough to include in the 'news' today.

Ahh. But reading the news has become almost a torture. The economic situation has shattered many lives. Fortunes have been lost. People who never dreamed their savings and retirement nest-eggs would vanish prematurely, are facing hard realities, with few options. People who were already in fragile circumstances are facing uncertain futures, and are even more marginalized now than they were before. My heart beats too fast when I read sad stories about loss and helplessness -- I can feel the stress just thinking about it. What can I do!

All of the charitable organizations I support have felt the pinch - well, it's much more than a 'pinch.' it's more like a strangle-hold that threatens to cut off the air supply. But the problems of today are flowing out beyond the organizations I support...the catastrophe has spread to people I know. Now, I realize, more than ever, is when we need to step up. Not only to talk the talk about charitable service, and giving back to society, but actually walking the walk.

This became crystal clear when one of my girlfriends sent me an email. I could tell that it had taken her weeks of worry before she sent it - it was perhaps one of her saddest, most humiliating moments, yet she was out of ideas. This story may be familiar to some of you, but nevertheless, difficult to absorb -- hard, in some ways, even to imagine. I think it illustrates how close to the edge many in our midst are living.

Before the economic downturn, this particular girlfriend was happily taking classes for her doctorate. She is a hands-on mom, and had been out of the traditional workforce for many years. But her email conveyed a devastating turn of events. Her husband lost his job, and prospects, at least at the moment, are dim. She is the main caregiver for her aging, ailing mom - and spends a couple of days a week sitting with her mom while she endures dialysis. Her college-age children work hard, but are not totally self-sufficient. It took an enormous amount of courage for her to reach out to me for help. She needed a job, and wondered if I could help her find one.

Her story made me cry. She and her husband had already blown through their savings, couldn't afford their mortgage, and were in the process of packing up to move out. It was a drastic reversal of fortune that had basically brought them to their knees. I was stunned.

I immediately did what she asked. I enlisted my husband, and together, we're doing what we can to help her search for a position.

I offer this personal story as a reminder that we shouldn't take anything for granted. People within your own circle-of-life may be suffering and need help. Be aware of those you interact with. Realize it's not always easy for individuals to reach out and ask for assistance, and be open-minded and compassionate when they do.

Even if you can't fix their problem, there may be something you can do, someone you know who is looking for an employee with a particular set of skills, or has resources that can be utilized. For sure, you can offer friendship and emotional support. It does take a village.

The idea that charity begins at home rings poignantly true for me now. This is very close to home.

written by Cheryl Saban

TULIPS OF HOPE

Jack tossed the papers on my desk -- his eyebrows knit into a straight line as he glared at me.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

He jabbed a finger at the proposal. "Next time you want to change anything, ask me first," he said, turning on his heels and leaving me stewing in anger.

How dare he treat me like that, I thought. I had changed one long sentence, and corrected grammar -- something I thought I was paid to do.

It's not that I hadn't been warned. The other women, who had served in my place before me, called him names I couldn't repeat. One co-worker took me aside the first day. "He's personally responsible for two different secretaries leaving the firm," she whispered.

As the weeks went by, I grew to despise Jack. It was against everything I believed in -- turn the other cheek and love your enemies. But Jack quickly slapped a verbal insult on any cheek turned his way. I prayed about it, but to be honest, I wanted to put him in his place, not love him.

One day, another of his episodes left me in tears. I stormed into his office, prepared to lose my job if needed, but not before I let the man know how I felt. I opened the door and Jack glanced up.

"What?" he said abruptly.

Suddenly I knew what I had to do. After all, he deserved it.

I sat across from him. "Jack, the way you've been treating me is wrong. I've never had anyone speak to me that way. As a professional, it's wrong, and it's wrong for me to allow it to continue," I said.

Jack snickered nervously and leaned back in his chair. I closed my eyes briefly. God help me, I prayed.

"I want to make you a promise. I will be a friend," I said. "I will treat you as you deserve to be treated, with respect and kindness. You deserve that," I said. "Everybody does." I slipped out of the chair and closed the door behind me.

Jack avoided me the rest of the week. Proposals, specs, and letters appeared on my desk while I was at lunch, and the corrected versions were not seen again. I brought cookies to the office one day and left a batch on Jack's desk. Another day I left a note. "Hope your day is going great," it read.

Over the next few weeks, Jack reappeared. He was reserved, but there were no other episodes. Co-workers cornered me in the break room.

"Guess you got to Jack," they said. "You must have told him off good." I shook my head.

"Jack and I are becoming friends," I said in faith. I refused to talk about him. Every time I saw Jack in the hall, I smiled at him.

After all, that's what friends do.

One year after our "talk", I discovered I had breast cancer. I was 32, the mother of three beautiful young children, and scared. The cancer had metastasized to my lymph nodes and the statistics were not great for long-term survival. After surgery, I visited with friends and loved ones who tried to find the right words to say. No one knew what to say. Many said the wrong things . Others wept, and I tried to encourage them. I clung to hope.

The last day of my hospital stay, the door darkened and Jack stood awkwardly on the threshold. I waved him in with a smile and he walked over to my bed and, without a word, placed a bundle beside me. Inside lay several bulbs.

"Tulips," he said.

I smiled, not understanding.

He cleared his throat. "If you plant them when you get home, they'll come up next spring." He shuffled his feet. "I just wanted you to know that I think you'll be there to see them when they come up."

Tears clouded my eyes and I reached out my hand.

"Thank you," I whispered.

Jack grasped my hand and gruffly replied, "You're welcome. You can't see it now, but next spring you'll see the colors I picked out for you." He turned and left without a word.

I have seen those red and white striped tulips push through the soil every spring for over ten years now. In fact, this September the doctor will declare me cured. I've seen my children graduate from high school and enter college.

In a moment when I prayed for just the right word, a man with very few words said all the right things.

After all, that's what friends do.

by T. Suzanne Eller

SHE CARRIED ME, THEN I CARRIED HER

She came into my life when I was eight years old. My dad found her at work. She was a stray and starving. He took one look at her, and said "Seems like you could use a good home." He opened up the door to his pickup and she jumped in. Her tailed wagged all the way.

I was still at school, when dad arrived home with the puppy. Mom and dad fed her and gave her a bath. This would be my first pet.

I had always wanted a dog. My parents told me when I was old enough and responsible, I could have one. Well I guess they figured the time was right.

I hopped off the bus, not knowing what awaited inside for me. I walked through the door, and to my surprise a white and black puppy with a red bow stuck to her head, greeted me with many many puppy kisses. A very special friendship was born that day.

Now she needed a name. My older brother laughed at her and said her tail was deformed. It doesn't wag its tail back and forth, it goes in a circle. He motions his finger around his ear, and says "She's squirrely" Thus my puppy, Squirrely got her name.

She was a smart dog. I taught her to play hide and seek. We would play for hours, spending our days learning and growing together.

Eleven years we were together, best of friends. Arthritis and old age set in on her. My parents knew what had to be done, but they stood back and let me find and make the decision myself.

She was suffering so much and the medicine didn't seem to help anymore. She could barely walk. I looked into those deep brown eyes and realized it was time to let he go.

I carried her into the vet's office, placed her on the table. Squirrely leaned her head forward, gave a lick to my hand. As if to say she understood, and stay strong. Her tail was wagging in that circle as it always did.

The vet gave her a sedative first, for the final shot was given on her front paw, and that was painful. She first went to sleep, but her tail still wagged. Then the vet asked before giving the final shot, "Are you sure?" With a heavy heart and tear filled eye's, I nodded yes.

The final shot was given. My eye's fixed upon her wagging tail. A matter of seconds and it stopped. The vet listened for a heart beat, and said "It's over" I wrapped her up in her favorite blanket, and carried her out.

I took her home and buried her in the pasture, where she loved playing, and chasing rabbits. It was the hardest thing I have ever done.

I didn't go back to her grave for many years, but recently I went. Growing on her grave was a single wild flower. I sat and watched it swaying in the wind, and realized that it was swaying in a circle, just like Squirrely. I know now that, that special friend will be with me always.

by Melissa Knapp

ALL THE RIGHT MOVES

One day, many years ago, when I was working as a psychologist at a children's institution in England, an adolescent boy showed up in the waiting room. I went out there where he was walking up and down restlessly.

I showed him into my office and pointed to the chair on the other side of my desk. It was in late autumn, and the lilac bush outside the window had shed all its leaves. "Please sit down," I said.

David wore a black rain coat that was buttoned all the way up to his neck. His face was pale, and he stared at his feet while wringing his hands nervously. He had lost his father as an infant, and had lived together with his mother and grandfather since. But the year before David turned 13, his grandfather died and his mother was killed in a car accident. Now he was 14 and in family care.

His head teacher had referred him to me. "This boy," he wrote, "is understandably very sad and depressed. He refuses to talk to others and I'm very worried about him. Can you help?"

I looked at David. How could I help him? There are human tragedies psychology doesn't have the answer to, and which no words can describe. Sometimes the best thing one can do is to listen openly and sympathetically.

The first two times we met, David didn't say a word. He sat hunched up in the chair and only looked up to look at the children's drawings on the wall behind me. As he was about to leave after the second visit, I put my hand on his shoulder. He didn't shrink back, but he didn't look at me either.

"Come back next week, if you like," I said. I hesitated a bit. Then I said, "I know it hurts."

He came, and I suggested we play a game of chess. He nodded. After that we played chess every Wednesday afternoon - in complete silence and without making any eye contact. It's not easy to cheat in chess, but I admit that I made sure David won once or twice.

Usually, he arrived earlier than agreed, took the chessboard and pieces from the shelf and began setting them up before I even got a chance to sit down. It seemed as if he enjoyed my company. But why did he never look at me?

"Perhaps he simply needs someone to share his pain with," I thought. "Perhaps he senses that I respect his suffering." One afternoon in late winter, David took off his rain coat and put it on the back of the chair. While he was setting up the chess pieces, his face seemed more alive and his motions more lively.

Some months later, when the lilacs blossomed outside, I sat starring at David's head, while he was bent over the chessboard. I thought about how little we know about therapy - about the mysterious process associated with healing. Suddenly, he looked up at me.

"It's your turn," he said.

After that day, David started talking. He got friends in school and joined a bicycle club. He wrote to me a few times ("I'm biking with some friends and I feel great"); letters about how he would try to get into university. After some time, the letters stopped. Now he had really started to live his own life.

Maybe I gave David something. At least I learned a lot from him. I learned how time makes it possible to overcome what seems to be an insuperable pain. I learned to be there for people who need me. And David showed me how one - without any words - can reach out to another person. All it takes is a hug, a shoulder to cry on, a friendly touch, a sympathetic nature - and an ear that listens.

by Tom Crabtree

PORTRAIT OF A FRIEND

I can't give solutions to all of life's problems,
doubts, or fears.
But I can listen to you, and together we can seek
answers.

I can't change your past with all it's heartache and
pain, nor the future with it's untold stories.
But I can be there now when you need me to care.

I can't keep your feet from stumbling.
I can only offer my hand that you may grasp it and not
fall.

Your joys, triumphs, successes, and happinesses are
not mine;
Yet I can share in your laughter and joy.

Your decisions in life are not mine to make, nor to
judge;
I can only support you, encourage you, and help you
when you ask.

I can't give you boundaries which I have determined
for you,
But I can give you the room to change, room to grow,
room to be yourself.

I can't keep your heart from breaking and hurting,
But I can cry with you and help you pick up the pieces
and put them back in place.

I can't tell you who you are.
I can only love you and be your friend.

-AUTHOR UNKNOWN-

WHEN SHE NEEDED ME

I can still remember the first day when I met my best friend. She had just moved into the neighborhood and her grandmother who also lived in the neighborhood brought her down to meet me. I hid behind my mother and she hid behind her grandmother, scared to look at each other. Soon, we lost the shyness and started playing with each other, bike riding to each other's house and having sleepovers. In 7th grade, I first lost touch with her. She was going through family problems and I deserted her to be with the "cooler people". None of my new friends liked her as much as I did because they knew she had "problems". However every summer we would always sit at each other's house and watch soap operas, eat Doritos (or whatever junk food her mom had bought) and talk about all the boys we liked.

It was last year when I noticed the problem. I guess I was just to catch up in high school to realize she needed someone there for her. Well, she made a new "best friend" and so did I. Then I didn't know why, but she started cutting herself!

She was diagnosed with clinical depression, and had to go to a hospital during the day. I was very upset at first but with the late nite calls, and meeting each other halfway up the street at midnight. We still stayed in touch. I wanted to be there for her since her new best friend basically deserted her since people were calling her crazy, and I knew I still cared about her like a sister.

Yesterday she came to me and said this: "I never knew what a best friend was until you were the only person that would stop me from cutting; the only person that ever made me feel better about myself and my problems. You don't know this but I was trying to kill myself this one nite you called me and I was crying. I owe you so much, and you didn't even know you were helping me."

We both cried. And I guess a kind of lesson from my life so far is to never give up on your friends. Even if they aren't as cool as others, or people think they are crazy, they need someone there. If you desert them, you will only be miserable yourself. So if a friend needs you, and you care for them, you can never desert them.

Written by Chelle B.

FLOWERS ON THE BUS

We were a very motley crowd of people who took the bus every day that summer 33 years ago. During the early morning ride from the suburb, we sat drowsily with our collars up to our ears, a cheerless and taciturn bunch.

One of the passengers was a small grey man who took the bus to the centre for senior citizens every morning. He walked with a stoop and a sad look on his face when he, with some difficulty, boarded the bus and sat down alone behind the driver. No one ever paid very much attention to him.

Then one July morning he said good morning to the driver and smiled short-sightedly down through the bus before he sat down. The driver nodded guardedly. The rest of us were silent.

The next day, the old man boarded the bus energetically, smiled and said in a loud voice: "And a very good morning to you all!" Some of us looked up, amazed, and murmured "Good morning," in reply.

The following weeks we were more alert. Our friend was now dressed in a nice old suit and a wide out-of-date tie. The thin hair had been carefully combed. He said good morning to us every day and we gradually began to nod and talk to each other.

One morning he had a bunch of wild flowers in his hand. They were already dangling a little because of the heat. The driver turned around smilingly and asked: "Have you got yourself a girlfriend, Charlie?" We never got to know if his name really was "Charlie", but he nodded shyly and said yes.

The other passengers whistled and clapped at him. Charlie bowed and waved the flowers before he sat down on his seat.

Every morning after that Charlie always brought a flower. Some of the regular passengers began bringing him flowers for his bouquet, gently nudged him and said shyly: "Here." Everyone smiled. The men started to jest about it, talk to each other, and share the newspaper.

The summer went by, and autumn was closing in, when one morning Charlie wasn't waiting at his usual stop. When he wasn't there the next day and the day after that, we started wondering if he was sick or -- hopefully -- on holiday somewhere.

When we came nearer to the centre for senior citizens, one of the passengers asked the driver to wait. We all held our breaths when she went to the door.

Yes, the staff said, they knew who we were talking about. The elderly gentleman was fine, but he hadn't been coming to the centre that week. One of his very close friends had died at the weekend. They expected him back on Monday. How silent we were the rest of the way to work.

The next Monday Charlie was waiting at the stop, stooping a bit more, a little bit more grey, and without a tie. He seemed to have shrinked again. Inside the bus was a silence akin to that in a church. Even though no one had talked about it, all those of us, who he had made such an impression on that summer, sat with our eyes filled with tears and a bunch of wild flowers in our hands.

by: Jean Hendrichson

BUILD A BOX OF FRIENDSHIP

written by Chuck Pool

Into a box of friendship

To insure that it is strong

First a layer of respect

On the bottom does belong

Then to the sides attach

In the corners where they meet

Several anchors full of trust

Devoid of all deceit

The height of friendship can be measured

By the sides of four

So make them all a larger cut

And the box will hold much more

Now fill it up with courtesy

Honor and esteem

Understanding, sympathy

And passion for a dream

Add to that your honesty

Emotions joy and love

And since they're so important

Place them up above

But leave the box wide open

So all can see inside

To learn what makes a friendship work

From the box you built with pride

BE PATIENT

A man came out of his home to admire his new truck. To his puzzlement, his three-year-old son was happily hammering dents into the shiny paint.

The man ran to his son, knocked him away, hammered the little boy's hands into pulp as punishment.

When the father calmed down, he rushed his son to the hospital. Although the doctor tried desperately to save the crushed bones, he finally had to amputate the fingers from both the boy's hands.

When the boy woke up from the surgery & saw his bandaged stubs, he innocently said, " Daddy, I'm sorry about your truck." Then he asked, "but when are my fingers going to grow back?"

The father went home & committed suicide.

Think about the story the next time u see someone spill milk at a dinner table or hear a baby crying. Think first before u lose your patience with someone u love.

Trucks can be repaired. Broken bones & hurt feelings often can't.

Too often we fail to recognize the difference between the person and the performance.

People make mistakes. We are allowed to make mistakes. But the actions we take while in a rage will haunt us forever.

Pause and ponder. Think before you act. Be patient. Understand & love.

Source: Unknown

DO UNTO OTHERS

To have a friend, you must be a friend, starting with yourself.

The greatest hunger a person has is to be needed. Help create that feeling in others.

The greatest virtue is kindness. You can't love everyone, but you can be kind to everyone.

Don't try to impress others. Let them have the fun of impressing you.

Be enthusiastic. Nothing of consequence was ever achieved without enthusiasm.

Be positive. Positive people attract others, while negative people repel.

You have greater impact on others by the way you listen than by the way you talk.

Gossip cheapens the one who gossips more than the one gossiped about.

Call a person by his or her name and use it often in conversation.

Communicate cheerfulness.

Differences are bound to occur and can be resolved if conflict is managed in a polite manner.

If you are given to making fun of someone, be sure it is of yourself.

Be genuinely interested in others. Get them to talk about themselves.

A smile doesn't cost anything and pays big dividends. It makes you and everyone else feel
better.

Be the first to say: "Hello! Good to see you."

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

The golden rule is where it all begins and ends.

THE ABC of FRIENDSHIP

This post is dedicated to all who have been with me in my time of need. Thank you for showing me the meaning of friendship. You'll always be in my heart.

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(A)ccepts you as you are
(B)elieves in "you"
(C)alls you just to say "HI"
(D)oesn't give up on you
(E)nvisions the whole of you (even the unfinished parts)
(F)orgives your mistakes
(G)ives unconditionally
(H)elps you
(I)nvites you over
(J)ust "be" with you
(K)eeps you close at heart
(L)oves you for who you are
(M)akes a difference in your life
(N)ever Judges
(O)ffer support
(P)icks you up
(Q)uiets your fears
(R)aises your spirits
(S)ays nice things about you
(T)ells you the truth when you need to hear it
(U)nderstands you
(V)alues you
(W)alks beside you
(X)-plains thing you don't understand
(Y)ells when you won't listen and
(Z)aps you back to reality