Shoes

As Gandhi stepped aboard a train one day, one of his shoes slipped off and landed on the track. He was unable to retrieve it as the train was moving. To the amazement of his companions, Gandhi calmly took off his other shoe and threw it back along the track to land close to the first. Asked by a fellow passenger why he did so, Gandhi smiled. "The poor man who finds the shoes lying on the track," he replied, "will now have a pair he can use."

Stone Soup

Many years ago three soldiers, hungry and weary of battle, came upon a small village. The villagers, suffering a meager harvest and the many years of war, quickly hid what little they had to eat and met the three at the village square, wringing their hands and bemoaning the lack of anything to eat.

The soldiers spoke quietly among themselves and the first soldier then turned to the village elders. "Your tired fields have left you nothing to share, so we will share what little we have: the secret of how to make soup from stones."

Naturally the villagers were intrigued and soon a fire was put to the town's greatest kettle as the soldiers dropped in three smooth stones. "Now this will be a fine soup", said the second soldier; "but a pinch of salt and some parsley would make it wonderful!" Up jumped a villager, crying "What luck! I've just remembered where some's been left!" And off she ran, returning with an apronful of parsley and a turnip. As the kettle boiled on, the memory of the village improved: soon barley, carrots, beef and cream had found their way into the great pot, and a cask of wine was rolled into the square as all sat down to feast.

They ate and danced and sang well into the night, refreshed by the feast and their new-found friends. In the morning the three soldiers awoke to find the entire village standing before them. At their feet lay a satchel of the village's best breads and cheese. "You have given us the greatest of gifts: the secret of how to make soup from stones", said an elder, "and we shall never forget." The third soldier turned to the crowd, and said: "There is no secret, but this is certain: it is only by sharing that we may make a feast". And off the soldiers wandered, down the road.


"The miracle is this - the more we share, the more we have." - Leonard Nimoy

*With very special thanks to our friend Kathleen for helping us track down the original author - Aesop - who is credited with writing many popular childrens' fables. Aesop lived in Greece during the 6th century BC. This is no doubt one of many variations.

The Wise Sage

There once was a wise sage who wandered the countryside. One day, as he passed near a village, he was approached by a woman who told him of a sick child nearby. She beseeched him to help this child.

So the sage came to the village, and a crowd gathered around him, for such a man was a rare sight. One woman brought the sick child to him, and he said a prayer over her.

"Do you really think your prayer will help her, when medicine has failed?" yelled a man from the crowd.

"You know nothing of such things! You are a stupid fool!" said the sage to the man.

The man became very angry with these words and his face grew hot and red. He was about to say something, or perhaps strike out, when the sage walked over to him and said: "If one word has such power as to make you so angry and hot, may not another have the power to heal?"

And thus, the sage healed two people that day.


"Language does have the power to change reality. Therefore, treat your words as the mighty instruments they are - to heal, to bring into being, to nurture, to cherish, to bless, to forgive." - Daphne Rose Kingma

Nasreddin's Flower Garden

A young man named Nasreddin planted a flower garden, but when the flowers came up so did a great crop of dandelions among them. Wishing to eliminate the unwanted guests, Nasreddin consulted with gardeners near and far, but none of their solutions worked.

Finally, Nasreddin traveled to the palace of the sheik to seek the wisdom of the royal gardener himself. But alas, Nasreddin had already tried all the methods the kind old man recommended to him for eradicating such troublesome weeds.

Silently they sat together for a good long time. At last, the royal gardener looked at Nasreddin and said, "Well, then, the only thing I can suggest is that you learn to love them."

The Beautiful Flower In The Broken Pot

Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to out patients at the clinic.

One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man. "Why, he's hardly taller than my eight-year-old," I thought as I stared at the stooped, shriveled body. But the appalling thing was his face, lopsided from swelling, red and raw.

Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, "Good evening. I've come to see if you've a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there's no bus 'til morning."

He told me he'd been hunting for a room since noon but with no success, no one seemed to have a room. "I guess it's my face... I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says with a few more treatments..."

For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me: "I could sleep in this rocking chair on the porch. My bus leaves early in the morning."

I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch. I went inside and finished getting supper. When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us. "No thank you. I have plenty." And he held up a brown paper bag.

When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with him a few minutes. It didn't take a long time to see that this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body. He told me he fished for a living to support his daughter, her five children, and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury.

He didn't tell it by way of complaint; in fact, every other sentence was preface with a thanks to God for a blessing. He was grateful that no pain accompanied his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving him the strength to keep going.

At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children's room for him. When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and the little man was out on the porch.

He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus, haltingly, as if asking a great favor, he said, Could I please come back and stay the next time I have a treatment? I won't put you out a bit. I can sleep fine in a chair." He paused a moment and then added, "Your children made me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children don't seem to mind." I told him he was welcome to come again.

And on his next trip he arrived a little after seven in the morning.

As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they'd be nice and fresh. I knew his bus left at 4:00 a.m. and I wondered what time he had to get up in order to do this for us.

In the years he came to stay overnight with us there was never a time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden.

Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special delivery; fish and oysters packed in a box of fresh young spinach or kale, every leaf carefully washed. Knowing that he must walk three miles to mail these, and knowing how little money he had made the gifts doubly preciou s.

When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first morning.

"Did you keep that awful looking man last night? I turned him away! You can lose roomers by putting up such people!"

Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice. But oh! If only they could have known him, perhaps their illnesses would have been easier to bear.

I know our family always will be grateful to have known him; from him we learned what it was to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.

Recently I was visiting a friend, who has a greenhouse, as she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all, a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket. I thought to myself, "If this were my plant, I'd put it in the loveliest container I had!"

My friend changed my mind. "I ran short of pots," she explained, and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail. It's just for a little while, till I can put it out in the garden."

She must have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was imagining just such a scene in heaven. "Here's an especially beautiful one," God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman. "He won't mind starting in this small body."

All this happened long ago - and now, in God's garden, how tall this lovely soul must stand.

Living Proof

My name is Brian Boyle, and I am living
proof that miracles happen.

A month after I graduated high school in 2004,
I was coming home from swim practice and was
involved in a near fatal car accident with a dump
truck. The impact of the crash violently ripped my heart across my chest, shattering my ribs/clavicle/pelvis, collapsing my lungs, causing damage to every single organ, failure of my kidneys and liver, removal of spleen and gallbladder, resulting in the loss of  60% of my blood, severe nerve damage to my left shoulder, and leaving me in a coma where I was on life support for over two months at Prince Georges Hospital Center in Cheverly, MD.

I don't have a memory of the accident, or the few days before the day of the accident. The first thing that I remember after the collision, which is still so vivid in my mind even today, is being in this very large white tube. In this tube was a boy sitting to my left, and many other boys and girls on my right side (I use the term "boys and girls" because they appeared to be my age.)  I didn't know why I was there or how I even got there in the first place. The more I sat there, the more I was able to visualize my surroundings. The boy to my left had a cell phone, and he asked me if I needed him to call anyone for me. I told him "yes, can you call my parents and tell them that I love them." The next thing that I remember is waking up in a hospital bed, chemically paralyzed and hooked up to all these machines. Through all the buzzes and beeps going off from the medical equipment that was saving my life at that instant, I could hear my mom and dad telling me in between dramatic pauses of crying hysterically that I was going to be okay. Only moments before I believe I was waiting in line to meet my final judgment, but it must have not been my time. Moments later, I had come back to life. This was just the beginning of my suffering.

I died eight times while I was in the intensive care unit and even when I woke up from my coma, I couldn't talk or communicate. No one knew for sure if I would leave my room in a wheelchair or a body bag. As far as the future, it didn't exist. Walking was never going to happen again due to all the extreme injuries and because of the shattered pelvis. The thought of swimming was just that, only a thought. Just like my body, my dreams were shattered. But, I didn't give up because I knew that God had a plan for me.

After spending two months in a coma, 14 operations, 36 blood transfusions, 13 plasma treatments, I lost a total of 100 pounds and had to go to a rehabilitation center in Baltimore. I had to learn how to talk, eat, walk, shower, and live independently again. After that agonizing experience, I had to go to outpatient therapy in Waldorf, MD. After spending a few months in a wheelchair, I took baby steps to walk on my own. It was a miracle that I could walk again, but I wanted to prove the doctors wrong and not only walk, but run. After I accomplished that, I wanted to get back in the pool again. After a few lung tests, I was able to go in the pool a little bit each week.

Before the accident I had three goals: to go to college, swim on the team, and compete in an ironman triathlon one day. After a few months of swimming a few laps here and there with my training partner and good buddy, Sam Fleming, I decided that I was not going to let my injuries stop me from living my dream. Six months after that I began my freshman year at St. Mary's College of Maryland - and became a proud member of the swim team.

It's very easy to go through and list these facts and make it look like everything just seemed to easily fall in it's own perfect little place, but the truth of the matter is that it didn't. It wasn't easy, not then, and not now. The pain and the agony was real and it existed all the way through - in the good times and the very bad.

It was not an easy situation to be laying in a bed, staring at the ceiling, knowing that your life is over while you're looking at a priest give you the last rights. I thought to myself over and over, why did this happen to me. I was always a good kid, received good grades in school, and went to church. Why would something as horrific as this happen to me? Why would God allow this? I went on and on for days asking why? And, then it hit me. All that thinking and pondering on the what-if scenarios and the questionable doubt only stirred up another question - why was I saved? I didn't have anymore questions after that. I finally understood my purpose in life.

With the 50 year life expectancy I was given from the doctors, I am now just trying to live each day to the fullest and motivate and hopefully inspire other people in their lives and faith. Some people say I am like 'Lazarus' because God brought me back to life. All I know is that I want to take full advantage of the precious time we are given.

My story is about the recovery and the comeback, but I want to make it much more than that. I want to make a positive impact on the world. I want to motivate and hopefully inspire other people through my endeavors to never give up on their dreams and to never stop believing in their faith in God no matter how bad a situation may appear.

The Painter and The Child

Centuries ago a great artist was engaged to paint a mural for the cathedral in a Sicilian town. The subject was the life of Christ. For many years the artist labored diligently, and finally the painting was finished except for the two most important figures: the Christ Child and Judas Iscariot. He searched far and wide for suitable models.

One day while walking in the city he came upon some children playing in the street. Among them was a 12-year-old boy whose face stirred the painter's heart. The artist took the child home with him, and day after day the boy sat patiently until the face of the Christ Child was finished. But the painter still had found no model for the portrait of Judas.

The story of the unfinished masterpiece spread afar, and many men, fancying themselves of wicked countenance, offered to pose for Judas. But in vain the old painter looked for Judas, as he envisioned him-a man warped by life, enfeebled by surrender to greed and lust.

Then one afternoon as he sat in a tavern, a gaunt and tattered figure staggered across the threshold. 'Wine, wine,' he begged. The startled painter looked into a face that seemed to bear the marks of every sin of mankind. "Greatly excited, the old painter said, 'Come with me, and I will give you wine.'

For many days the painter worked feverishly to complete his masterpiece. As the work went on, a change came over the model. A strange tension replaced the stuporous languor, and his bloodshot eyes were fixed with horror on the painted likeness of himself.

One day, perceiving his subject's agitation, the painter paused in his work. "My son," he said, "what troubles you so?"

The man buried his face in his hands, sobbing. After a long moment he lifted pleading eyes to the old painter's face. "Do you not then remember me? Years ago I was your model for the Christ Child.'"

You Are My Life

There was a boy in India who was sent by his parents to a boarding school. Before being sent away this boy was the brightest student in his class. He was at the top in every competition. He was a champion.

But the boy changed after leaving home and attending the boarding school. His grades started dropping. He hated being in a group. He was lonely all the time. And there were especially dark times when he felt like committing suicide. All of this because he felt worthless and that no one loved him.

His parents started worrying about the boy. But even they did not know what was wrong with him. So his dad decided to travel to the boarding school and talk with him.

They sat on the bank of the lake near the school. The father started asking him casual questions about his classes, teachers and sports. After some time his dad said, 'Do you know son, why I am here today?"

The boy answered back, "to check my grades?"

"No, no" his dad replied, "I am here to tell you that you are the most important person for me. I want to see you happy. I don't care about grades. I care about you. I care about your happiness. YOU ARE MY LIFE."

These words caused the boy's eyes to fill with tears. He hugged his dad. They didn't say anything to each other for a long time.

Now the boy had everything he wanted. He knew there was someone on this earth who cared for him deeply. He meant the world to someone. And today this young man is in college at the top of his class and no one has ever seen him sad!

Thanks a lot dad. YOU ARE MY LIFE.


"Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around." - Leo Buscaglia

(A very special thank you to Viraj for sharing this beautiful story with us.)

A Drum Major For Peace

The following words were part of a sermon given by Dr. King at the Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta, Georgia, on February 4, 1968.

I know a man — and I just want to talk about him a minute, and maybe you will discover who I'm talking about as I go down the way (Yeah) because he was a great one. And he just went about serving. He was born in an obscure village, (Yes, sir) the child of a poor peasant woman. And then he grew up in still another obscure village, where he worked as a carpenter until he was thirty years old. (Amen) Then for three years, he just got on his feet, and he was an itinerant preacher. And he went about doing some things. He didn't have much. He never wrote a book. He never held an office. He never had a family. (Yes) He never owned a house. He never went to college. He never visited a big city. He never went two hundred miles from where he was born. He did none of the usual things that the world would associate with greatness. He had no credentials but himself.

He was only thirty-three when the tide of public opinion turned against him. They called him a rabble-rouser. They called him a troublemaker. They said he was an agitator. (Glory to God) He practiced civil disobedience; he broke injunctions. And so he was turned over to his enemies and went through the mockery of a trial. And the irony of it all is that his friends turned him over to them. (Amen) One of his closest friends denied him. Another of his friends turned him over to his enemies. And while he was dying, the people who killed him gambled for his clothing, the only possession that he had in the world. (Lord help him) When he was dead he was buried in a borrowed tomb, through the pity of a friend.

Nineteen centuries have come and gone and today he stands as the most influential figure that ever entered human history. All of the armies that ever marched, all the navies that ever sailed, all the parliaments that ever sat, and all the kings that ever reigned put together (Yes) have not affected the life of man on this earth (Amen) as much as that one solitary life. His name may be a familiar one. (Jesus) But today I can hear them talking about him. Every now and then somebody says, "He's King of Kings." (Yes) And again I can hear somebody saying, "He's Lord of Lords." Somewhere else I can hear somebody saying, "In Christ there is no East nor West." (Yes) And then they go on and talk about, "In Him there's no North and South, but one great Fellowship of Love throughout the whole wide world." He didn't have anything. (Amen) He just went around serving and doing good.

This morning, you can be on his right hand and his left hand if you serve. (Amen) It's the only way in.

Every now and then I guess we all think realistically (Yes, sir) about that day when we will be victimized with what is life's final common denominator—that something that we call death. We all think about it. And every now and then I think about my own death and I think about my own funeral. And I don't think of it in a morbid sense. And every now and then I ask myself, "What is it that I would want said?" And I leave the word to you this morning.

If any of you are around when I have to meet my day, I don’t want a long funeral. And if you get somebody to deliver the eulogy, tell them not to talk too long. (Yes) And every now and then I wonder what I want them to say. Tell them not to mention that I have a Nobel Peace Prize—that isn’t important. Tell them not to mention that I have three or four hundred other awards—that’s not important. Tell them not to mention where I went to school. (Yes)

I'd like somebody to mention that day that Martin Luther King, Jr., tried to give his life serving others. (Yes)

I'd like for somebody to say that day that Martin Luther King, Jr., tried to love somebody.

I want you to say that day that I tried to be right on the war question. (Amen)

I want you to be able to say that day that I did try to feed the hungry. (Yes)

And I want you to be able to say that day that I did try in my life to clothe those who were naked. (Yes)

I want you to say on that day that I did try in my life to visit those who were in prison. (Lord)

I want you to say that I tried to love and serve humanity. (Yes)

Yes, if you want to say that I was a drum major, say that I was a drum major for justice. (Amen) Say that I was a drum major for peace. (Yes) I was a drum major for righteousness. And all of the other shallow things will not matter. (Yes) I won't have any money to leave behind. I won't have the fine and luxurious things of life to leave behind. But I just want to leave a committed life behind. (Amen) And that's all I want to say.


"Everybody can be great, because everybody can serve. You don't have to have a college degree to serve. You don't have to make your subject and your verb agree to serve. You don't have to know about Plato and Aristotle to serve. You don't have to know Einstein's theory of relativity to serve. You don't have to know the second theory of thermodynamics in physics to serve. You only need a heart full of grace, a soul generated by love. And you can be that servant." - Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Captain McDanial

The twenty year old soldier, recently reduced in rank from buck sergeant to buck private, stood outside base headquarters and read his orders again. "Report to Captain McDanial at..."

No doubt this Captain McDanial would know of the private’s recent release from the base stockade at Fukuoka after serving five months of a six months sentence for stealing $420.00 of military script money and a .45 caliber pistol from the 2nd Airdrome Squadron’s post office.

Might as well get ready for a nasty chewing out, he mumbled to himself as he hoisted his duffle bag to his shoulder and climbed the steps to the entryway. After stepping inside and setting his belongings down in an out of the way spot, he surveyed the orderly room. The first sergeant was sitting at a desk near the wooden railing and three other clerical types were beyond him, two seated at desks, and one at a filing cabinet.

The private nervously handed over his orders to the first sergeant and said, "I am to report to Captain McDanial."

"Oh, you’re private _____. The captain said he wants to see you the moment you got here. He has a special assignment for you. Door on your left at the end of the room. Knock three times and wait until he says, 'come in,' before you enter, then march up to his desk, come to attention and salute."

Yikes, the private said to himself, as he headed toward the Captain's door. A special assignment? Looks like I’m in for it now!

The 'come in,' command was sharp and authoritative. The private braced himself for the ordeal and taking a deep breath opened the door and strode to within three paces of the captain’s desk where he saluted and said, "Private _______ reporting as ordered sir."

"Stand at ease, private. I’ve read the transcript of your courts martial. That, and a copy of your conduct while in the stockade were forwarded to me by your commanding officer. I note that you achieved trustee status after two months, and that your conduct was that of a model soldier in confinement. Because of this, I’ve decided to give you a special assignment. Perhaps the first sergeant mentioned this to you?"

"Yes sir. He did."

"Good," he said, as he got to his feet while opening and reaching inside the top drawer of his desk.

"Here," the Captain said, as he stretched out his hand toward the private. "Here is $420.00 in military script. Go to the base post office and buy a money order with it. On your way, get your barracks assignment from the first sergeant, then report to me tomorrow morning at 0800 hours with the money order. Any questions?"

The private was too astounded to formulate a question! Here was this captain, who only knew of him what he had read in the courts martial transcript, entrusting him with $420.00 in military script money - the exact amount he and his partner in crime had stolen. By giving him until tomorrow morning to complete the special assignment, the captain had created the opportunity for the private to get a great head start if he decided to go AWOL with it. Why was the captain doing this?

"No questions, sir."

"Good. Dismissed."

The private came to attention, saluted, did an about-face and strode briskly to the door. He turned the knob, pulled the door towards him and while momentarily facing the captain said, "Sir?"

The captain looked up.

"Thank-you, sir," the private sang in a joyous voice!

The captain waved him out.

The private almost skipped down the street towards the base post office he was so thrilled at the trust this Captain McDanial had placed in him. How could the private do anything else when the captain had so clearly demonstrated his faith in him?

Captain McDanial's 'special assignment' was much more than a routine chore. It was an opportunity for the private to restore his dignity.

Postscript: Later in that month of April 1948, Captain McDanial arranged a thirty day emergency leave for the private when the private received news that his older sister had been involved in an automobile accident and was not expected to live.

It has been said that people come into our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Captain McDanial (his real name) was one of those persons that come into our lives for a reason. The private has never seen, or heard, from the captain again; but he has never forgotten him and what he did for the private with his 'Special Assignment.'


A very special thank you to the author who has asked to remain anonymous.

The Dream

He gently opened his eyes and the warm sun beat upon his face. He lay among the soft caress of the grass and a gentle wind embraced him. His father sat underneath a tree a few feet way beside the babbling brook.

"You are awake," his father smiled.

"I fell asleep dad."

"You did my son."

"I had a dream dad."

His father rose and sat beside him. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

"It was so real dad. I dreamt of missiles falling from the sky and little kids, even younger than I getting killed and maimed. The world was in a bad state. Millions were poor dad, not even with enough to eat. There were homeless people and destitute. There were huge storms and hurricanes and all types of disasters happening. People were fighting all of the time – over land, possessions, oil and money. Rainforests were dying dad and animals of all types were in danger and the earth was actually heating up! And I dreamt of growing up in this world and I was having happy times and sad times. And I lived a life dad. I did! I had a wife and kids and it was crazy fast you know. Everything went so quickly. And I felt so much. I was scared, full of joy, there was fear and hope. And so many times I felt helpless. And a lot of the time I felt so lonely. Worst of all dad, I didn't know where you were. I kinda knew you were there somewhere and I kept calling out for you. In fact sometimes I gave up hope and told myself that you didn't exist at all. But deep down I had a feeling you were somewhere. As I grew older I stopped searching for you out there and started looking within. Which was strange really but I kinda felt you were a part of me dad just as I was a part of you. It was full on dad and then I just woke up!"

His father looked at him with love in his wise eyes. "That’s some dream son!"

"How long was I asleep dad?"

"Mmmmmm perhaps 5 minutes... not much more."

"Wow! All of that in 5 minutes?"

The son looked knowingly at his dad for awhile.

"Dad that was my first dream."

"I know son... and your last... if you so choose."

"Dad?"

"Yes my son?"

"Did you know I was dreaming?"

"Why yes, of course."

The son reflected on this for a moment.

"So dad, during the bad parts of the dream did you know I was suffering?"

"My son, you may have appeared to be suffering in the dream but were always perfectly safe with me here."

"You could have woken me?"

"I could, but I didn't. You would have woken with a start. It would have been a little frightening for you that way. You gently came out of the dream yourself. You choose to enter the dream state. It is best if you choose to exit."

The son stretched out on the grass.

"Dad?"

"Yes my son."

"I love you."

"I know, my child. We are love."

Growing Good Corn

There once was a farmer who grew award-winning corn. Each year he entered his corn in the state fair where it won a blue ribbon.

One year a newspaper reporter interviewed him and learned something interesting about how he grew it. The reporter discovered that the farmer shared his seed corn with his neighbors.

"How can you afford to share your best seed corn with your neighbors when they are entering corn in competition with yours each year?" the reporter asked.

"Why sir," said the farmer, "didn't you know? The wind picks up pollen from the ripening corn and swirls it from field to field. If my neighbors grow inferior corn, cross-pollination will steadily degrade the quality of my corn. If I am to grow good corn, I must help my neighbors grow good corn."

He is very much aware of the connectedness of life. His corn cannot improve unless his neighbor's corn also improves.

So it is with our lives. Those who choose to live in peace must help their neighbors to live in peace. Those who choose to live well must help others to live well, for the value of a life is measured by the lives it touches. And those who choose to be happy must help others to find happiness, for the welfare of each is bound up with the welfare of all.

The lesson for each of us is this: if we are to grow good corn, we must help our neighbors grow good corn.


It is possible to give away and become richer! It is also possible to hold on too tightly and lose everything. Yes, the liberal man shall be rich! By watering others, he waters himself.

A 'Yes' Face

During Thomas Jefferson's presidency he and a group of travelers were crossing a river that had overflowed its banks. Each man crossed on horseback fighting for his life. A lone traveler watched the group traverse the treacherous river and then asked President Jefferson to take him across. The president agreed without hesitation, the man climbed on, and the two made it safely to the other side of the river where somebody asked him: "Why did you select the President to ask this favor?" The man was shocked, admitting he had no idea it was the President of the United States who had carried him safely across. "All I know," he said, "is that on some of your faces was written the answer 'No' and on some of them was the answer 'Yes.' His was a 'Yes' face."

The Young Merman

Once upon a time there was a young merman who lived in a beautiful kingdom deep in the ocean. Ever since he had been born he had always been surrounded by magnificent coral reefs, exotic sea creatures and the breath-taking architecture of the mer-people. Yet he never seemed happy, as he always saw the worst in everything and was critical of those around him. Of course, this made him very unpopular with the other mermen and mermaids, and he often found himself alone, thinking about how awful everything and everyone was.

He did, however, have one friend; the eldest and wisest merman in the kingdom. This old merman had known the young merman’s parents for a very long time, and he knew that the boy had never had any friends because of his negative attitude. The wise merman felt sorry for the boy, and so, when he could, he would take some time to talk to the boy and try to help him.

One morning the boy and the wise merman were taking a gentle swim through the kingdom. The wise merman was admiring what a beautiful morning it was turning out to be, but the boy could only notice that the water was colder than he liked it and that the dolphins were being too playful and noisy.

“But what about the coral?” suggested the old merman. “Aren’t the colours glorious today?”

“I guess,” the boy shrugged. “If you happen to like orange, red and pink.”

The old merman looked at the boy for a moment, before the boy finished, “Which I don’t.”

The old merman sighed, wondering if he would ever be able to think of something to make the boy happy. He wrapped the end of his long, white beard around his finger and then unwrapped it again.

“Well,” he said, “I should be on my way. I have a class to teach”.

“What are teaching today?” asked the boy.

“Today I’ll be teaching about God.”

“God?”

“Yes, God. Have you never heard of God?”

“No. How would I? I’ve never been to any of your lessons.”

“Hmm.” The old merman stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Well, that is a shame. Cheerio then.”

As the old merman began to leave the boy stopped him.

“Hey! Aren’t you going to tell me what it is?”

“What what is?”

“God!”

“Oh, I see. Well, you can find God everywhere really…”

“Everywhere? But that’s impossible…. Isn’t it?”

“No, it’s very possible.”

“Well, what does it look like then?”

“It looks like you, and me, and the dolphins and the coral….”

The boy frowned at the old merman. “So God isn’t really anything at all?”

The wise, old merman smiled at the boy for a brief moment and then turned away to leave.

“You tell me!” he said as he swam away. “Go and find it and then tell me if it isn’t really anything at all!”

~

The young merman swam around the kingdom aimlessly for a while, feeling cross about the nonsense the old merman had been speaking.

“What rubbish,” thought the boy. “God looks like everything? God can’t be very special then!”

Frowning, he looked around him, at the buildings, the mer-people and the shimmering fish. Then he remembered the old merman’s words.

“Fine,” he thought. “I’ll look for it, and then I’ll tell him what I think!”

The boy swam straight up to a dolphin, folded his arms across his chest and stared at it.

“So you’re God, are you?”

The dolphin looked at the boy and grinned. The boy didn’t grin back.

“God has a chunk missing from its fin and has bits of fish caught in its teeth, does it?! How stupid!”

The boy swam off, leaving behind the dolphin who had started to laugh.

The boy was in such a bad mood whilst he was swimming that he swam right into a beautiful mermaid with long, golden hair. She looked cross at first, but her face softened and she smiled at the boy.

“You must be in a rush to get somewhere,” she said gently.

“Not really,” the boy replied.

“Well, just try to be careful then, you wouldn’t want to hurt someone.”

Another frown appeared on the boys face and he swam on.

“Well, she can’t be God, that’s for sure. You wouldn’t want to hurt someone… Who does she think she is?”

The boy swam up to a high cliff which overlooked the entire kingdom. He slumped down onto a rock, feeling very hard-done-by. As he looked down he saw a tiny, brightly coloured fish feeding off of the algae which grew on the rock.

“You can’t be God either,” said the boy glumly. “You’re far too small.”

~

As the evening closed in and the lights of the kingdom began to sparkle in the dark water, the boy sighed. He had been looking for God all day, and all that he had found was a stupid dolphin, a rude mermaid and a small, insignificant fish. The young merman was just about to call it a day and swim home, when he spotted his old friend swimming slowly towards him.

“What are you doing all the way up here?” asked the wise merman. “You’re a long way from the town.”

“Well I was doing what you said and…” the boy replied venomously, but the old merman raised his hand to silence the boy.

“So you’ve been up here all day? Too angry and self absorbed to notice when God is right in front of you?”

The boy opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it again, suddenly feeling foolish.

“Look,” said the old merman forcefully. And he pointed towards the kingdom; towards the lights spilling from the buildings, and the glittering schools of fish weaving gracefully in and out of the tall towers and low coral houses; towards the beautiful mermaids and mermen rushing to and fro throughout the kingdom and the enormous shadows of whales on the outskirts of the underwater city. From high up on the cliff every individual movement seemed like a cog in the one big movement of the whole kingdom. Each life and action seemed to fit perfectly with everything else.

The boy sat watching the kingdom, which seemed like one united pulse of colour, movement and breath. He had never seen it this way before.

“Do you see God now?” asked the old merman gently.

“Yes,” said the boy, in awe. “I… I never noticed it before. It’s all perfect, isn’t it? Why didn’t I see it before?”

“When you stop thinking about yourself and how you wish the world would be, you start to see how the world really is. And it’s better than anything that you wished for, isn’t it? Because it doesn’t revolve around you and your ideas; you’re just part of the beautiful flow of it all. Doesn’t that feel good to know?”

Just then the boy saw the tiny, coloured fish which he had seen earlier that day. It was casually swimming over the rocks, experiencing every moment as it arrived and not expecting anything at all. The boy suddenly realised how much like the tiny fish he’d like to be.

He laughed. “Yes, it feels wonderful!”

Two Horses

Just up the road from my home is a field, with two horses in it. From a distance, each horse looks like any other horse.

But if you get a closer look you will notice something quite interesting...

One of the horses is blind.

His owner has chosen not to have him put down, but has made him a safe and comfortable barn to live in.

This alone is pretty amazing.

But if you stand nearby and listen, you will hear the sound of a bell. It is coming from a smaller horse in the field.

Attached to the horse's halter is a small, copper-colored bell. It lets the blind friend know where the other horse is, so he can follow.

As you stand and watch these two friends you'll see that the horse with the bell is always checking on the blind horse, and that the blind horse will listen for the bell and then slowly walk to where the other horse is, trusting he will not be led astray.

When the horse with the bell returns to the shelter of the barn each evening, he will stop occasionally to look back, making sure that the blind friend isn't too far behind to hear the bell.

Like the owners of these two horses, God does not throw us away just because we are not perfect. Or because we have problems or challenges.

He watches over us and even brings others into our lives to help us when we are in need.

Sometimes we are the blind horse, being guided by the little ringing bell of those who God places in our lives.

And at other times we are the guide horse, helping others to find their way.

Wooden Bowls

A frail old man lived with his son, his daughter-in-law, and his four-year-old grandson. His eyes were blurry, his hands trembled, and his step faltered.

The family would eat together nightly at the dinner table. But the elderly grandfather's shaky hands and failing sight made eating rather difficult. Peas rolled off his spoon, drooping to the floor. When he grasped his glass of milk, it often spilled clumsily at the tablecloth.

With this happening almost every night, the son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess.

"We must do something about grandfather," said the son.

"I've had enough of his milk spilling, noisy eating and food on the floor," the daughter-in-law agreed.

So the couple set a small table at the corner.

There, grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed their dinner at the dinner table. Since grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in wooden bowls. Sometimes when the family glanced in grandfather's direction, he had a tear in his eye as he ate 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 replied, "Oh, I'm making a little bowl for you and mama to eat your food from when I grow up." The four-year-old smiled and went back to work.

These words so struck the parents that they were speechless. Then tears streamed down their cheeks. Though no words were 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, grandfather 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 was spilled or the table cloth was soiled.

Pools

Through the cold winter wasteland he trudged, leaning into the harsh wind which spitefully tried to force him back. He was covered from head to toe in layers of thick clothing, layers of protection against the harsh environment. On he fought, searching, searching. He was working so hard. This must be the way.

In the distance he saw what looked like steam rising out of the ground. It rose a few feet and then was quickly whipped away by the biting wind. He altered his course and turned towards the steam, gaining some blessed relief as he turned his chapped face out of the gale. As he got closer, he thought he could make out voices. Their tone was unfamiliar to him - musical, relaxed and warm - their melody enticed him closer. Finally he got close enough to peer through the mist.

There before him was a remarkable sight. In the midst of the frozen wasteland, cut into the ground was a large pool. Several people were in the pool, they seemed to be floating easily without any effort. As they saw him approach, a woman called out to him.

"Come in here. It is lovely and warm. You can just lie back and relax," said the woman.

"I can't. There are no steps." The man replied.

"Just jump in. It really is lovely in here. Come on. There's plenty of room for another." Another of the floaters joined in the persuasion.

"But what if I don't like it, how will I get out? The sides are too high to reach up to."

"Believe me, you won't want to get out. Come on. It is so good in here."

He stood for a moment, paralyzed with indecision. It looked so much like the answer, but how could it be this easy? Just jump in? Lie back and relax? It couldn't be that simple. It must be a trick. He could not trust them. There was no way out if he changed his mind. He blocked out their warm invitations and once more filled his mind with grim determination.

On he trudged. Hours passed and his shadow grew long. Then once again in the distance he saw another cloud of rising steam. Entering the mist, a similar sight greeted him once more.

"Come in here. You don't have to be cold any more," said one of the bathers in a gentle voice. All the faces in the pool turned to look at him. Warm smiles reached out to him but his eyes could not perceive them.

"How do I get in? I can't see any steps. You are a long way down." He asked once again.

"Just jump in. It is very deep. You will be quite safe."

"But what if I want to get out? What if I get tired and cannot stay afloat any longer?"

"This is not like normal water, we are kept afloat without any effort. I promise you, you really will not want to get out."

"But my clothes will get wet and their weight will drag me down."

"You can remove all those layers. You will not need their protection in here. It is always beautifully warm."

But he could not bring himself to do that. Those layers were his protection, accumulated over the years to keep out the bitter cold. How could he now discard them, just like that? How could he allow himself to be so exposed?

On he trudged. Darkness came and the temperature dropped still further. Snow began to fall and the wind drove it into his face. Walking blind he carried on.

Then suddenly he felt some warmth in the air and the ground disappeared beneath him. With a scream he fell and his fall was broken with a splash. Panic overcame him and he thrashed around desperately until his hands touched a wall and he clawed at the smooth surface, loudly cursing the futility of it.

Then suddenly he heard a soft voice beside him. '"Shhhh. It's OK. It's OK," said the voice in beautiful feminine tones. "Just relax. You will be OK." Then he felt her hands moving over his body, searching then loosening his winter clothing. Layer after layer was gently removed, her voice continuing to sooth his panic until eventually he could feel the wonderful warmth of the water directly against his skin. "It's OK," she said once more as she held him close in the dark. For the first time since he could remember, he fully relaxed and quickly drifted off into a much needed sleep in her arms.

He awoke to a wonderful new dawn. He gazed into the beautiful eyes of his rescuer and felt the wonderful warmth of the water around him. Then he heard footsteps above. A weary man dressed head to foot in winter furs peered over the edge of the pool.

"Come in here!" He quickly shouted to the man. "It is so wonderful in here!"

"But what if I don't like it? How will I get back out?" The man asked.

"Believe me. You really won't want to get out," he assured the man.

Tasting Life

Tasting Life
Anthony De Mello
 
Before the young man began his studies, he wanted assurance from the Master.

"Can you teach me the goal of human life?"

"I cannot," replied the Master.

"Or at least its meaning?"

"I cannot."

"Can you indicate to me the nature of death and of life beyond the grave?"

"I cannot."

The young man walked away in scorn. The disciples were dismayed that their Master had been shown up in a poor light.

Said the Master soothingly, "Of what is it to comprehend life's nature and life's meaning if you have never tasted it? I'd rather you ate your pudding than speculated on it."

Thanks for Your Time

It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man. College, girls, career, and life itself got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear across the country in pursuit of his dreams. There, in the rush of his busy life, Jack had little time to think about the past and often no time to spend with his wife and son. He was working on his future, and nothing could stop him.

Over the phone, his mother told him, "Mr. Belser died last night. The funeral is Wednesday."

Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days.

"Jack, did you hear me?"

"Oh sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It's been so long since I thought of him. I'm sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago," Jack said.

"Well, he didn't forget you. Every time I saw him he'd ask how you were doing. He'd reminisce about the many days you spent over 'his side of the fence' as he put it," Mom told him.

"I loved that old house he lived in," Jack said.

"You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man's influence in your life," she said.

"He's the one who taught me carpentry," he said. "I wouldn't be in this business if it weren't for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were important... Mom, I'll be there for the funeral," Jack said.

As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his hometown. Mr. Belser's funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away.

The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to see the old house next door one more time.

Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing over into another dimension, a leap through space and time.

The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories. Every picture, every piece of furniture... Jack stopped suddenly.

"What's wrong, Jack?" his Mom asked.

"The box is gone," he said.

"What box?" Mom asked.

"There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he'd ever tell me was 'the thing I value most,'" Jack said.

It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it, except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it.

"Now I'll never know what was so valuable to him," Jack said. "I better get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom."

It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox. "Signature required on a package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within the next three days," the note read.

Early the next day Jack retrieved the package. The small box was old and looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention.

"Mr. Harold Belser" it read.

Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package. There inside was the gold box and an envelope. Jack's hands shook as he read the note inside.

"Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett. It's the thing I valued most in my life." A small key was taped to the letter. His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch.

Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover. Inside he found these words engraved:

"Jack, Thanks for your time! -Harold Belser."

"The thing he valued most...was...my time."

Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next two days. "Why?" Janet, his assistant asked.

"I need some time to spend with my son," he said. "Oh, by the way, Janet... thanks for your time!"

The Dew

As the sun rose, a dew drop became aware of its surroundings. There it sat on a leaf, catching the sunlight and throwing it back out. Proud of its simple beauty, it was very content. Around it were other dew drops, some on the same leaf and some on other leaves round about. The dew drop was sure that it was the best, the most special dew drop of them all.

Ah, it was good to be a dew drop.

The wind rose and the plant began to shake, tipping the leaf. Terror gripped the dew drop as gravity pulled it towards the edge of the leaf, towards the unknown. Why? Why was this happening? Things were comfortable. Things were safe. Why did they have to change? Why? Why?

The dew drop reached the edge of the leaf. It was terrified, certain that it would be smashed into a thousand pieces below, sure that this was the end. The day had only just begun and the end had come so quickly. It seemed so unfair. It seemed so meaningless. It tried desperately to do whatever it could to cling to the leaf, but it was no use.

Finally, it let go, surrendering to the pull of gravity. Down, down it fell. Below there seemed to be a mirror. A reflection of itself seemed to be coming up to meet the dew drop. Closer and closer they came together until finally...

And then the fear transformed into deep joy as the tiny dew drop merged with the vastness that was the pond. Now the dew drop was no more, but it was not destroyed.

It had become one with the whole.

The Triple-Filter Test

In ancient Greece, Socrates was reputed to hold knowledge in high esteem. One day an acquaintance met the great philosopher and said, "Do you know what I just heard about your friend?"

"Hold on a minute," Socrates replied. "Before you talk to me about my friend, it might be good idea to take a moment and filter what you’re going to say. That’s why I call it the triple filter test. The first filter is Truth. Have you made absolutely sure that what you are about to tell me is true?"

"Well, no," the man said, "actually I just heard about it and…"

"All right," said Socrates. "So you don’t really know if it’s true or not. Now, let’s try the second filter, the filter of Goodness. Is what you are about to tell me about my friend something good?"

"Umm, no, on the contrary…"

"So," Socrates continued, "you want to tell me something bad about my friend, but you’re not certain it’s true. You may still pass the test though, because there’s one filter left—the filter of Usefulness. Is what you want to tell me about my friend going to be useful to me?"

"No, not really."

"Well," concluded Socrates, "if what you want to tell me is neither true, nor good, nor even useful, why tell it to me at all?"

Bring Love

At a certain moment in Nietzsche's life, the idea came to him of what he called 'the love of your fate.' Whatever your fate is, whatever the heck happens, you say, "This is what I need." It may look like a wreck, but go at it as though it were an opportunity, a challenge.

If you bring love to that moment - not discouragement - you will find the strength is there. Any disaster that you can survive is an improvement in your character, your stature, and your life. What a privilege! This is when the spontaneity of your own nature will have a chance to flow. Then, when looking back at your life, you will see that the moments which seemed to be great failures followed by wreckage were the incidents that shaped the life you have now. You’ll see that this is really true.

Nothing can happen to you that is not positive. Even though it looks and feels at the moment like a negative crisis, it is not.

All we need is the courage to push beyond the river.

For most people, graduation is an exciting day - the culmination of years of hard work. My graduation day... was not.

I remember that weekend two years ago. Family and friends had flown in from across the country to watch our class walk across that stage. But like everyone else in my graduating class, I had watched the economy turn from bad to worse my senior year. We graduates had degrees, but very limited prospects. Numerous applications had not panned out and I knew that the next day, when my lease ended, I would no longer have a place to call home.

The weeks ahead weren't easy. I gathered up everything I couldn't carry and put it into storage. Then, because I knew my small university town couldn't offer me any opportunities, I packed up my car and drove to Southern California to find work. But what I thought would take a week dragged into two, and then four, and 100 job applications later, I found myself in the exact same spot as I was before. And the due date to begin paying back my student loans was creeping ever closer.

You know that feeling when you wake up and you are just consumed with dread? Dread about something you can't control - that sense of impending failure that lingers over you as you hope that everything that happened to you thus far was just a bad dream? That feeling became a constant in my life.

Days felt like weeks, weeks like months, and those many months felt like an unending eternity of destitution. And the most frustrating part was no matter how much I tried, I just couldn't seem to make any progress.

So what did I do to maintain my sanity? I wrote. Something about putting words on a page made everything seem a little clearer - a little brighter. Something about writing gave me hope. And if you want something badly enough... sometimes a little hope is all you need!

I channeled my frustration into a children's book. Beyond the River was the story of an unlikely hero featuring a little fish who simply refused to give up on his dream.

And then one day, without any sort of writing degree or contacts in the writing world - just a lot of hard work and perseverance - I was offered a publishing contract for my first book! After that, things slowly began to fall into place. I was offered a second book deal. Then, a few months later, I got an interview with The Walt Disney Company and was hired shortly after.

The moral of this story is... don't give up. Even if things look bleak now, don't give up. Two years ago I was huddled in my car drinking cold soup right out of the can. Things change.

If you work hard, give it time, and don't give up, things will always get better. Oftentimes our dreams lie in wait just a little further upstream... all we need is the courage to push beyond the river.

May we see the people in our world as God sees them.

A man was exploring caves by the seashore. In one of the caves he found a canvas bag with a bunch of hardened clay balls. It was like someone had rolled clay balls and left them out in the sun to bake. They didn't look like much, but they intrigued the man so he took the bag out of the cave with him.

As he strolled along the beach, he would throw the clay balls one at a time out into the ocean as far as he could. He thought little about it until he dropped one of the balls and it cracked open on a rock. Inside was a beautiful, precious stone.

Excited the man started breaking open the remaining clay balls. Each contained a similar treasure.

He found thousands of dollars worth of jewels in the 20 or so clay balls he had left. Then it struck him. He had been on the beach a long time. He had thrown maybe 50 or 60 of the clay balls with their hidden treasure into the ocean waves. Instead of thousands of dollars in treasure, he could have taken home tens of thousands, but he just threw it away.

It's like that with people. We look at someone, maybe even ourselves, and we see the external clay vessel. It doesn't look like much from the outside. It isn't always beautiful or sparkling so we discount it. We see that person as less important than someone more beautiful or stylish or well known or wealthy. But we have not taken the time to find the treasure hidden inside that person by God.

There is a treasure in each and every one of us. If we take the time to get to know that person, and if we ask God to show us that person the way He sees them, then the clay begins to peel away and the brilliant gem begins to shine forth.

May we not come to the end of our lives and find out that we have thrown away a fortune in friendships because the gems were hidden in bits of clay.

May we see the people in our world as God sees them.

Just One More Day

According to our sources, the following
letter was found in the 'Letters To Santa'
box at the Post Office in Thompson Falls,
Montana.

Dear Santa:

What do I ask this year?  I have perused each ad in my mailbox, pored over the colorful ads in the newspaper.  So many lovely things, and yet I need nothing.

I realize this as I walk up the hill on my strong legs. I can hear the air fill my lungs. I feel the cold on my cheeks. I smell the smoke of the fire that warms my home. I see the snow-capped mountains and the slate gray river peppered with fat geese.

I need nothing: there are people who love me. There are people who forgive my sometimes wretched temper and who touch me with loving hands. There are neighbors who smile in the store. There are shopkeepers who are tolerant when I don’t have enough money. There are kind faces in public places.

There is a fat pregnant cat who sneaks into my garage. Dogs and other cats share my hearth; I love to feel their fur with my feet. There are hawks that teach their young of flight, right there behind my house. There are deer that tiptoe into my yard and savor the fat apples in the snow.

Rows of glassed vegetables; green beans, tomatoes, peas and  carrots color my pantry.  And a rusty bucket of hand tools and neatly dried seeds promises next year’s riches.

I need nothing!  Christmas promises already fulfilled redeem my foolish life, and occasionally I glimpse the feast that awaits me when this earthly one is done.

Today I discovered a hole in my jeans. I felt the December air slither down my leg. How mighty is the hand that sweeps the wind along the mountains. Santa, dear old soul, just give me another day like this one in my life.

Do You Have Any Change?

Several years ago I was at a train station in Amsterdam waiting in line to buy a ticket. As I stood there I saw a young homeless man asking people for money so he could buy breakfast. It was early in the morning and most of the travelers simply ignored the young man or gave him a dirty look. There was one exception though - an older, well-dressed businessman who looked as though he was from the middle-east. When approached by the panhandler, the gentleman looked straight into his eyes and quietly asked "How much will you need?" I couldn't hear what the young man said but watched as the older man pulled several bills from his wallet and calmly placed them in the young mans' hands. 

I don't know if the young man actually used this money for breakfast or for some other purpose. What I do know is that I witnessed two completely different reactions to the same situation. I saw people who were either afraid or annoyed or distrustful. And then I saw this man who was not afraid and treated the homeless man as though he were a brother. I decided then and there that, even though we have to be careful in this world, I would rather be like him.

May this day bring us many opportunities for kindness... ;-)

State Of The World Message

I've had the opportunity to evaluate the condition of the world over the course of the last 48 hours and I'm pleased to report that there are many reasons to be hopeful.  In this short amount of time I've seen a very diverse group of two-year olds build sandcastles together and I stood witness as a nineteen-year-old Japanese woman learned to ride a bicycle for the first time. I watched as the sun rose twice, set twice and became partially eclipsed by the moon. I stared into the eyes of a California sea lion and saw myself in his reflection. I shared a table with a seventy-seven year old woman in Tijuana who offered me cookies and Seven-Up. I witnessed a car accident on Interstate 5 and a middle-aged trucker sprinting towards the wreckage to see if he could help.  I know that there is much adversity and suffering in today's world... and sometimes I think this is the path we must take to greater wisdom. But there's a lot of love out there too... and I'm convinced that this is still the most powerful force in the world.

Because We Can, We Must

From a speech given by Irish rock star Bono  to the graduating class at the University of Pennsylvania on May 19, 2004.  There's a truly great Irish poet his name is Brendan Kennelly, and he has this epic poem called the Book of Judas, and there's a line in that poem that never leaves my mind, it says: "If you want to serve the age, betray it." What does that mean to betray the age? Well to me betraying the age means exposing its conceits, it's foibles; it's phony moral certitudes. It means telling the secrets of the age and facing harsher truths. Every age has its massive moral blind spots. We might not see them, but our children will. Slavery was one of them and the people who best served that age were the ones who called it as it was--which was ungodly and inhuman. Ben Franklin called it what it was when he became president of the Pennsylvania Abolition Society. Segregation. There was another one. America sees this now but it took a civil rights movement to betray their age. And 50 years ago the U.S. Supreme Court betrayed the age May 17, 1954, Brown vs. Board of Education came down and put the lie to the idea that separate can ever really be equal. Amen to that.  Fast forward 50 years. May 17, 2004. What are the ideas right now worth betraying? What are the lies we tell ourselves now? What are the blind spots of our age? What's worth spending your post-Penn lives trying to do or undo? It might be something simple. It might be something as simple as our deep down refusal to believe that every human life has equal worth. Could that be it? Could that be it? Each of you will probably have your own answer, but for me that is it. And for me the proving ground has been Africa. Africa makes a mockery of what we say, at least what I say, about equality and questions our pieties and our commitments because there's no way to look at what's happening over there and it's effect on all of us and conclude that we actually consider Africans as our equals before God. There is no chance. An amazing event happened here in Philadelphia in 1985 - Live Aid - that whole We Are The World phenomenon the concert that happened here. Well after that concert I went to Ethiopia with my wife, Ali. We were there for a month and an extraordinary thing happened to me. We used to wake up in the morning and the mist would be lifting we'd see thousands and thousands of people who'd been walking all night to our food station where we were working. One man - I was standing outside talking to the translator - had this beautiful boy and he was saying to me in Amharic, I think it was, I said I can't understand what he's saying, and this nurse who spoke English and Amharic said to me, he's saying will you take his son. He's saying please take his son, he would be a great son for you. I was looking puzzled and he said, "You must take my son because if you don't take my son, my son will surely die. If you take him he will go back to Ireland and get an education." Probably like the ones we're talking about today. I had to say no, that was the rules there and I walked away from that man, I've never really walked away from it. But I think about that boy and that man and that's when I started this journey that's brought me here into this stadium. Because at that moment I became the worst scourge on God's green earth, a rock star with a cause. Christ! Except it isn't the cause. Seven thousand Africans dying every day of preventable, treatable disease like AIDS? That's not a cause, that's an emergency. And when the disease gets out of control because most of the population live on less than one dollar a day? That's not a cause, that's an emergency. And when resentment builds because of unfair trade rules and the burden of unfair debt, that are debts by the way that keep Africans poor? That's not a cause, that's an emergency. So--We Are The World, Live Aid, start me off it was an extraordinary thing and really that event was about charity. But 20 years on I'm not that interested in charity. I'm interested in justice. There's a difference. Africa needs justice as much as it needs charity. Equality for Africa is a big idea. It's a big expensive idea. I see the Wharton graduates now getting out the math on the back of their programs, numbers are intimidating aren't they, but not to you! But the scale of the suffering and the scope of the commitment they often numb us into a kind of indifference. Wishing for the end to AIDS and extreme poverty in Africa is like wishing that gravity didn't make things so damn heavy. We can wish it, but what the hell can we do about it? Well, more than we think. We can't fix every problem - corruption, natural calamities are part of the picture here - but the ones we can we must. The debt burden, as I say, unfair trade, as I say, sharing our knowledge, the intellectual copyright for lifesaving drugs in a crisis, we can do that. And because we can, we must. Because we can, we must. Amen. This is the straight truth, the righteous truth. It's not a theory, it's a fact. The fact is that this generation--yours, my generation--that can look at the poverty, we're the first generation that can look at poverty and disease, look across the ocean to Africa and say with a straight face, we can be the first to end this sort of stupid extreme poverty, where in the world of plenty, a child can die for lack of food in it's belly. We can be the first generation. It might take a while, but we can be that generation that says no to stupid poverty. It's a fact, the economists confirm it. It's an expensive fact but, cheaper than say the Marshall Plan that saved Europe from communism and fascism. And cheaper I would argue than fighting wave after wave of terrorism's new recruits. That's the economics department over there, very good. It's a fact. So why aren't we pumping our fists in the air and cheering about it? Well probably because when we admit we can do something about it, we've got to do something about it. For the first time in history we have the know how, we have the cash, we have the lifesaving drugs, but do we have the will?

The Twelve Gifts of Birth

Once upon a time, a long time ago, when princes and princesses lived in faraway kingdoms, royal children were given twelve special gifts when they were born. You may have heard the stories. Twelve wise women of the kingdom, or fairy godmothers as they were often called, traveled swiftly to the castle whenever a new prince or princess came into the world. Each fairy godmother pronounced a noble gift upon the royal baby.

As time went on, the wise women came to understand that the twelve royal gifts of birth belong to every child, born anywhere at anytime. They yearned to proclaim the gifts to all children, but the customs of the land did not allow that.

One day when the wise women gathered together they made this prophecy:

Some day, all the children of the world will learn the truth about their
noble inheritance. When that happens a miracle will unfold on the kingdom of Earth.

Some day is near.

Here is the secret they want you to know.

At the wondrous moment you were born, as you took your first breath, a great celebration was held in the heavens and twelve magnificent gifts were granted to you.

The first gift is STRENGTH. May you remember to call upon it whenever you need it.

The second gift is BEAUTY. May your deeds reflect its depth.

The third gift is COURAGE. May you speak and act with confidence and use courage to follow your own path.

The fourth gift is COMPASSION. May you be gentle with yourself and others. May you forgive those who hurt you and yourself when you make mistakes.

The fifth gift is HOPE. Through each passage and season, may you trust the goodness of life.

The sixth gift is JOY. May it keep your heart open and filled with light.

The seventh gift is TALENT. May you discover your own special abilities and contribute them toward a better world.

The eighth gift is IMAGINATION. May it nourish your visions and dreams.

The ninth gift is REVERENCE. May you appreciate the wonder that you are and the miracle of all creation.

The tenth gift is WISDOM. Guiding your way, wisdom will lead you through knowledge to understanding. May you hear its soft voice.

The eleventh gift is LOVE. It will grow each time you give it away.

The twelfth gift is FAITH. May you believe.

Now you know about your twelve gifts of birth. But there is more to the secret that the wise women knew. Use your gifts well and you will discover  others, among them a gift that is uniquely you. See these noble gifts in other people. Share the truth and be ready for the miracle to unfold as the prophecy of the wise women comes true.