progress on the piano, a mother took her boy to a Paderewski concert. After they were seated, the mother spotted a friend in the audience and walked down the aisle to greet her.
Seizing the opportunity to explore the wonders of the concert hall, the little boy rose and eventually explored his way through a door
marked "NO ADMITTANCE." When the house lights dimmed and the concert was about to begin, the mother returned to her seat and discovered that the child was missing.
Suddenly, the curtains parted and spotlights focused on
the impressive Steinway on stage. In horror, the mother saw
her little boy sitting at the keyboard, innocently picking out "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star."
At that moment, the great piano master made his entrance, quickly moved to the piano, and whispered in the boy's ear, "Don't quit. Keep playing."
Then leaning over, Paderewski reached down with his left
hand and began filling in a bass part. Soon his right arm reached around to the other side of the child and he added a running obbligato. Together, the old master and the young novice transformed a frightening situation into a wonderfully creative experience. The audience was mesmerized.
That's the way it is in life. What we can accomplish on our own is hardly noteworthy. We try our best, but the results aren't exactly graceful flowing music. But when we trust in the hands of a Greater Power, our life's work truly can be beautiful.
Next time you set out to accomplish great feats, listen carefully. You can hear the voice of the Master, whispering in your ear, "Don't quit. Keep playing."
Saturday 28 July 2012
Letter Written by Fra Giovanni
I am your friend and my love for you goes
deep. There is nothing I can give you which you have not got, but there
is much, very much, that, while I cannot give it, you can take.
No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in today. Take heaven!
No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present little instant. Take peace!
The gloom of the world is but a shadow. Behind it, yet within our reach is joy. There is radiance and glory in the darkness could we but see - and to see we have only to look. I beseech you to look!
Life is so generous a giver, but we, judging its gifts by the covering, cast them away as ugly, or heavy or hard. Remove the covering and you will find beneath it a living splendor, woven of love, by wisdom, with power.
Welcome it, grasp it, touch the angel's hand that brings it to you. Everything we call a trial, a sorrow, or a duty, believe me, that angel's hand is there, the gift is there, and the wonder of an overshadowing presence. Our joys, too, be not content with them as joys. They, too, conceal diviner gifts.
Life is so full of meaning and purpose, so full of beauty - beneath its covering - that you will find earth but cloaks your heaven.
Courage, then, to claim it, that is all. But courage you have, and the knowledge that we are all pilgrims together, wending through unknown country, home.
And so, at this time, I greet you. Not quite as the world sends greetings, but with profound esteem and with the prayer that for you now and forever, the day breaks, and the shadows flee away.
No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in today. Take heaven!
No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present little instant. Take peace!
The gloom of the world is but a shadow. Behind it, yet within our reach is joy. There is radiance and glory in the darkness could we but see - and to see we have only to look. I beseech you to look!
Life is so generous a giver, but we, judging its gifts by the covering, cast them away as ugly, or heavy or hard. Remove the covering and you will find beneath it a living splendor, woven of love, by wisdom, with power.
Welcome it, grasp it, touch the angel's hand that brings it to you. Everything we call a trial, a sorrow, or a duty, believe me, that angel's hand is there, the gift is there, and the wonder of an overshadowing presence. Our joys, too, be not content with them as joys. They, too, conceal diviner gifts.
Life is so full of meaning and purpose, so full of beauty - beneath its covering - that you will find earth but cloaks your heaven.
Courage, then, to claim it, that is all. But courage you have, and the knowledge that we are all pilgrims together, wending through unknown country, home.
And so, at this time, I greet you. Not quite as the world sends greetings, but with profound esteem and with the prayer that for you now and forever, the day breaks, and the shadows flee away.
Steps To Happiness
Everybody Knows:
You can't be all things to all people.
You can't do all things at once.
You can't do all things equally well.
You can't do all things better than everyone else.
Your humanity is showing just like everyone else's.
So:
You have to find out who you are, and be that.
You have to decide what comes first, and do that.
You have to discover your strengths, and use them.
You have to learn not to compete with others,
Because no one else is in the contest of *being you*.
Then:
You will have learned to accept your own uniqueness.
You will have learned to set priorities and make decisions.
You will have learned to live with your limitations.
You will have learned to give yourself the respect that is due.
And you'll be a most vital mortal.
Dare To Believe:
That you are a wonderful, unique person.
That you are a once-in-all-history event.
That it's more than a right, it's your duty, to be who you are.
That life is not a problem to solve, but a gift to cherish.
And you'll be able to stay one up on what used to get you down.
You can't be all things to all people.
You can't do all things at once.
You can't do all things equally well.
You can't do all things better than everyone else.
Your humanity is showing just like everyone else's.
So:
You have to find out who you are, and be that.
You have to decide what comes first, and do that.
You have to discover your strengths, and use them.
You have to learn not to compete with others,
Because no one else is in the contest of *being you*.
Then:
You will have learned to accept your own uniqueness.
You will have learned to set priorities and make decisions.
You will have learned to live with your limitations.
You will have learned to give yourself the respect that is due.
And you'll be a most vital mortal.
Dare To Believe:
That you are a wonderful, unique person.
That you are a once-in-all-history event.
That it's more than a right, it's your duty, to be who you are.
That life is not a problem to solve, but a gift to cherish.
And you'll be able to stay one up on what used to get you down.
I Would Pick More Daisies
When the late Nadine Stair of Louisville,
Kentucky, was 85 years old, she was asked what she would do if she had
her life to live over again.
"I'd make more mistakes next time," she said. "I'd relax. I would limber up. I would be sillier than I have been on this trip. I would take fewer things seriously. I would take more chances. I would climb more mountains and swim more rivers. I would eat more ice cream and less beans. I would perhaps have more actual troubles, but I'd have fewer imaginary ones.
"You see, I'm one of those people who live sensibly and sanely hour after hour, day after day. Oh, I've had my moments, and if I had to do it over again, I'd have more of them. In fact, I'd try to have nothing else. Just moments, one after another, instead of living so many years ahead of each day. I've been one of those persons who never goes anywhere without a thermometer, a hot water bottle, and a raincoat. If I had to do it over again, I would travel lighter than I have.
"If I had my life to live over, I would start barefoot earlier in the spring and stay that way later in the fall. I would go to more dances. I would ride more merry-go-rounds and I would pick more daisies."
"I'd make more mistakes next time," she said. "I'd relax. I would limber up. I would be sillier than I have been on this trip. I would take fewer things seriously. I would take more chances. I would climb more mountains and swim more rivers. I would eat more ice cream and less beans. I would perhaps have more actual troubles, but I'd have fewer imaginary ones.
"You see, I'm one of those people who live sensibly and sanely hour after hour, day after day. Oh, I've had my moments, and if I had to do it over again, I'd have more of them. In fact, I'd try to have nothing else. Just moments, one after another, instead of living so many years ahead of each day. I've been one of those persons who never goes anywhere without a thermometer, a hot water bottle, and a raincoat. If I had to do it over again, I would travel lighter than I have.
"If I had my life to live over, I would start barefoot earlier in the spring and stay that way later in the fall. I would go to more dances. I would ride more merry-go-rounds and I would pick more daisies."
I Have A Dream
An excerpt from Dr. King's famous speech
delivered on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial
in Washington DC on August 28, 1963.
I say to you today, my friends, that in spite
of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment,
I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted
in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day the state of Alabama, whose governor's lips are presently dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, will be transformed into a situation where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."
And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!
Let freedom ring from the snow capped Rockies of Colorado!
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous peaks of California!
But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!
Let freedom ring from every hill and every molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"
Dr. Ki Dr. King's Books
delivered on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial
in Washington DC on August 28, 1963.
I say to you today, my friends, that in spite
of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment,
I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted
in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day the state of Alabama, whose governor's lips are presently dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, will be transformed into a situation where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."
And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!
Let freedom ring from the snow capped Rockies of Colorado!
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous peaks of California!
But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!
Let freedom ring from every hill and every molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"
Dr. Ki Dr. King's Books
Everybody Was Sure
There was an important job to be done and Everybody was sure Somebody
would do it. Anybody could have done it, but Nobody did it. Somebody got
angry about that because it was Everybody's job. Everybody thought
Anybody could do it, but Nobody realized that Everybody would not do it.
It ended up that Everybody blamed Somebody when Nobody did what Anybody
could have done.
What Will Matter
Ready or not, some day it will all come to an end.
There will be no more sunrises, no minutes, hours or days. All the things you collected, whether treasured or forgotten will pass to someone else.
Your wealth, fame and temporal power will shrivel to irrelevance. It will not matter what you owned or what you were owed.
Your grudges, resentments, frustrations and jealousies will finally disappear. So too, your hopes, ambitions, plans and to do lists will expire.
The wins and losses that once seemed so important will fade away.
It won't matter where you came from or what side of the tracks you lived on at the end.
It won't matter whether you were beautiful or brilliant. Even your gender and skin color will be irrelevant.
So what will matter? How will the value of your days be measured?
What will matter is not what you bought but what you built, not what you got but what you gave.
What will matter is not your success but your significance.
What will matter is not what you learned but what you taught.
What will matter is every act of integrity, compassion, courage, or sacrifice that enriched, empowered or encouraged others to emulate your example.
What will matter is not your competence but your character.
What will matter is not how many people you knew, but how many will feel a lasting loss when you're gone.
What will matter is not your memories but the memories that live in those who loved you.
What will matter is how long you will be remembered, by whom and for what.
Living a life that matters doesn't happen by accident. It's not a matter of circumstance but of choice.
Choose to live a life that matters.
There will be no more sunrises, no minutes, hours or days. All the things you collected, whether treasured or forgotten will pass to someone else.
Your wealth, fame and temporal power will shrivel to irrelevance. It will not matter what you owned or what you were owed.
Your grudges, resentments, frustrations and jealousies will finally disappear. So too, your hopes, ambitions, plans and to do lists will expire.
The wins and losses that once seemed so important will fade away.
It won't matter where you came from or what side of the tracks you lived on at the end.
It won't matter whether you were beautiful or brilliant. Even your gender and skin color will be irrelevant.
So what will matter? How will the value of your days be measured?
What will matter is not what you bought but what you built, not what you got but what you gave.
What will matter is not your success but your significance.
What will matter is not what you learned but what you taught.
What will matter is every act of integrity, compassion, courage, or sacrifice that enriched, empowered or encouraged others to emulate your example.
What will matter is not your competence but your character.
What will matter is not how many people you knew, but how many will feel a lasting loss when you're gone.
What will matter is not your memories but the memories that live in those who loved you.
What will matter is how long you will be remembered, by whom and for what.
Living a life that matters doesn't happen by accident. It's not a matter of circumstance but of choice.
Choose to live a life that matters.
The Messiah In Disguise
High in the mountains was a monastery that had once been known
throughout the world. Its monks were pious, its students were
enthusiastic. The chants from the monastery’s chapel deeply touched the
hearts of people who came there to pray and meditate.
But, something had changed. Fewer and fewer young men came to study there; fewer and fewer people came for spiritual nourishment. The monks who remained became disheartened and sad.
Deeply worried, the abbot of the monastery went off in search of an answer. Why had his monastery fallen on such hard times?
The abbot came to a guru, and he asked the master, “Is it because of some sin of ours that the monastery is no longer full of vitality?”
“Yes,” replied the master, “it is the sin of ignorance.”
“The sin of ignorance?” questioned the abbot. “Of what are we ignorant?”
The guru looked at the abbot for a long, long time, and then he said, “One of you is the messiah in disguise. But, you are all ignorant of this.” Then, the guru closed his eyes, and he was silent.
“The messiah?” thought the abbot. “The messiah is one of us? Who could it be? Could it be Brother Cook? Could it be Brother Treasurer? Could it be Brother Bell-Ringer? Could it be Brother Vegetable Grower?
“Which one? Which one? Every one of us has faults, failings, human defects. Isn’t the messiah supposed to be perfect? But, then, perhaps these faults and failings are part of his disguise. Which one? Which one?”
When the abbot returned to the monastery, he gathered all the monks together and told them what the guru had said.
“One of us? The messiah? Impossible!”
But, the master had spoken, and the master was never wrong.
“One of us? The messiah? Incredible! But, it must be so. Which one? Which one? That brother over there? That one? That one?”
Whichever one of the monks was the messiah, he was, surely, in disguise.
Not knowing who amongst them was the messiah, all the monks began treating each other with new respect. “You never know,” they thought, “he might be the one, so I had better deal with him kindly.”
It was not long before the monastery was filled with new found joy. Soon, new students came to learn, and people came from far and wide to be inspired by the chants of the kind, smiling monks.
For once again, the monastery was filled with the spirit of love.
But, something had changed. Fewer and fewer young men came to study there; fewer and fewer people came for spiritual nourishment. The monks who remained became disheartened and sad.
Deeply worried, the abbot of the monastery went off in search of an answer. Why had his monastery fallen on such hard times?
The abbot came to a guru, and he asked the master, “Is it because of some sin of ours that the monastery is no longer full of vitality?”
“Yes,” replied the master, “it is the sin of ignorance.”
“The sin of ignorance?” questioned the abbot. “Of what are we ignorant?”
The guru looked at the abbot for a long, long time, and then he said, “One of you is the messiah in disguise. But, you are all ignorant of this.” Then, the guru closed his eyes, and he was silent.
“The messiah?” thought the abbot. “The messiah is one of us? Who could it be? Could it be Brother Cook? Could it be Brother Treasurer? Could it be Brother Bell-Ringer? Could it be Brother Vegetable Grower?
“Which one? Which one? Every one of us has faults, failings, human defects. Isn’t the messiah supposed to be perfect? But, then, perhaps these faults and failings are part of his disguise. Which one? Which one?”
When the abbot returned to the monastery, he gathered all the monks together and told them what the guru had said.
“One of us? The messiah? Impossible!”
But, the master had spoken, and the master was never wrong.
“One of us? The messiah? Incredible! But, it must be so. Which one? Which one? That brother over there? That one? That one?”
Whichever one of the monks was the messiah, he was, surely, in disguise.
Not knowing who amongst them was the messiah, all the monks began treating each other with new respect. “You never know,” they thought, “he might be the one, so I had better deal with him kindly.”
It was not long before the monastery was filled with new found joy. Soon, new students came to learn, and people came from far and wide to be inspired by the chants of the kind, smiling monks.
For once again, the monastery was filled with the spirit of love.
The Pretty One
It had been a very long night. Our black
cocker spaniel 'Precious' was having a difficult delivery. I lay on the
floor beside her large four-foot square cage, watching her every
movement. Watching and waiting, just in case I had to rush her to the
veterinarian.
After six hours the puppies started to appear. The first-born was black and white. The second and third puppies were tan and brown in color. The fourth and fifth were also spotted black and white. "One, two, three, four, five," I counted to myself as I walked down the hallway to wake my wife, Judy, and tell her that everything was fine.
As we walked back down the hallway and into the spare bedroom, I noticed a sixth puppy had been born and was now laying all by itself over to the side of the cage. I picked up the small puppy and laid it on top of the large pile of puppies, who were whining and trying to nurse on the mother. Precious immediately pushed the small puppy away from rest of the group. She refused to recognize it as a member of her family.
"Something's wrong," said Judy.
I reached over and picked up the puppy. My heart sank inside my chest when I saw the little puppy had a cleft lip and palate and could not close its little mouth. I decided right there and then that if there was any way to save this animal I was going to give it my best shot.
I took the puppy to the vet and was told nothing could be done unless we were willing to spend about a thousand dollars to try and correct the defect. He told us that the puppy would die mainly because it could not suckle. After returning home, Judy and I decided that we could not afford to spend that kind of money without getting some type of assurance from the vet that the puppy had a chance to live. However, that did not stop me from purchasing a syringe and feeding the puppy by hand. Which I did every day and night, every two hours, for more than ten days. The little puppy survived and learned to eat on his own as long as it was soft canned food.
The fifth week I placed an ad in the newspaper, and within a week we had people interested in all of the pups, except the one with the deformity. Late one afternoon I went to the store to pick up a few groceries. Upon returning I happened to see the old retired schoolteacher, who lived across the street from us, waving at me. She had read in the paper that we had puppies and was wondering if she might get one from us for her grandson and his family. I told her all the puppies had found homes, but I would keep my eyes open for anyone else who might have an available cocker spaniel. I also mentioned that if someone should change their mind, I would let her know. Within days, all but one of the puppies had been picked up by their new families. This left me with one brown and tan cocker as well as the smaller puppy with the cleft lip and palate.
Two days passed without me hearing anything from the gentleman who had been promised the tan and brown pup. I telephoned the schoolteacher and told her I had one puppy left and that she was welcome to come and look at it. She advised me that she was going to pick up her grandson and would come over at about eight o'clock that evening.
That night at around seven-thirty, Judy and I were eating supper when we heard a knock on the front door. When I opened the door, the man who had wanted the tan and brown pup was standing there. We walked inside, took care of the adoption details and I handed him the puppy. Judy and I did not know what we would do or say when the teacher showed up with her grandson. At exactly eight o'clock the doorbell rang. I opened the door, and there was the schoolteacher with her grandson standing behind her. I explained to her the man had come for the puppy after all, and there were no puppies left. "I'm sorry, Jeffery. They found homes for all the puppies," she told her grandson.
Just at that moment, the small puppy left in the bedroom began to yelp.
"My puppy! My puppy!" yelled the little boy as he ran out from behind his grandmother.
I just about fell over when I saw that the small child also had a cleft lip and palate. The boy ran past me as fast as he could, down the hallway to where the puppy was still yelping. When the three of us made it to the bedroom, the small boy was holding the puppy in his arms. He looked up at his grandmother and said, "Look, Grandma. They found homes for all the puppies except the pretty one, and he looks just like me.”
The schoolteacher turned to us, "Is this puppy available?"
“Yes,” I answered. “That puppy is available.”
The little boy, who was now hugging the puppy, chimed in, "My grandma told me these kind of puppies are real expensive and that I have to take real good care of it."
The lady opened her purse, but I reached over and pushed her hand back down into her purse so that she would not pull her wallet out. "How much do you think this puppy is worth?" I asked the boy. "About a dollar?" "No. This puppy is very, very expensive," he replied.
"More than a dollar?" I asked.
"I'm afraid so," said his grandmother.
The boy stood there pressing the small puppy against his cheek. "We could not possibly take less than two dollars for this puppy," Judy said, squeezing my hand. "Like you said, it's the pretty one."
The schoolteacher took out two dollars and handed it to the young boy.
"It's your dog now, Jeffery. You pay the man."
Still holding the puppy tightly, the boy proudly handed me the money. Any worries I’d had about the puppy’s future were gone.
The image of the little boy and his matching pup stays with me still. I think it must be a wonderful feeling for any young person to look at themselves in the mirror and see nothing, except "the pretty one."
Roger Dean Kiser is the award-winning author of several books filled with stories of love, hope and courage. Thank you for sharing this with us Roger!
After six hours the puppies started to appear. The first-born was black and white. The second and third puppies were tan and brown in color. The fourth and fifth were also spotted black and white. "One, two, three, four, five," I counted to myself as I walked down the hallway to wake my wife, Judy, and tell her that everything was fine.
As we walked back down the hallway and into the spare bedroom, I noticed a sixth puppy had been born and was now laying all by itself over to the side of the cage. I picked up the small puppy and laid it on top of the large pile of puppies, who were whining and trying to nurse on the mother. Precious immediately pushed the small puppy away from rest of the group. She refused to recognize it as a member of her family.
"Something's wrong," said Judy.
I reached over and picked up the puppy. My heart sank inside my chest when I saw the little puppy had a cleft lip and palate and could not close its little mouth. I decided right there and then that if there was any way to save this animal I was going to give it my best shot.
I took the puppy to the vet and was told nothing could be done unless we were willing to spend about a thousand dollars to try and correct the defect. He told us that the puppy would die mainly because it could not suckle. After returning home, Judy and I decided that we could not afford to spend that kind of money without getting some type of assurance from the vet that the puppy had a chance to live. However, that did not stop me from purchasing a syringe and feeding the puppy by hand. Which I did every day and night, every two hours, for more than ten days. The little puppy survived and learned to eat on his own as long as it was soft canned food.
The fifth week I placed an ad in the newspaper, and within a week we had people interested in all of the pups, except the one with the deformity. Late one afternoon I went to the store to pick up a few groceries. Upon returning I happened to see the old retired schoolteacher, who lived across the street from us, waving at me. She had read in the paper that we had puppies and was wondering if she might get one from us for her grandson and his family. I told her all the puppies had found homes, but I would keep my eyes open for anyone else who might have an available cocker spaniel. I also mentioned that if someone should change their mind, I would let her know. Within days, all but one of the puppies had been picked up by their new families. This left me with one brown and tan cocker as well as the smaller puppy with the cleft lip and palate.
Two days passed without me hearing anything from the gentleman who had been promised the tan and brown pup. I telephoned the schoolteacher and told her I had one puppy left and that she was welcome to come and look at it. She advised me that she was going to pick up her grandson and would come over at about eight o'clock that evening.
That night at around seven-thirty, Judy and I were eating supper when we heard a knock on the front door. When I opened the door, the man who had wanted the tan and brown pup was standing there. We walked inside, took care of the adoption details and I handed him the puppy. Judy and I did not know what we would do or say when the teacher showed up with her grandson. At exactly eight o'clock the doorbell rang. I opened the door, and there was the schoolteacher with her grandson standing behind her. I explained to her the man had come for the puppy after all, and there were no puppies left. "I'm sorry, Jeffery. They found homes for all the puppies," she told her grandson.
Just at that moment, the small puppy left in the bedroom began to yelp.
"My puppy! My puppy!" yelled the little boy as he ran out from behind his grandmother.
I just about fell over when I saw that the small child also had a cleft lip and palate. The boy ran past me as fast as he could, down the hallway to where the puppy was still yelping. When the three of us made it to the bedroom, the small boy was holding the puppy in his arms. He looked up at his grandmother and said, "Look, Grandma. They found homes for all the puppies except the pretty one, and he looks just like me.”
The schoolteacher turned to us, "Is this puppy available?"
“Yes,” I answered. “That puppy is available.”
The little boy, who was now hugging the puppy, chimed in, "My grandma told me these kind of puppies are real expensive and that I have to take real good care of it."
The lady opened her purse, but I reached over and pushed her hand back down into her purse so that she would not pull her wallet out. "How much do you think this puppy is worth?" I asked the boy. "About a dollar?" "No. This puppy is very, very expensive," he replied.
"More than a dollar?" I asked.
"I'm afraid so," said his grandmother.
The boy stood there pressing the small puppy against his cheek. "We could not possibly take less than two dollars for this puppy," Judy said, squeezing my hand. "Like you said, it's the pretty one."
The schoolteacher took out two dollars and handed it to the young boy.
"It's your dog now, Jeffery. You pay the man."
Still holding the puppy tightly, the boy proudly handed me the money. Any worries I’d had about the puppy’s future were gone.
The image of the little boy and his matching pup stays with me still. I think it must be a wonderful feeling for any young person to look at themselves in the mirror and see nothing, except "the pretty one."
Roger Dean Kiser is the award-winning author of several books filled with stories of love, hope and courage. Thank you for sharing this with us Roger!
Dragons and Princesses
"Perhaps all the
dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act,
just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us
is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love." - Rainer Maria Rilke
I was in Tokyo last spring, walking beneath neon signs and cherry blossoms with my dear friend Kirsten. Right about the time the sun was setting, we heard the sound of a jazz band coming from an alley. Turns out it was a group of four very hip Japanese college students playing their hearts out for anyone who would listen.
But not everyone was enjoying the music. In the middle of the second song, an older homeless man broke through the crowd and started yelling at the band. The musicians did their best to ignore him but the apparently intoxicated man would not go away. It seemed he was angry about the loud noise.
There were probably two dozen of us watching this unfold - none of us knowing what we could or should do. I remember feeling very helpless, because first, I don't speak much Japanese, and second, the homeless man was starting to get more and more violent. At one point, he picked up a stick and started banging on the drum set.
This was more than the young drummer could take and he finally stopped playing, stood up and pushed the old man to the ground.
It was then that a young Japanese man made his way through the crowd very quietly. He knelt down next to the old man, took hold of his hand and asked him if he was alright. I couldn't understand what was being said, but I'll never forget the way this young man helped bring the fallen man to his feet. And I'll never forget the way he carefully placed his arm around the old man's shoulders and quietly walked him away.
After reading the above quote by Rainer Maria Rilke, I can't help but wonder. Maybe this old man was a prince in disguise. And maybe he was waiting to see someone act, just once, with beauty and courage.
Ron Atchison is the creator and self-proclaimed 'Mayor' of Inspiration Peak.
I was in Tokyo last spring, walking beneath neon signs and cherry blossoms with my dear friend Kirsten. Right about the time the sun was setting, we heard the sound of a jazz band coming from an alley. Turns out it was a group of four very hip Japanese college students playing their hearts out for anyone who would listen.
But not everyone was enjoying the music. In the middle of the second song, an older homeless man broke through the crowd and started yelling at the band. The musicians did their best to ignore him but the apparently intoxicated man would not go away. It seemed he was angry about the loud noise.
There were probably two dozen of us watching this unfold - none of us knowing what we could or should do. I remember feeling very helpless, because first, I don't speak much Japanese, and second, the homeless man was starting to get more and more violent. At one point, he picked up a stick and started banging on the drum set.
This was more than the young drummer could take and he finally stopped playing, stood up and pushed the old man to the ground.
It was then that a young Japanese man made his way through the crowd very quietly. He knelt down next to the old man, took hold of his hand and asked him if he was alright. I couldn't understand what was being said, but I'll never forget the way this young man helped bring the fallen man to his feet. And I'll never forget the way he carefully placed his arm around the old man's shoulders and quietly walked him away.
After reading the above quote by Rainer Maria Rilke, I can't help but wonder. Maybe this old man was a prince in disguise. And maybe he was waiting to see someone act, just once, with beauty and courage.
Ron Atchison is the creator and self-proclaimed 'Mayor' of Inspiration Peak.
Always Aim Higher
Always aim higher than you believe you can
reach. So often, you'll discover that when your talents are set free by
your imagination, you can achieve any goal.
If people offer their help or wisdom as you go through life, accept it gratefully. You can learn much from those who have gone before you. But never be afraid or hesitant to step off the accepted path and head off in your own direction if your heart tells you that it's the right way for you.
Always believe that you will ultimately succeed at whatever you do, and never forget the value of persistence, discipline, and determination.
You are meant to be whatever you dream of becoming.
If people offer their help or wisdom as you go through life, accept it gratefully. You can learn much from those who have gone before you. But never be afraid or hesitant to step off the accepted path and head off in your own direction if your heart tells you that it's the right way for you.
Always believe that you will ultimately succeed at whatever you do, and never forget the value of persistence, discipline, and determination.
You are meant to be whatever you dream of becoming.
Nails In The Fence
There once was a little boy who had a bad
temper. His father gave him a bag of nails and told him that every time
he lost his temper, he must hammer a nail into the back of the fence.
The first day the boy had driven 37 nails into the fence. Over the next few weeks, as he learned to control his anger, the number of nails hammered daily gradually dwindled down. He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails into the fence.
Finally the day came when the boy didn't lose his temper at all. He told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his temper. The days passed and the young boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were gone.
The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. He said, "You have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one. You can put a knife in a man and draw it out. It won't matter how many times you say I'm sorry, the wound is still there."
The little boy then understood how powerful his words were. He looked up at his father and said "I hope you can forgive me father for the holes I put in you."
"Of course I can," said the father.
The first day the boy had driven 37 nails into the fence. Over the next few weeks, as he learned to control his anger, the number of nails hammered daily gradually dwindled down. He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails into the fence.
Finally the day came when the boy didn't lose his temper at all. He told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his temper. The days passed and the young boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were gone.
The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. He said, "You have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one. You can put a knife in a man and draw it out. It won't matter how many times you say I'm sorry, the wound is still there."
The little boy then understood how powerful his words were. He looked up at his father and said "I hope you can forgive me father for the holes I put in you."
"Of course I can," said the father.
Need A Map?
It was my first day at school. I felt nervous and scared.
I went to all my classes with no friends. It felt like no one cared.
I listened anxiously to all the lessons and waited for lunchbreak at one. Then finally the bell rang. It was time to talk and have fun.
In the lunchline I met a new friend who wore a hijab on her head, and though I am Jewish, we got along fine, and I was so relieved when she said, "Sit with us, at our table." She pointed to the one next to the door.
So I agreed, and took my tray and was about to walk with her across the floor, when suddenly I felt a nudge. "Hey, I saw you on the bus," said a tall girl in a long skirt. "I see your Jewish star necklace. You should sit with us."
At that moment I looked around, and that's when I noticed, to my surprise, The nations of the world, isolating themselves. That's what I saw through my own eyes.
The Spanish only sat with Spanish, the Hindus only with Hindus,
The Russians always with the Russians, and never the Arabs with the Jews.
I saw the reason why war gets started. Everyone sticks to their own kind. The lunchroom was a map of the world. Why was everyone so blind?
And so I turned down this girl, and went with the first, and there was no enmity. I built a bridge between two worlds when I sat with those different from me.
I went to all my classes with no friends. It felt like no one cared.
I listened anxiously to all the lessons and waited for lunchbreak at one. Then finally the bell rang. It was time to talk and have fun.
In the lunchline I met a new friend who wore a hijab on her head, and though I am Jewish, we got along fine, and I was so relieved when she said, "Sit with us, at our table." She pointed to the one next to the door.
So I agreed, and took my tray and was about to walk with her across the floor, when suddenly I felt a nudge. "Hey, I saw you on the bus," said a tall girl in a long skirt. "I see your Jewish star necklace. You should sit with us."
At that moment I looked around, and that's when I noticed, to my surprise, The nations of the world, isolating themselves. That's what I saw through my own eyes.
The Spanish only sat with Spanish, the Hindus only with Hindus,
The Russians always with the Russians, and never the Arabs with the Jews.
I saw the reason why war gets started. Everyone sticks to their own kind. The lunchroom was a map of the world. Why was everyone so blind?
And so I turned down this girl, and went with the first, and there was no enmity. I built a bridge between two worlds when I sat with those different from me.
What Do Angels Look Like?
Like the little old lady who returned your wallet yesterday.
Like the taxi driver who told you that
your eyes light up the world, when you smile.
Like the small child who showed you
the wonder in simple things.
Like the poor man who offered
to share his lunch with you.
Like the rich man who showed you it
really is all possible, if only you believe.
Like the stranger who just happened to come along,
when you had lost your way.
Like the friend who touched your heart,
when you didn't think you had one left to touch.
Angels come in all sizes and shapes,
All ages and skin types.
Some with freckles, some with dimples,
some with wrinkles, some without.
They come disguised as friends, enemies,
teachers, students, lovers and fools.
They don't take life too seriously,
They travel light.
They leave no forwarding address,
They ask for nothing in return.
They wear sneakers with gossamer wings,
They get a deal on dry cleaning.
They are hard to find when your eyes are closed, But
They are everywhere you look when you choose to see.
The True Story Of A Grateful Whale
If you read the front page story of the San
Francisco Chronicle on Thursday, Dec 15, 2005, you would have read about
a female humpback whale who had become entangled in a spider web of
crab traps and lines.
The
fifty-foot whale was weighted down by hundreds of pounds of traps that
caused her to struggle to stay afloat. She also had hundreds of yards of
line rope wrapped around her her tail, her torso and a line tugging in
her mouth.
A fisherman spotted her just east of the Farallone Islands (outside the Golden Gate) and radioed an environmental group for help. Within a few hours, the rescue team arrived and determined that she was so bad off, the only way to save her was to dive in and untangle her - a very dangerous proposition. One slap of the tail could kill a rescuer.
They worked for hours with curved knives and eventually freed her. When she was free, the divers say she swam in what seemed like joyous circles. She then came back to each and every diver, one at a time, and nudged them, pushed them gently around - she thanked them. Some said it was the most incredibly beautiful experience of their lives.
The guy who cut the rope out of her mouth says her eye was following him the whole time, and he will never be the same.
May you, and all those you love, be so blessed and fortunate in the New Year -to be surrounded by people who will help you get untangled from the things that are binding you.
And, may you always know the joy of giving and receiving gratitude.
The
fifty-foot whale was weighted down by hundreds of pounds of traps that
caused her to struggle to stay afloat. She also had hundreds of yards of
line rope wrapped around her her tail, her torso and a line tugging in
her mouth. A fisherman spotted her just east of the Farallone Islands (outside the Golden Gate) and radioed an environmental group for help. Within a few hours, the rescue team arrived and determined that she was so bad off, the only way to save her was to dive in and untangle her - a very dangerous proposition. One slap of the tail could kill a rescuer.
They worked for hours with curved knives and eventually freed her. When she was free, the divers say she swam in what seemed like joyous circles. She then came back to each and every diver, one at a time, and nudged them, pushed them gently around - she thanked them. Some said it was the most incredibly beautiful experience of their lives.
The guy who cut the rope out of her mouth says her eye was following him the whole time, and he will never be the same.
May you, and all those you love, be so blessed and fortunate in the New Year -to be surrounded by people who will help you get untangled from the things that are binding you.
And, may you always know the joy of giving and receiving gratitude.
The Precious Gift
Once upon a time, when God had finished
making the world, he wanted to leave behind a piece of His own divinity,
a spark of His essence, a promise to man of what he could become, with
effort. He looked for a place to hide this precious gift because, He
explained, what man could find too easily would never be valued by him.
"Then you must hide this gift on the highest mountain peak on earth," said one of his counselors.
God shook His head, "No, for man is an adventuresome creature and he will soon enough learn to climb the highest mountain peaks."
"Hide it then, O Great One, in the depths of the earth."
"I think not," said God. "for man will one day discover that he can dig into the deepest parts of the earth."
"In the middle of the ocean then, Master?"
God shook His head. "I've given man a brain, you see, and one day he'll learn to build ships and cross the mightiest oceans."
"Where then, Master?" cried His counselors.
God smiled, "I'll hide it where every man and woman will be able to find it if they look sincerely and deeply enough. I'll hide it in their heart."
"Then you must hide this gift on the highest mountain peak on earth," said one of his counselors.
God shook His head, "No, for man is an adventuresome creature and he will soon enough learn to climb the highest mountain peaks."
"Hide it then, O Great One, in the depths of the earth."
"I think not," said God. "for man will one day discover that he can dig into the deepest parts of the earth."
"In the middle of the ocean then, Master?"
God shook His head. "I've given man a brain, you see, and one day he'll learn to build ships and cross the mightiest oceans."
"Where then, Master?" cried His counselors.
God smiled, "I'll hide it where every man and woman will be able to find it if they look sincerely and deeply enough. I'll hide it in their heart."
The Greatest Little Boy
The greatest little boy, in a baseball hat,
stands in the field, with his ball and bat.
Says "I am the greatest player of them all!"
He puts his bat on his shoulder,
and he tosses up his ball.
And the ball goes up, and the ball comes down,
and he swings his bat all the way around.
The world's so still you can hear the sound,
as the baseball falls, to the ground.
Now the little boy doesn't say a word...
Picks up his ball. He is undeterred.
Says, "I am the greatest there has ever been!"
And he grits his teeth. And he tries it again.
And the ball goes up, and the ball comes down,
and he swings his bat all the way around.
And the world's so still you can hear the sound,
as the baseball falls, to the ground.
He makes no excuses; he shows no fear
He just closes his eyes, and listens to the cheers.
Now the little boy, he adjusts his hat.
Picks up his ball. Stares at his bat.
Says "I am the greatest, and the game is on the line!"
So he gives his all, one last time.
And the ball goes up, like the moon so bright,
swings his bat, with all his might.
And the world's as still as still can be,
and the baseball falls; and that's strike 3.
Now it's supper time, and his momma calls.
Little boy starts home, with his bat and ball.
Says, "I am the greatest, that is a fact...
but even I didn't know, I could pitch like that!"
stands in the field, with his ball and bat.
Says "I am the greatest player of them all!"
He puts his bat on his shoulder,
and he tosses up his ball.
And the ball goes up, and the ball comes down,
and he swings his bat all the way around.
The world's so still you can hear the sound,
as the baseball falls, to the ground.
Now the little boy doesn't say a word...
Picks up his ball. He is undeterred.
Says, "I am the greatest there has ever been!"
And he grits his teeth. And he tries it again.
And the ball goes up, and the ball comes down,
and he swings his bat all the way around.
And the world's so still you can hear the sound,
as the baseball falls, to the ground.
He makes no excuses; he shows no fear
He just closes his eyes, and listens to the cheers.
Now the little boy, he adjusts his hat.
Picks up his ball. Stares at his bat.
Says "I am the greatest, and the game is on the line!"
So he gives his all, one last time.
And the ball goes up, like the moon so bright,
swings his bat, with all his might.
And the world's as still as still can be,
and the baseball falls; and that's strike 3.
Now it's supper time, and his momma calls.
Little boy starts home, with his bat and ball.
Says, "I am the greatest, that is a fact...
but even I didn't know, I could pitch like that!"
Stop Waiting
We convince ourselves that life will be better after we get married,
have a baby, then another. Then we are frustrated that the kids aren't
old enough and we'll be more content when they are. After that we're
frustrated that we have teenagers to deal with. We will certainly be
happy when they are out of that stage. We tell ourselves that our life
will be complete when our spouse gets his or her act together, when we
get a nicer car, are able to go on a nice vacation, when we retire.
The truth is, there's no better time to be happy than right now.
Your life will always be filled with challenges. It's best to admit this to yourself and decide to be happy anyway. One of my favorite quotes comes from Alfred D Souza. He said, "For a long time it had seemed to me that life was about to begin - real life. But there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid. Then life would begin. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life."
This perspective has helped me to see that there is no way to happiness. Happiness is the way. So, treasure every moment that you have.
Stop waiting until you finish school, until you go back to school, until you lose ten pounds, until you gain ten pounds, until you have kids, until your kids leave the house, until you start work, until you retire, until you get married, until you get divorced, until Friday night, until Sunday morning, until you get a new car or home, until your car or home is paid off, until spring, until summer, until fall, until winter, until you are off welfare, until the first or fifteenth, until your song comes on, until you've had a drink, until you've sobered up, until you die, until you are born again to decide that there is no better time than right now to be happy.
The truth is, there's no better time to be happy than right now.
Your life will always be filled with challenges. It's best to admit this to yourself and decide to be happy anyway. One of my favorite quotes comes from Alfred D Souza. He said, "For a long time it had seemed to me that life was about to begin - real life. But there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid. Then life would begin. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life."
This perspective has helped me to see that there is no way to happiness. Happiness is the way. So, treasure every moment that you have.
Stop waiting until you finish school, until you go back to school, until you lose ten pounds, until you gain ten pounds, until you have kids, until your kids leave the house, until you start work, until you retire, until you get married, until you get divorced, until Friday night, until Sunday morning, until you get a new car or home, until your car or home is paid off, until spring, until summer, until fall, until winter, until you are off welfare, until the first or fifteenth, until your song comes on, until you've had a drink, until you've sobered up, until you die, until you are born again to decide that there is no better time than right now to be happy.
The Daffodil Principle
Several times my daughter had telephoned to say, "Mother, you must come
see the daffodils before they are over." I wanted to go, but it was a
two-hour drive from Laguna to Lake Arrowhead.
"I will come next Tuesday, " I promised, a little reluctantly, on her third call.
Next
Tuesday dawned cold and rainy. Still, I had promised, and so I drove
there. When I finally walked into Carolyn's house and hugged and greeted
my grandchildren, I said, "Forget the daffodils, Carolyn! The road is
invisible in the clouds and fog, and there is nothing in the world
except you and these children that I want to see bad enough to drive
another inch!"
My daughter smiled calmly and said, "We drive in this all the time, Mother."
"Well, you won't get me back on the road until it clears, and then I'm heading for home!" I assured her.
"I was hoping you'd take me over to the garage to pick up my car."
"How far will we have to drive?"
"Just a few blocks," Carolyn said. "I'll drive. I'm used to this."
After several minutes, I had to ask, "Where are we going? This isn't the way to the garage!"
"We're going to my garage the long way," Carolyn smiled, "by way of the daffodils."
"Carolyn," I said sternly, "please turn around."
"It's all right, Mother, I promise. You will never forgive yourself if you miss this experience."
After about twenty minutes, we turned onto a small gravel road and I saw a small church. On the far side of the church, I saw a hand-lettered sign that said, "Daffodil Garden."
We got out of the car and each took a child's hand, and I followed Carolyn down the path. Then, we turned a corner of the path, and I looked up and gasped. Before me lay the most glorious sight. It looked as though someone had taken a great vat of gold and poured it down over the mountain peak and slopes. The flowers were planted in majestic, swirling patterns-great ribbons and swaths of deep orange, white, lemon yellow, salmon pink, saffron, and butter yellow. Each different-colored variety was planted as a group so that it swirled and flowed like its own river with its own unique hue. There were five acres of flowers.
"But who has done this?" I asked Carolyn.
"It's just one woman," Carolyn answered. "She lives on the property. That's her home."
Carolyn pointed to a well kept A-frame house that looked small and modest in the midst of all that glory. We walked up to the house. On the patio, we saw a poster. "Answers to the Questions I Know You Are Asking" was the headline.
The first answer was a simple one."50,000 bulbs," it read. The second answer was, "One at a time, by one woman. Two hands, two feet, and very little brain." The third answer was, "Began in 1958."
There it was, The Daffodil Principle. For me, that moment was a life-changing experience. I thought of this woman whom I had never met, who, more than forty years before, had begun ~ one bulb at a time ~ to bring her vision of beauty and joy to an obscure mountain top. Still, just planting one bulb at a time, year after year, had changed the world. This unknown woman had forever changed the world in which she lived. She had created something of ineffable (indescribable) magnificence, beauty, and inspiration.
The principle her daffodil garden taught is one of the greatest principles of celebration. That is, learning to move toward our goals and desires one step at a time ~ often just one baby-step at a time ~ and learning to love the doing, learning to use the accumulation of time. When we multiply tiny pieces of time with small increments of daily effort, we too will find we can accomplish magnificent things. We can change the world.
"It makes me sad in a way," I admitted to Carolyn. "What might I have accomplished if I had thought of a wonderful goal thirty-five or forty years ago and had worked away at it 'one bulb at a time' through all those years. Just think what I might have been able to achieve!"
My daughter summed up the message of the day in her usual direct way. "Start tomorrow," she said.
"I will come next Tuesday, " I promised, a little reluctantly, on her third call.
Next
Tuesday dawned cold and rainy. Still, I had promised, and so I drove
there. When I finally walked into Carolyn's house and hugged and greeted
my grandchildren, I said, "Forget the daffodils, Carolyn! The road is
invisible in the clouds and fog, and there is nothing in the world
except you and these children that I want to see bad enough to drive
another inch!"My daughter smiled calmly and said, "We drive in this all the time, Mother."
"Well, you won't get me back on the road until it clears, and then I'm heading for home!" I assured her.
"I was hoping you'd take me over to the garage to pick up my car."
"How far will we have to drive?"
"Just a few blocks," Carolyn said. "I'll drive. I'm used to this."
After several minutes, I had to ask, "Where are we going? This isn't the way to the garage!"
"We're going to my garage the long way," Carolyn smiled, "by way of the daffodils."
"Carolyn," I said sternly, "please turn around."
"It's all right, Mother, I promise. You will never forgive yourself if you miss this experience."
After about twenty minutes, we turned onto a small gravel road and I saw a small church. On the far side of the church, I saw a hand-lettered sign that said, "Daffodil Garden."
We got out of the car and each took a child's hand, and I followed Carolyn down the path. Then, we turned a corner of the path, and I looked up and gasped. Before me lay the most glorious sight. It looked as though someone had taken a great vat of gold and poured it down over the mountain peak and slopes. The flowers were planted in majestic, swirling patterns-great ribbons and swaths of deep orange, white, lemon yellow, salmon pink, saffron, and butter yellow. Each different-colored variety was planted as a group so that it swirled and flowed like its own river with its own unique hue. There were five acres of flowers.
"But who has done this?" I asked Carolyn.
"It's just one woman," Carolyn answered. "She lives on the property. That's her home."
Carolyn pointed to a well kept A-frame house that looked small and modest in the midst of all that glory. We walked up to the house. On the patio, we saw a poster. "Answers to the Questions I Know You Are Asking" was the headline.
The first answer was a simple one."50,000 bulbs," it read. The second answer was, "One at a time, by one woman. Two hands, two feet, and very little brain." The third answer was, "Began in 1958."
There it was, The Daffodil Principle. For me, that moment was a life-changing experience. I thought of this woman whom I had never met, who, more than forty years before, had begun ~ one bulb at a time ~ to bring her vision of beauty and joy to an obscure mountain top. Still, just planting one bulb at a time, year after year, had changed the world. This unknown woman had forever changed the world in which she lived. She had created something of ineffable (indescribable) magnificence, beauty, and inspiration.
The principle her daffodil garden taught is one of the greatest principles of celebration. That is, learning to move toward our goals and desires one step at a time ~ often just one baby-step at a time ~ and learning to love the doing, learning to use the accumulation of time. When we multiply tiny pieces of time with small increments of daily effort, we too will find we can accomplish magnificent things. We can change the world.
"It makes me sad in a way," I admitted to Carolyn. "What might I have accomplished if I had thought of a wonderful goal thirty-five or forty years ago and had worked away at it 'one bulb at a time' through all those years. Just think what I might have been able to achieve!"
My daughter summed up the message of the day in her usual direct way. "Start tomorrow," she said.
The Given Light
Once upon a time a man had heard, that in a
foreign place, far away, there was a holy flame burning. So he got up
and left his home to find the holy flame and bring some of its light
back home to his house. He thought: 'When I have this light, then I
will have happiness and life and all the people I love will have it
too.'
He travelled far, far away and finally found the holy flame, with which he lit his light. On his way back he had only one worry: 'That his light could go out.'
On his way home he met someone who was freezing and didn't have any fire and who begged him to give him some of his fire. The man with the light hesitated for a moment. Wasn't his light too precious, too holy to be given away for something ordinary like that? Despite these doubts, he decided to give some of his light to the one who was freezing in the darkness.
The man continued his journey home and when he had almost reached his house a terrible thunderstorm started. He tried to protect his light from the rain and the storm, but at the end his light went out.
To return the long way back to the place where the holy flame was burning was impossible, he wouldn't have had enough strength to go back this far - but he was strong enough to return to the human being whom he had helped on his way home.
.........and with his light he could light his own again.
He travelled far, far away and finally found the holy flame, with which he lit his light. On his way back he had only one worry: 'That his light could go out.'
On his way home he met someone who was freezing and didn't have any fire and who begged him to give him some of his fire. The man with the light hesitated for a moment. Wasn't his light too precious, too holy to be given away for something ordinary like that? Despite these doubts, he decided to give some of his light to the one who was freezing in the darkness.
The man continued his journey home and when he had almost reached his house a terrible thunderstorm started. He tried to protect his light from the rain and the storm, but at the end his light went out.
To return the long way back to the place where the holy flame was burning was impossible, he wouldn't have had enough strength to go back this far - but he was strong enough to return to the human being whom he had helped on his way home.
.........and with his light he could light his own again.
Red Marbles
During the waning years of the Great Depression in a small southeastern
Kansas community, I used to stop by Mr.Miller's roadside stand for farm
fresh produce as the season made it available. Food and money were still
extremely scarce and bartering was used extensively.
One
particular day, Mr. Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. I
noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean,
hungrily apprising a basket of freshly picked green peas. I paid for my
potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a
pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I
couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller and the
ragged boy next to me.
"Hello Barry, how are you today?"
"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas...sure look good."
"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"
"Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time."
"Good. Anything I can help you with?"
"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."
"Would you like to take some home?"
"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."
"Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?"
"All I got's my prize marble here."
"Is that right? Let me see it."
"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."
"I can see that. Hmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?"
"Not 'zackley .....but, almost."
"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble."
"Sure will. Thanks, Mr. Miller."
Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile she said, "There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes or whatever. When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, perhaps."
I left the stand, smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys and their bartering. Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died.
They were having his viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon our arrival at the mortuary, we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could. Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts - very professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing smiling and composed, by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary, awkwardly, wiping his eyes.
Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles. Eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket. "Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim 'traded' them. Now, at last when Jim could not change his mind about color or size - they came to pay their debt. "
"We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world," she confided, "but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho." With loving gentleness, she lifted her husband's lifeless fingers. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined, red marbles!
One
particular day, Mr. Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. I
noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean,
hungrily apprising a basket of freshly picked green peas. I paid for my
potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a
pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I
couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller and the
ragged boy next to me."Hello Barry, how are you today?"
"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas...sure look good."
"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"
"Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time."
"Good. Anything I can help you with?"
"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."
"Would you like to take some home?"
"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."
"Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?"
"All I got's my prize marble here."
"Is that right? Let me see it."
"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."
"I can see that. Hmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?"
"Not 'zackley .....but, almost."
"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble."
"Sure will. Thanks, Mr. Miller."
Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile she said, "There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes or whatever. When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, perhaps."
I left the stand, smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys and their bartering. Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died.
They were having his viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon our arrival at the mortuary, we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could. Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts - very professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing smiling and composed, by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary, awkwardly, wiping his eyes.
Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles. Eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket. "Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim 'traded' them. Now, at last when Jim could not change his mind about color or size - they came to pay their debt. "
"We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world," she confided, "but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho." With loving gentleness, she lifted her husband's lifeless fingers. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined, red marbles!
The Best Time Of My Life
It was June 15, and in two days I would be
turning thirty. I was insecure about entering a new decade of my life
and feared that my best years were now behind me.
My daily routine included going to the gym for a workout before going to work. Every morning I would see my friend Nicholas at the gym. He was seventy-nine years old and in terrific shape. As I greeted Nicholas on this particular day, he noticed I wasn't full of my usual vitality and asked if there was anything wrong. I told him I was feeling anxious about turning thirty. I wondered how I would look back on my life once I reached Nicholas's age, so I asked him, "What was the best time of your life?"
Without hesitation, Nicholas replied, "Well, Joe, this is my philosophical answer to your philosophical question:
"When I was a child in Austria and everything was taken care of for me and I was nurtured by my parents, that was the best time of my life.
"When I was going to school and learning the things I know today, that was the best time of my life.
"When I got my first job and had responsibilities and got paid for my efforts, that was the best time of my life.
"When I met my wife and fell in love, that was the best time of my life.
"The Second World War came, and my wife and I had to flee Austria to save our lives. When we were together and safe on a ship bound for North America, that was the best time of my life.
"When we came to Canada and started a family, that was the best time of my life.
"When I was a young father, watching my children grow up, that was the best time of my life.
"And now, Joe, I am seventy-nine years old. I have my health, I feel good and I am in love with my wife just as I was when we first met. This is the best time of my life."
My daily routine included going to the gym for a workout before going to work. Every morning I would see my friend Nicholas at the gym. He was seventy-nine years old and in terrific shape. As I greeted Nicholas on this particular day, he noticed I wasn't full of my usual vitality and asked if there was anything wrong. I told him I was feeling anxious about turning thirty. I wondered how I would look back on my life once I reached Nicholas's age, so I asked him, "What was the best time of your life?"
Without hesitation, Nicholas replied, "Well, Joe, this is my philosophical answer to your philosophical question:
"When I was a child in Austria and everything was taken care of for me and I was nurtured by my parents, that was the best time of my life.
"When I was going to school and learning the things I know today, that was the best time of my life.
"When I got my first job and had responsibilities and got paid for my efforts, that was the best time of my life.
"When I met my wife and fell in love, that was the best time of my life.
"The Second World War came, and my wife and I had to flee Austria to save our lives. When we were together and safe on a ship bound for North America, that was the best time of my life.
"When we came to Canada and started a family, that was the best time of my life.
"When I was a young father, watching my children grow up, that was the best time of my life.
"And now, Joe, I am seventy-nine years old. I have my health, I feel good and I am in love with my wife just as I was when we first met. This is the best time of my life."
God Lives Under The Bed
I envy Kevin. My brother Kevin thinks God lives under his bed. At least that's what I heard him say one night.
He was praying out loud in his dark bedroom, and I stopped to listen, "Are you there, God?" he said. "Where are you? Oh, I see. Under the bed..."
I giggled softly and tiptoed off to my own room. Kevin's unique perspectives are often a source of amusement. But that night something else lingered long after the humor. I realized for the first time the very different world Kevin lives in.
He was born 30 years ago, mentally disabled as a result of difficulties during labor. Apart from his size (he's 6-foot-2), there are few ways in which he is an adult.
He reasons and communicates with the capabilities of a 7-year-old, and he always will. He will probably always believe that God lives under his bed, that Santa Claus is the one who fills the space under our tree every Christmas and that airplanes stay up in the sky because angels carry them.
I remember wondering if Kevin realizes he is different. Is he ever dissatisfied with his monotonous life?
Up before dawn each day, off to work at a workshop for the disabled, home to walk our cocker spaniel, return to eat his favorite macaroni-and-cheese for dinner, and later to bed.
The only variation in the entire scheme is laundry, when he hovers excitedly over the washing machine like a mother with her newborn child.
He does not seem dissatisfied.
He lopes out to the bus every morning at 7:05, eager for a day of simple work.
He wrings his hands excitedly while the water boils on the stove before dinner, and he stays up late twice a week to gather our dirty laundry for his next day's laundry chores.
And Saturdays-oh, the bliss of Saturdays! That's the day my Dad takes Kevin to the airport to have a soft drink, watch the planes land, and speculate loudly on the destination of each passenger inside.
"That one's goin' to Chi-car-go!" Kevin shouts as he claps his hands.
His anticipation is so great he can hardly sleep on Friday nights.
And so goes his world of daily rituals and weekend field trips.
He doesn't know what it means to be discontent.
His life is simple.
He will never know the entanglements of wealth of power, and he does not care what brand of clothing he wears or what kind of food he eats. His needs have always been met, and he never worries that one day they may not be.
His hands are diligent. Kevin is never so happy as when he is working. When he unloads the dishwasher or vacuums the carpet, his heart is completely in it.
He does not shrink from a job when it is begun, and he does not leave a job until it is finished. But when his tasks are done, Kevin knows how to relax.
He is not obsessed with his work or the work of others. His heart is pure.
He still believes everyone tells the truth, promises must be kept, and when you are wrong, you apologize instead of argue.
Free from pride and unconcerned with appearances, Kevin is not afraid to cry when he is hurt, angry or sorry He is always transparent, always sincere. And he trusts God.
Not confined by intellectual reasoning, when he comes to Christ, he comes as a child. Kevin seems to know God - to really be friends with Him in a way that is difficult for an "educated" person to grasp. God seems like his closest companion.
In my moments of doubt and frustrations with my Christianity I envy the security Kevin has in his simple faith.
It is then that I am most willing to admit that he has some divine knowledge that rises above my mortal questions
It is then I realize that perhaps he is not the one with the handicap. I am. My obligations, my fear, my pride, my circumstances - they all become disabilities when I do not trust them to God's care.
Who knows if Kevin comprehends things I can never learn? After all, he has spent his whole life in that kind of innocence, praying after dark and soaking up the goodness and love of God.
And one day, when the mysteries of heaven are opened, and we are all amazed at how close God really is to our hearts, I'll realize that God heard the simple prayers of a boy who believed that God lived under his bed.
Kevin won't be surprised at all!
He was praying out loud in his dark bedroom, and I stopped to listen, "Are you there, God?" he said. "Where are you? Oh, I see. Under the bed..."
I giggled softly and tiptoed off to my own room. Kevin's unique perspectives are often a source of amusement. But that night something else lingered long after the humor. I realized for the first time the very different world Kevin lives in.
He was born 30 years ago, mentally disabled as a result of difficulties during labor. Apart from his size (he's 6-foot-2), there are few ways in which he is an adult.
He reasons and communicates with the capabilities of a 7-year-old, and he always will. He will probably always believe that God lives under his bed, that Santa Claus is the one who fills the space under our tree every Christmas and that airplanes stay up in the sky because angels carry them.
I remember wondering if Kevin realizes he is different. Is he ever dissatisfied with his monotonous life?
Up before dawn each day, off to work at a workshop for the disabled, home to walk our cocker spaniel, return to eat his favorite macaroni-and-cheese for dinner, and later to bed.
The only variation in the entire scheme is laundry, when he hovers excitedly over the washing machine like a mother with her newborn child.
He does not seem dissatisfied.
He lopes out to the bus every morning at 7:05, eager for a day of simple work.
He wrings his hands excitedly while the water boils on the stove before dinner, and he stays up late twice a week to gather our dirty laundry for his next day's laundry chores.
And Saturdays-oh, the bliss of Saturdays! That's the day my Dad takes Kevin to the airport to have a soft drink, watch the planes land, and speculate loudly on the destination of each passenger inside.
"That one's goin' to Chi-car-go!" Kevin shouts as he claps his hands.
His anticipation is so great he can hardly sleep on Friday nights.
And so goes his world of daily rituals and weekend field trips.
He doesn't know what it means to be discontent.
His life is simple.
He will never know the entanglements of wealth of power, and he does not care what brand of clothing he wears or what kind of food he eats. His needs have always been met, and he never worries that one day they may not be.
His hands are diligent. Kevin is never so happy as when he is working. When he unloads the dishwasher or vacuums the carpet, his heart is completely in it.
He does not shrink from a job when it is begun, and he does not leave a job until it is finished. But when his tasks are done, Kevin knows how to relax.
He is not obsessed with his work or the work of others. His heart is pure.
He still believes everyone tells the truth, promises must be kept, and when you are wrong, you apologize instead of argue.
Free from pride and unconcerned with appearances, Kevin is not afraid to cry when he is hurt, angry or sorry He is always transparent, always sincere. And he trusts God.
Not confined by intellectual reasoning, when he comes to Christ, he comes as a child. Kevin seems to know God - to really be friends with Him in a way that is difficult for an "educated" person to grasp. God seems like his closest companion.
In my moments of doubt and frustrations with my Christianity I envy the security Kevin has in his simple faith.
It is then that I am most willing to admit that he has some divine knowledge that rises above my mortal questions
It is then I realize that perhaps he is not the one with the handicap. I am. My obligations, my fear, my pride, my circumstances - they all become disabilities when I do not trust them to God's care.
Who knows if Kevin comprehends things I can never learn? After all, he has spent his whole life in that kind of innocence, praying after dark and soaking up the goodness and love of God.
And one day, when the mysteries of heaven are opened, and we are all amazed at how close God really is to our hearts, I'll realize that God heard the simple prayers of a boy who believed that God lived under his bed.
Kevin won't be surprised at all!
The Old Man and the Rose
During the mid 1950s when I was a kid, my dad
worked in a furniture shop at Spadina and Queen in downtown Toronto.
Sometimes, I got to go to the shop with him and I made a bit of pocket
change running to the restaurant and getting coffee for everybody. I
would pass the rest of the day away just hanging around the store, not
doing much of anything and not paying much attention to all the hustle
and bustle of people and things that were all around me.
One day, as my dad and I were driving to the shop, I looked out the passenger window of the car and I saw an old man standing at the street corner. For some reason, our eyes met and held for about twenty seconds as we went by the corner. There was nothing fearful about this man but it was a significant encounter for me. Up to that point in my life, I had given no thought to anyone I saw on the street, in stores or anywhere else. My life was my family and my friends on the block and that was it. I had no interest in anyone beyond that circle.
But I was intrigued by that old man. For the first time I had an empathy and an interest in what that person was all about. What kind of life had he lived? Where had he been in his time? How had he come to this corner just at the moment I was going by?
Over the years I had long forgotten about this old man, but he came to mind for me recently and I remembered those twenty seconds or so that I looked into the eyes of a stranger and wondered what he was all about.
It seems we are all so busy these days. There are so many details, so many calls to make and so many things to look after that we barely have time for sincere and genuine interest in others.
We are inundated by warnings from great thinkers in our society encouraging us to 'stop and smell the roses'. But I'm afraid it has taken me decades to really appreciate the wisdom of these words.
If I ever have the opportunity to speak to a young person today, I do my best to convey this message. But unfortunately, young people are too busy to heed good advice. Much like I was so many years ago. Youth indeed is so often wasted on the young.
If I had the chance, I would tell young people to stop what they are doing and look around. I would tell them to try as hard as they could to fully understand what is right in their line of sight, what is in the range of their hearing at the moment, what is in their immediate reach and grasp.
I would like so much to tell people, especially young people, that if you are thoughtless and indifferent to others on your road in life, then you are missing life itself. Do not be intrusive or tactless, for heaven’s sake, but take a moment and ask someone, how did you come here or how did you get into this business?
No matter what that person tells you, their answer will make you richer. You can grow emotionally, you can excel as a person and you can be wealthy by every measure if you just appreciate the gifts that people and life all around you are ready to give right at this moment just by their simple presence.
We should appreciate that great symphonies were written from only seven simple notes that God gave the entire universe. We should know that great works of art are measured by the emotions they evoke, not just how they look next to the plant stand.
We should never forget that heartache cannot be cured but can be eased by someone willing to give genuine sympathy. The true greatness of joy can only be known when it is shared with others.
Recently, I attended a trade show at the convention centre in downtown Toronto. During the lunch break I went to a book sale along the trendy Queen West area. I was thinking about returning to the show or carrying on my walk when I realized I was standing at the corner of Spadina and Queen. At that moment a car went by and I caught the eye of a young boy looking at me from the passenger window. We looked at each other for about twenty seconds before the car disappeared around the corner. I wondered if that boy was thinking about what sort of person I was.
And I realized that I was now an old man. Like the man I saw so many years ago.
I wondered if 50 years had just simply flashed by or whether that boy and I had just simply changed places in the span of 20 seconds.
Before I returned to the trade show, I stopped at a florist. I bought a rose and put it in the lapel of my jacket. For some reason, I felt it was the most important thing I would do for the rest of the day.
One day, as my dad and I were driving to the shop, I looked out the passenger window of the car and I saw an old man standing at the street corner. For some reason, our eyes met and held for about twenty seconds as we went by the corner. There was nothing fearful about this man but it was a significant encounter for me. Up to that point in my life, I had given no thought to anyone I saw on the street, in stores or anywhere else. My life was my family and my friends on the block and that was it. I had no interest in anyone beyond that circle.
But I was intrigued by that old man. For the first time I had an empathy and an interest in what that person was all about. What kind of life had he lived? Where had he been in his time? How had he come to this corner just at the moment I was going by?
Over the years I had long forgotten about this old man, but he came to mind for me recently and I remembered those twenty seconds or so that I looked into the eyes of a stranger and wondered what he was all about.
It seems we are all so busy these days. There are so many details, so many calls to make and so many things to look after that we barely have time for sincere and genuine interest in others.
We are inundated by warnings from great thinkers in our society encouraging us to 'stop and smell the roses'. But I'm afraid it has taken me decades to really appreciate the wisdom of these words.
If I ever have the opportunity to speak to a young person today, I do my best to convey this message. But unfortunately, young people are too busy to heed good advice. Much like I was so many years ago. Youth indeed is so often wasted on the young.
If I had the chance, I would tell young people to stop what they are doing and look around. I would tell them to try as hard as they could to fully understand what is right in their line of sight, what is in the range of their hearing at the moment, what is in their immediate reach and grasp.
I would like so much to tell people, especially young people, that if you are thoughtless and indifferent to others on your road in life, then you are missing life itself. Do not be intrusive or tactless, for heaven’s sake, but take a moment and ask someone, how did you come here or how did you get into this business?
No matter what that person tells you, their answer will make you richer. You can grow emotionally, you can excel as a person and you can be wealthy by every measure if you just appreciate the gifts that people and life all around you are ready to give right at this moment just by their simple presence.
We should appreciate that great symphonies were written from only seven simple notes that God gave the entire universe. We should know that great works of art are measured by the emotions they evoke, not just how they look next to the plant stand.
We should never forget that heartache cannot be cured but can be eased by someone willing to give genuine sympathy. The true greatness of joy can only be known when it is shared with others.
Recently, I attended a trade show at the convention centre in downtown Toronto. During the lunch break I went to a book sale along the trendy Queen West area. I was thinking about returning to the show or carrying on my walk when I realized I was standing at the corner of Spadina and Queen. At that moment a car went by and I caught the eye of a young boy looking at me from the passenger window. We looked at each other for about twenty seconds before the car disappeared around the corner. I wondered if that boy was thinking about what sort of person I was.
And I realized that I was now an old man. Like the man I saw so many years ago.
I wondered if 50 years had just simply flashed by or whether that boy and I had just simply changed places in the span of 20 seconds.
Before I returned to the trade show, I stopped at a florist. I bought a rose and put it in the lapel of my jacket. For some reason, I felt it was the most important thing I would do for the rest of the day.
If A Dog Were Your Teacher
If a dog were your teacher
These are some of the lessons you might learn...
When loved ones come home, always run to greet them
Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride
Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face
to be pure ecstasy
When it's in your best interest
practice obedience
Let others know when they've invaded your territory
Take naps and stretch before rising
Run romp and play daily
Thrive on attention and let people touch you
Avoid biting, when a simple growl will do
On warm days stop to lie on your back on the grass
On hot days drink lots of water and lay under a shady tree
When you're happy dance around and wag your entire body
No matter how often you're scolded
don't buy into the guilt thing and pout
run right back and make friends
Delight in the simple joy of a long walk
Eat with gusto and enthusiasm
Stop when you have had enough
Be loyal
Never pretend to be something you're not
If what you want lies buried
dig until you find it
When someone is having a bad day
be silent .....
...sit close by.
...and nuzzle them gently.
These are some of the lessons you might learn...
When loved ones come home, always run to greet them
Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride
Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face
to be pure ecstasy
When it's in your best interest
practice obedience
Let others know when they've invaded your territory
Take naps and stretch before rising
Run romp and play daily
Thrive on attention and let people touch you
Avoid biting, when a simple growl will do
On warm days stop to lie on your back on the grass
On hot days drink lots of water and lay under a shady tree
When you're happy dance around and wag your entire body
No matter how often you're scolded
don't buy into the guilt thing and pout
run right back and make friends
Delight in the simple joy of a long walk
Eat with gusto and enthusiasm
Stop when you have had enough
Be loyal
Never pretend to be something you're not
If what you want lies buried
dig until you find it
When someone is having a bad day
be silent .....
...sit close by.
...and nuzzle them gently.
I Am Powerful!
I am very powerful!
Whatever I set my mind on having, I will have.
Whatever I decide to be, I will be.
The evidence is all around me.
The power of my will has brought me precisely to where I am right now.
I have made the choices. I have held the thoughts.
I have taken the actions to create my current reality.
And I have the power to change it into whatever I want it to be.
With the choices I make, I am constantly fulfilling the vision I have for my life.
If that does not seem to be the case --
then I am deceiving myself about what I really want.
Because what I really, truly want, I will get!
What I truly wanted in the past, I already have.
If I want to build a billion-dollar business, I will take the actions necessary to do it.
If I want to sit comfortably watching TV night after night --
I will take the actions necessary for that.
Don’t be disappointed in my results --
they’re just the outward manifestation of my priorities.
I will be sure of what I truly want,
because I am sure to get it!
Whatever I set my mind on having, I will have.
Whatever I decide to be, I will be.
The evidence is all around me.
The power of my will has brought me precisely to where I am right now.
I have made the choices. I have held the thoughts.
I have taken the actions to create my current reality.
And I have the power to change it into whatever I want it to be.
With the choices I make, I am constantly fulfilling the vision I have for my life.
If that does not seem to be the case --
then I am deceiving myself about what I really want.
Because what I really, truly want, I will get!
What I truly wanted in the past, I already have.
If I want to build a billion-dollar business, I will take the actions necessary to do it.
If I want to sit comfortably watching TV night after night --
I will take the actions necessary for that.
Don’t be disappointed in my results --
they’re just the outward manifestation of my priorities.
I will be sure of what I truly want,
because I am sure to get it!
One For My Sister
The hospital I worked in during my stay in
Swaziland sits atop the beautiful and very steep Lebombo Mountains. In
this part of the world people often have to walk 40 kilometers or more
in order to see a doctor.
As you can imagine there are many people in the community who are simply too sick or too poor to get to a hospital. This is where home-based care comes in. The home-based care team consists of several nurses who jump into a small truck/van every morning and travel out to the community to tend to the health needs of the truly destitute.
Before I went out with the team I used to buy potatoes and carrots and apples to give to the people we met - because health care in Africa is often just as much about the provision of food as it is about medicine. I would always make sure I also bought a bag of sweets to give to the beautiful children we would meet out in the community. I have learned that sweets are one of the great unifiers in the human world - we might look different and speak different languages - but most of us - especially the young ones - love sweets!
One day we stopped at one of the 15,000 orphan-led households in Swaziland. Inside the hut we found a beautiful little girl with huge brown eyes. Her name was Tanzile. I gave her a sweet from my bag and she said something back to me in Si-swati, the native language, which the nurse next to me translated:
"She wants another one doctor - to give to her little sister."
I said "of course" and gave her another. After we had tended to a man with tuberculosis a bit further down the road, we passed by Tanzile's house to say goodbye. To our surprise she seemed to be holding on to that extra sweet I had given her.
I remember saying to the nurse "this little darling is clever - she has taken two for herself. If I was her I'd probably have asked for the whole bag!" But after the nurse had asked her some more questions this is what we learned:
Tanzile is 7 now. Two years ago when she was five her mum and dad both died of HIV/AIDS like so many have in this country. At the time of her parents tragic death, she was separated from her baby sister who was three at the time. Tanzile has not laid eyes on her since. But ever since that time, whenever Tanzile receives anything from anyone, including food, - she refuses to accept it, unless they give her two. Two carrots, two toys, two sweets - one for her and one for her baby sister (who in all likelihood didn't survive.)
In fact, in the little mud hut where she lives, we found a pile of old things which she has been collecting to give to her sister one day.
My friends, people sometimes look at faces of African children or kids in the developing world and think that they are somehow different than our kids - that somehow they dont feel pain or sadness or love. But that is not true. Their pain is deep. And so is their love.
I can still remember the nurse trying to convince her that "if someone gives you food Tanzile, you must accept it - even if it is only one piece and not two - for your own health and safety." And it was so hard for us to keep the tears from our eyes as she shook her head defiantly. Her hope and her love was all that she had. It mattered more than anything else.
When I returned home that day, I was shocked to find that this was not an isolated story but others in the hospital knew of orphans just like Tanzile - waiting with a little pile of things in their hut, for their sibling or their parent who they havent seen in so long.
I think of that old Eagles song - "when we're hungry, love will keep us alive." I pray that for Tanzile's sake and the other beautiful children like her that it will.
With very special thanks to our friend Maithri for sharing this story with us and for the good work he does on behalf of the children of Swaziland. To learn how you can help, please visit the Young Heroes website and consider sponsoring one of these beautiful kids.
As you can imagine there are many people in the community who are simply too sick or too poor to get to a hospital. This is where home-based care comes in. The home-based care team consists of several nurses who jump into a small truck/van every morning and travel out to the community to tend to the health needs of the truly destitute.
Before I went out with the team I used to buy potatoes and carrots and apples to give to the people we met - because health care in Africa is often just as much about the provision of food as it is about medicine. I would always make sure I also bought a bag of sweets to give to the beautiful children we would meet out in the community. I have learned that sweets are one of the great unifiers in the human world - we might look different and speak different languages - but most of us - especially the young ones - love sweets!
One day we stopped at one of the 15,000 orphan-led households in Swaziland. Inside the hut we found a beautiful little girl with huge brown eyes. Her name was Tanzile. I gave her a sweet from my bag and she said something back to me in Si-swati, the native language, which the nurse next to me translated:
"She wants another one doctor - to give to her little sister."
I said "of course" and gave her another. After we had tended to a man with tuberculosis a bit further down the road, we passed by Tanzile's house to say goodbye. To our surprise she seemed to be holding on to that extra sweet I had given her.
I remember saying to the nurse "this little darling is clever - she has taken two for herself. If I was her I'd probably have asked for the whole bag!" But after the nurse had asked her some more questions this is what we learned:
Tanzile is 7 now. Two years ago when she was five her mum and dad both died of HIV/AIDS like so many have in this country. At the time of her parents tragic death, she was separated from her baby sister who was three at the time. Tanzile has not laid eyes on her since. But ever since that time, whenever Tanzile receives anything from anyone, including food, - she refuses to accept it, unless they give her two. Two carrots, two toys, two sweets - one for her and one for her baby sister (who in all likelihood didn't survive.)
In fact, in the little mud hut where she lives, we found a pile of old things which she has been collecting to give to her sister one day.
My friends, people sometimes look at faces of African children or kids in the developing world and think that they are somehow different than our kids - that somehow they dont feel pain or sadness or love. But that is not true. Their pain is deep. And so is their love.
I can still remember the nurse trying to convince her that "if someone gives you food Tanzile, you must accept it - even if it is only one piece and not two - for your own health and safety." And it was so hard for us to keep the tears from our eyes as she shook her head defiantly. Her hope and her love was all that she had. It mattered more than anything else.
When I returned home that day, I was shocked to find that this was not an isolated story but others in the hospital knew of orphans just like Tanzile - waiting with a little pile of things in their hut, for their sibling or their parent who they havent seen in so long.
I think of that old Eagles song - "when we're hungry, love will keep us alive." I pray that for Tanzile's sake and the other beautiful children like her that it will.
With very special thanks to our friend Maithri for sharing this story with us and for the good work he does on behalf of the children of Swaziland. To learn how you can help, please visit the Young Heroes website and consider sponsoring one of these beautiful kids.
Doing Well By Doing Good
Excerpted from a speech delivered by Mr. Brody to the graduating class of John Hopkins University on May 26, 2005.
There is a man who I'd like to tell you about. His name is Sandy Greenberg. In his youth, Sandy was a very good student, but he came from a poor family. And so he went to Columbia University on a scholarship and there he met his roommate who also was receiving financial aid.
Now
while he was a sophomore at Columbia University, Sandy contracted an
eye disease that eventually proved to be glaucoma. But the trouble was,
it wasn't detected early enough, and as a result he became legally
blind. I ask you all to imagine for a moment having been sighted all
your life, and then all of a sudden being faced, in a very competitive
school, with losing so much sight you could no longer read. This is what
happened to Sandy Greenberg.
But something else happened to Sandy that may surprise you. Sandy said that when he lost his sight, his roommate would read his textbooks to him, every night.
So I'm going to put you in that position, in a competitive school like Columbia, or Johns Hopkins. If your roommate had a serious disability, would you take the time to read textbooks to him every night, knowing the more you spend time reading textbooks to your roommate, perhaps the less well you might do with your other activities? That's not as easy a question as it first appears.
But luckily for Sandy, his roommate did. And as a result, Sandy went on to graduate with honors. He got a Fulbright Scholarship, and he went off to study at Oxford. He was still quite poor, but he said he had managed to save about five hundred dollars as he went along.
His roommate, meanwhile, also went on to graduate school. One day, Sandy got a call from him at Oxford. And his former roommate said, "Sandy I'm really unhappy. I really don't like being in graduate school, and I don't want to do this."
So Sandy asked, "Well what do you want to do?"
And his roommate told him, "Sandy, I really love to sing. I have a high school friend who plays the guitar. And we would really like to try our hand in the music business. But we need to make a promo record, and in order to do that I need $500."
So Sandy Greenberg told me he took all his life savings and sent it to his roommate. He told me, "You know, what else could I do? He made my life; I needed to help make his life."
So, I hope you'll remember the power of doing well by doing good. Each of you, in your own lives, will be faced with challenges, with roadblocks, with problems that you didn't anticipate or expect. How you are able to deal with adversity will be influenced, to no small extent, by how you deal with others along the way. What you get will depend a lot on what you give. And that's the end of the story of doing well, by doing good.
Ah! I almost forgot. You probably are wanting to know who Sandy's roommate was. I think you've heard of him. Sandy's roommate was a fellow by the name of Art Garfunkel, and he teamed up with another musician by the name of Paul Simon. That $500 helped them cut a record that eventually became "The Sounds of Silence." Recently, we had the pleasure of going to Sandy's daughter's wedding, and it was Art Garfunkel who sang as Sandy walked his daughter down the aisle.
When you get to be my age (which, for some of you, is really old, (though it doesn't seem so old to me anymore), you will find yourself beginning to ask, did my life make a difference?
That's the day of personal reckoning. And I think the only way to face it is to consider, every day of your life: How can I do something for somebody else? How can I give back to others? It may be teaching, it may be becoming a doctor, you may be successful in business - no matter what your career path, there will always be the opportunity to give back. The chance will present itself to be giving of your time, giving of your money, but mostly, to be giving of yourselves, of your own heart and soul.
My hope today, as you commence to new beginnings, is you will always keep your eyes open for those opportunities to give and embrace them as your best sure way of doing well.
There is a man who I'd like to tell you about. His name is Sandy Greenberg. In his youth, Sandy was a very good student, but he came from a poor family. And so he went to Columbia University on a scholarship and there he met his roommate who also was receiving financial aid.
Now
while he was a sophomore at Columbia University, Sandy contracted an
eye disease that eventually proved to be glaucoma. But the trouble was,
it wasn't detected early enough, and as a result he became legally
blind. I ask you all to imagine for a moment having been sighted all
your life, and then all of a sudden being faced, in a very competitive
school, with losing so much sight you could no longer read. This is what
happened to Sandy Greenberg.But something else happened to Sandy that may surprise you. Sandy said that when he lost his sight, his roommate would read his textbooks to him, every night.
So I'm going to put you in that position, in a competitive school like Columbia, or Johns Hopkins. If your roommate had a serious disability, would you take the time to read textbooks to him every night, knowing the more you spend time reading textbooks to your roommate, perhaps the less well you might do with your other activities? That's not as easy a question as it first appears.
But luckily for Sandy, his roommate did. And as a result, Sandy went on to graduate with honors. He got a Fulbright Scholarship, and he went off to study at Oxford. He was still quite poor, but he said he had managed to save about five hundred dollars as he went along.
His roommate, meanwhile, also went on to graduate school. One day, Sandy got a call from him at Oxford. And his former roommate said, "Sandy I'm really unhappy. I really don't like being in graduate school, and I don't want to do this."
So Sandy asked, "Well what do you want to do?"
And his roommate told him, "Sandy, I really love to sing. I have a high school friend who plays the guitar. And we would really like to try our hand in the music business. But we need to make a promo record, and in order to do that I need $500."
So Sandy Greenberg told me he took all his life savings and sent it to his roommate. He told me, "You know, what else could I do? He made my life; I needed to help make his life."
So, I hope you'll remember the power of doing well by doing good. Each of you, in your own lives, will be faced with challenges, with roadblocks, with problems that you didn't anticipate or expect. How you are able to deal with adversity will be influenced, to no small extent, by how you deal with others along the way. What you get will depend a lot on what you give. And that's the end of the story of doing well, by doing good.
Ah! I almost forgot. You probably are wanting to know who Sandy's roommate was. I think you've heard of him. Sandy's roommate was a fellow by the name of Art Garfunkel, and he teamed up with another musician by the name of Paul Simon. That $500 helped them cut a record that eventually became "The Sounds of Silence." Recently, we had the pleasure of going to Sandy's daughter's wedding, and it was Art Garfunkel who sang as Sandy walked his daughter down the aisle.
When you get to be my age (which, for some of you, is really old, (though it doesn't seem so old to me anymore), you will find yourself beginning to ask, did my life make a difference?
That's the day of personal reckoning. And I think the only way to face it is to consider, every day of your life: How can I do something for somebody else? How can I give back to others? It may be teaching, it may be becoming a doctor, you may be successful in business - no matter what your career path, there will always be the opportunity to give back. The chance will present itself to be giving of your time, giving of your money, but mostly, to be giving of yourselves, of your own heart and soul.
My hope today, as you commence to new beginnings, is you will always keep your eyes open for those opportunities to give and embrace them as your best sure way of doing well.
The Seven Wonders of the World
Junior high school students in Chicago were
studying the Seven Wonders of the World. At
the end of the lesson, the students were asked
to list what they considered to be the Seven
Wonders of the World. Though there was some
disagreement, the following received the
most votes:
1. Egypt's Great Pyramids
2. The Taj Mahal in India
3. The Grand Canyon in Arizona
4. The Panama Canal
5. The Empire State Building
6. St. Peter's Basilica
7. China's Great Wall
While gathering the votes, the teacher noted that one student, a quiet girl, hadn't turned in her paper yet. So she asked the girl if she was having trouble with her list. The quiet girl replied, "Yes, a little. I couldn't quite make up my mind because there were so many." The teacher said, "Well, tell us what you have, and maybe we can help."
The girl hesitated, then read, "I think the Seven Wonders of the World are:
1. to touch...
2. to taste...
3. to see...
4. to hear... (She hesitated a little, and then added...)
5. to feel...
6. to laugh...
7. and to love.
The room was so quiet, you could have heard a pin drop.
May this story serve as a gentle reminder to all of us that the things we overlook as simple and ordinary are often the most wonderful - and we don't have to travel anywhere special to experience them.
Enjoy your gifts!
studying the Seven Wonders of the World. At
the end of the lesson, the students were asked
to list what they considered to be the Seven
Wonders of the World. Though there was some
disagreement, the following received the
most votes:
1. Egypt's Great Pyramids
2. The Taj Mahal in India
3. The Grand Canyon in Arizona
4. The Panama Canal
5. The Empire State Building
6. St. Peter's Basilica
7. China's Great Wall
While gathering the votes, the teacher noted that one student, a quiet girl, hadn't turned in her paper yet. So she asked the girl if she was having trouble with her list. The quiet girl replied, "Yes, a little. I couldn't quite make up my mind because there were so many." The teacher said, "Well, tell us what you have, and maybe we can help."
The girl hesitated, then read, "I think the Seven Wonders of the World are:
1. to touch...
2. to taste...
3. to see...
4. to hear... (She hesitated a little, and then added...)
5. to feel...
6. to laugh...
7. and to love.
The room was so quiet, you could have heard a pin drop.
May this story serve as a gentle reminder to all of us that the things we overlook as simple and ordinary are often the most wonderful - and we don't have to travel anywhere special to experience them.
Enjoy your gifts!
Letter To My Grandchildren
To my beautiful grandchildren...
Our world is changing so fast and there are many things I wish for you...
I'd really like for you to know about hand-me-down clothes and homemade ice cream and leftover meat loaf sandwiches. I really would.
I hope you learn humility by being humiliated, and that you learn honesty by being cheated.
I hope you learn to make your own bed and mow the lawn and wash the car.
And I really hope nobody gives you a brand new car when you are sixteen.
I hope you get a black eye fighting for something you believe in.
I hope you have to share a bedroom with your younger brother or sister.
And it's all right if you have to draw a line down the middle of the room, but when they want to crawl under the covers with you because they're scared, I hope you let them.
When you want to see a movie and your little brother or sister wants to tag along, I hope you'll let them.
I hope you have to walk uphill to school with your friends and that you live in a town where you can do it safely.
On rainy days when you have to catch a ride, I hope you don't ask your driver to drop you two blocks away so you won't be seen riding with someone as uncool as your Mom.
If you want a slingshot, I hope your Dad teaches you how to make one instead of buying one.
I hope you learn to dig in the dirt and read books.
When you learn to use computers, I hope you also learn to add and subtract in your head.
I hope you get teased by your friends when you have your first crush, and when you talk back to your mother that you learn what ivory soap tastes like.
May you skin your knee climbing a mountain, burn your hand on a stove and stick your tongue on a frozen flagpole.
I don't care if you try a beer once, but I hope you don't like it.
And if a friend offers you dope or a joint, I hope you realize he is not your friend.
I sure hope you make time to sit on a porch with your grandparents and go fishing with your uncle.
These are just some of the things that I wish for you - tough times and disappointment, hard work and happiness. To me, it's the only way to appreciate life.
Our world is changing so fast and there are many things I wish for you...
I'd really like for you to know about hand-me-down clothes and homemade ice cream and leftover meat loaf sandwiches. I really would.
I hope you learn humility by being humiliated, and that you learn honesty by being cheated.
I hope you learn to make your own bed and mow the lawn and wash the car.
And I really hope nobody gives you a brand new car when you are sixteen.
I hope you get a black eye fighting for something you believe in.
I hope you have to share a bedroom with your younger brother or sister.
And it's all right if you have to draw a line down the middle of the room, but when they want to crawl under the covers with you because they're scared, I hope you let them.
When you want to see a movie and your little brother or sister wants to tag along, I hope you'll let them.
I hope you have to walk uphill to school with your friends and that you live in a town where you can do it safely.
On rainy days when you have to catch a ride, I hope you don't ask your driver to drop you two blocks away so you won't be seen riding with someone as uncool as your Mom.
If you want a slingshot, I hope your Dad teaches you how to make one instead of buying one.
I hope you learn to dig in the dirt and read books.
When you learn to use computers, I hope you also learn to add and subtract in your head.
I hope you get teased by your friends when you have your first crush, and when you talk back to your mother that you learn what ivory soap tastes like.
May you skin your knee climbing a mountain, burn your hand on a stove and stick your tongue on a frozen flagpole.
I don't care if you try a beer once, but I hope you don't like it.
And if a friend offers you dope or a joint, I hope you realize he is not your friend.
I sure hope you make time to sit on a porch with your grandparents and go fishing with your uncle.
These are just some of the things that I wish for you - tough times and disappointment, hard work and happiness. To me, it's the only way to appreciate life.
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