On my latest trip to Egypt something happened that I would like to share with you. This incident is based on my belief that the children of the world are mine and yours.
One morning as I walked to the souk (street where vendors sell things in small shops) I saw a little street person. She was only 4 or 5 years old.
This tiny child was picking up old, half-eaten bread from the dirty street and eating it.
She was not asking people for money, she was foraging for food. When I saw this, I knew I had to do something.
I went over and, in my best half-Arabic and half-English, I tried to speak with her.
The dirty little street child looked up with beautiful brown eyes and stared at me.
She stepped back, frightened, so I took her small hand in mine and walked along the shops asking in Arabic, "Do you speak English?" until I found a man who said, "Yes, why?"
asked the man to tell the little girl that if she would follow me to the nearest food cart, I would buy her food. He asked me why I would do such a thing for a beggar.
I told him that she had not begged me for anything and she was eating off the street.
He told the little girl what I had said. Then I asked him, "How much should it cost me for the pocket bread with beans in it?" he smiled and explained two pounds, or about 50 cents.
He walked with us to the food cart (I am not sure if he thought I might hurt the girl or what) but once there he told the man at the cart what I was doing and helped me to buy three pocket breads. I gave one to the little one and she ate it as if she had not eaten for days. The other two I put into a bag and handed to her.
She smiled a wondrous smile and ran off. The shopkeeper smiled and went back to his shop.
The next morning on my way to the souk, the little one was waiting. She obviously knew a good thing when she saw it. I laughed and said, "ok, breakfast again?" and repeated the action of the day before, thinking that, for at least 14 days, this little one would have breakfast and maybe lunch, depending on with whom she was sharing the other pocket breads.
The shopkeeper smiled and so did the cart vendor. We seemed to have become fast friends over this little deed.
That night I got to thinking about my little street urchin. She was so dirty and smelled so badly. What else could I do to help her?
The next morning I was off to the souk again but this time I had a bigger plan. As I came around the corner, right on time, there she was, smiling.
I took her hand and went over to the shopkeeper and asked "Where is there water?" He thought I wanted bottled water to drink and I explained, "No, I want a faucet, like where the people wash before prayers." He looked at me like "now you really are a crazy American!!" and then he showed me a little side alley and there was a water faucet.
"Ok, here goes," I thought. "What will these people think? But, oh well." I reached into my bag and pulled out a newspaper and laid out a soap bar, a wash cloth, shampoo and cream rinse (the kind you get in nice little bottles at good hotels).
Now for the hard part: getting her out of her rags without upsetting everyone. The water was cold but it was the best I could do. So off came her clothes and I started soaping her down. She wiggled and squirmed the whole time but I could tell by the smile on her face she loved having someone care for her
It took two soapings to clean her and all the shampoo to help her smell wonderful. Out of my bag I pulled a towel and dried her off.
Then I pulled out a little dress from the bag I was carrying. I had bought the dress for a friend's child who, I decided, could do with one less dress this year. This little one needed it more. As I lifted the dress out, and she saw it, her face lit up like any child's at Christmas. It was a little big but she would grow into it.
Then I noticed something: a crowd had gathered. I had been so intent on my clean-up job, I had not noticed.
Now I looked up into the beaming faces of men, women and other children. The shopkeeper asked why I was helping this child and my answer was, "The children of the world are mine and yours. If we don't care for them, who will?"
I told him this child was as much mine as if I had given birth to her; that we are all responsible for the children, and if one child went to bed hungry then we were not doing our part."
He turned to the crowd and told them what I had said and they began to nod their heads "yes." It was as if in this single little act of helping this child, a miracle had happened. I bent and wrapped the old dress and the soap and things into a plastic bag and gave it to the little one before we went off to get her morning breakfast. Things had changed: the food vendor would not take money and gave her food. We hugged and I went off to do my work.
The next day, I had many business things to do and didn't go to the souk and then I became ill and was not able to go to for five days. On the sixth day I walked the street looking for her, and boom! There she was in her new dress. Smiling, the shopkeeper came running up and said, "Madame, I thought you must have gone home." I said no I had been ill and he told me not to worry, they had made sure she had food each day. "But," he said, "each morning she would set out looking for you for hours. I tried telling her you had gone home and she would say no, and wait."
I asked the man if I gave him $40.00, would he make sure she was fed each day; that would cover about a year. He said yes and that others would help as they felt Allah had sent me as a teacher to them. I laughed and thought, "Spirit at work again."
The day before I left Cairo, I sat down with the little girl and the shopkeeper as translator, and had him tell her I was leaving but that she would be fed each day, and I would try to come back next year. I brought her a bag of fruit bars, soap, shampoo and a sweater much too big but it would keep her warm. I gave her 10 pounds.
Where her parents are , I do not know. I only know that one person can make a difference to a child. If, each trip, I am able to touch a child then I have done Spirit's work.
The children of the world are mine and yours.
The Gold Wrapping Paper
The story goes that some time ago, a man punished his 5-year-old daughter for wasting a roll of expensive gold wrapping paper. Money was tight and he became even more upset when the child pasted the gold paper so as to decorate a box to put under the Christmas tree.
Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift box to her Father the next morning and said, "This is for you, Daddy."
The father was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, but his anger flared again when he found the box was empty. He spoke to her in a harsh manner: "Don't you know, young Lady, when you give someone a present there's supposed to be something inside the package?
The story goes that some time ago, a man punished his 5-year-old daughter for wasting a roll of expensive gold wrapping paper. Money was tight and he became even more upset when the child pasted the gold paper so as to decorate a box to put under the Christmas tree.
Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift box to her Father the next morning and said, "This is for you, Daddy."
The father was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, but his anger flared again when he found the box was empty. He spoke to her in a harsh manner: "Don't you know, young Lady, when you give someone a present there's supposed to be something inside the package?
The little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes and said: "Daddy, it's not empty. I blew kisses into it until it was full."
The father was crushed. He fell on his knees and put his arms around his little girl, and he begged her to forgive him for his unnecessary anger.
An accident took the life of the child only a short time later and it is told that the father kept that gold box by his bed for all the years of his life. And whenever he was discouraged or faced difficult problems he would open the box and take out an imaginary kiss and remember the love of the child who had put it there.
In a very real sense, each of us as human beings have been given a golden box filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children, family, friends and God.
There is no more precious possession anyone could hold.
Author Unknown
Dear Friend:
How are you? I just had to send you this letter to tell you how much I love
and care about you. I saw you yesterday as you were walking with your
friends. I waited all day, hoping you would talk to Me also.
As evening drew near, I gave you a sunset to close your day and a cool
breeze to rest you, and I waited. You never came. Oh yes, it hurt Me, but I
still love you because I am your friend.
I saw you fall asleep last night, and I longed to touch your brow, so I
spilled moonlight upon your pillow and face. Again I waited, wanting to rush
down so we could talk. I have so many gifts for you.
You awakened late and rushed off for the day... My tears were in the rain.
Today you looked so sad, so alone. It makes my heart ache because I
understand. My friends let Me down and hurt Me many times too, but I love
you. I try to tell you in the quiet green grass; I
shout it to you in the colors of the flowers. I shout it to you in the
mountain streams, and give the birds love songs to sing.
I clothe you with warm sunshine and perfume the air. My love for you is
deeper than oceans and bigger than the biggest want or need you have.
We will spend eternity together in heaven. I know how hard it is on
earth, I really know (because I was there), and I want to help you. My Father
wants to help you too. He's that way, you know. Just call Me, ask Me, talk
to Me. It is your decision. I have chosen you, and because of this I will
wait... Because I love you.
Don’t Take The GirL
Johnny’s daddy was taking him fishing
When he was eight years old.
A little girl came through the front gate
Holding a fishing pole.
His dad looked down and smiled,
Said, "We can’t leave her behind.
Son, I know you don’t want her to go
But someday you'll change your mind."
And Johnny said,
"Take Jimmy Johnson.
Take Tommy Thompson.
Take my best friend Bo.
Take anybody that you want, as
Long as she don’t go.
Take any boy in the world.
Daddy please- don't take the girl."
Same old boy,
Same sweet girl,
Ten years down the road.
He held her tight and kissed her lips
In front of the picture show.
Stranger came and pulled a gun,
Grabbed her by the arm,
Said, "If you do what I tell you to do
There won't be any harm."
And Johnny said,
"Take my money.
Take my wallet.
Take my credit cards.
Here’s the watch that my grandpa gave me.
Here’s the keys to my car,
Mister give it a whirl,
But please-don't take the girl."
Same old boy,
Same sweet girl,
Five years down the road.
There’s gonna be a little one
And she says it’s time to go.
Doctor says, "…the baby’s fine,
But, you’ll have to leave
‘Cause his momma’s fading fast."
And Johnny hit his knees
And there he prayed.
"Take the very breath you gave me.
Take the heart from my chest.
I’ll gladly take her place
If you'll let me
Make this my last request.
Take me out of this world,
God please-don’t take the girl."
A frail old man went to live with his son,
daughter-in-law, and four-year-old grandson.
The old man's hands trembled,
his eyesight was blurred, and his step faltered.
The family ate together at the table.
But the elderly grandfather's shaky hands
and failing sight made eating difficult.
Peas rolled off his spoon onto the floor.
When he grasped the glass, milk spilled on the tablecloth.
The son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess.
"We must do something about Grandfather," said the son.
"I've had enough of his spilled milk,
noisy eating, and food on the floor.........!!"
So the husband and wife set a small table in the corner.
There grandfather ate alone
while the rest of the family enjoyed dinner.
Since Grandfather had broken a dish or two,
his food was served in a wooden bowl.
When the family glanced in Grandfather's direction,
sometimes they saw a tear in his eye as he sat alone.
Still, the only words the couple
had for him were sharp admonitions
when he dropped a fork or spilled food.
The four-year-old watched it all in silence..........
Then, one evening before supper,
the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps
on the floor. He asked the child sweetly,
"What are you making?"
Just as sweetly, the boy responded,
"Oh, I am making a little bowl
for you and Mama to eat your food in when I grow up."
The four-year-old smiled and went back to work.
The words so struck the parents that they were speechless.
No word was spoken but tears streamed down their cheeks
and both knew what must be done.
That evening the husband took Grandfather's hand
and gently led him back to the family table.
For the remainder of his days
he ate every meal with the family.
And for some reason, neither husband nor wife
seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped,
milk spilled, or the tablecloth soiled.
Children are remarkably perceptive.
Their eyes ever observe, their ears ever listen,
and their minds ever process the messages they absorb.
Remember the saying
"Children are like sponges, they absorb everything
and anything that is put in front of them."
Never forget to show others how much you love them
and never forget that little eyes are watching
THE MIRACLE: Tess was a eight years old when she heard her Mom and Dad talking about her little brother, Andrew. All she knew was that he was very sick and they were completely out of money. They were moving to an apartment complex next month because Daddy didn't have the money for the doctor bills and our house. Only a very costly surgery could save him now and it was looking like there was no one to loan them the money.
She heard Daddy say to her tearful Mother with whispered desperation, "Only a miracle can save him now." Tess went to her bedroom and pulled a small box from its hiding place in the closet. She poured all the change out on the floor and counted it carefully. Three times, even. The total had to be exactly perfect. No chance here for mistakes. Carefully placing the coins back in the box, she slipped out the back door and made her way six blocks to the drug store.
She waited patiently for the pharmacist to give her some attention but he was busy talking to another man and couldn't be bothered by an eight year old at this moment. Tess twisted her feet to make a scuffing noise. Nothing ... she cleared her throat with the most disgusting sound she could muster. No good ... Finally she took a quarter from her box and banged it on the glass counter. That did it!
"And what do you want?" the pharmacist asked in an annoyed tone of voice. "I'm talking to my brother from Chicago whom I haven't seen in ages." he said, without waiting for a reply to his question. "Well, I want to talk to you about my brother." Tess answered back in the same annoyed tone. "He's really, really sick ... and my Daddy says only a miracle can save him now. So how much does a miracle cost?" "We don't sell miracles here, little girl. I'm sorry but I can't help you." the pharmacist said, softening a little.
"Listen, I have the money to pay for it. If it isn't enough, I will get the rest. Just tell me how much it costs."
The pharmacist's brother was a well dressed man. He stooped down and asked the little girl, "What kind of a miracle does your brother need?"
"I don't know." Tess replied with eyes filled with tears. "I just know he's really sick and Mommy says he needs an operation. But my Daddy can't pay for it, so I want to use my money."
"How much do you have?" asked the man from Chicago.
"One dollar and eleven cents." Tess answered. "And it's all the money I have, but I can get some more if I need to."
"Well, what a coincidence." smiled the man. "A dollar and eleven cents - the exact price of a miracle for little brothers." He took her money in one hand and with the other hand he grasped her hand and said , "Take me to where you live. I want to see your brother and meet your parents. Let's see if I have the kind of miracle you need."
That well dressed man was Dr. Carlton Armstong. a surgeon, specializing in neurosurgery. The operation was completed without charge and it wasn't long until Andrew was home again and doing well. Mom and Dad were happily talking about the chain of events that had led them to this place.
"That surgery", her Mom whispered, "was a real miracle. I wonder how much it would have cost?" Tess smiled. She knew exactly how much a miracle cost ... one dollar and eleven cents, plus the faith of a little child.
THE BROWN BAG CHRISTMAS:
When I asked our newlywed Sunday School class to share a favorite Christmas story, Carrie Fuller said, "Our family has one we call the 'brown bag Christmas.'" When she finished, I had to hear more. Two days later, I called a member of her family for more details.
It was the early 1930s during the Dust Bowl days of Kansas, in the heart of the Depression. The Canaday family---Mom, Dad, 7 children---were having a tough time existing, so there would be no luxuries at Christmas that year. Mom told the children to go outside and find a Christmas tree and decorate it. After a lengthy search, they returned with a dead branch, the only thing they had been able to find. They stood it up in a bucket of sand and decorated it with pieces of paper tied with string. Little Judy, almost four, did not know how a Christmas tree was supposed to look, but somehow she knew it was not like that!
As Christmas approached, the Canaday children, like children everywhere, pestered Mom and Dad about what presents they might get under their "tree." Dad pointed out that the pantry was bare, that they did not have enough to live on, and there certainly would be no money for gifts. But Mom was a woman of faith and told her children, "Say your prayers. Ask God to send us what He wants us to have." Dad said, "Now, Mother, don't be getting the children's hopes up. You're just setting them up for a disappointment." Mom said, "Pray, children. Tell Jesus." And pray they did.
On Christmas Eve, the children watched out the window for visitors, but no one came. "Blow out the lamp and go to bed", Dad said. "Nobody is going to come. No one even knows we're out here."
The children turned out the lamp and got in bed, but they were too excited to sleep. Was this not Christmas? Had they not asked God to send them the presents He wanted them to have? Did Mom not say God answers prayer?
Late that night, when one of the children spotted headlights coming down the dirt road, everyone jumped out of bed and ran to the window. The commotion woke up Mom and Dad. "Don't get excited, children," Dad said. "They're probably not coming here. It's just someone who got lost." The children kept hoping and the car kept coming. Then, Dad lit a lamp. They all wanted to rush to the door at the same time, but Mr. Canaday said, "Stay back. I'll go." Someone got out of the car and called, "I was wondering if someone here can help me unload these bags." The children dashed out the door to lend a hand. Mom said to her youngest, "Stay here, Judy, and help Mom open the bags and put up the gifts."
A deacon from the church in town had gone to bed that Christmas Eve, and lay there tossing and turning, unable to get the Canaday family off his mind. Later, he said, "I didn't know what kind of shape you folks were in, but I knew you had all those kids." He had gotten up and dressed and went around town, rousing people from their sleep to ask for a contribution for the Canaday family. He filled his car with bags of groceries, canned goods, toys, and clothing. Little Judy got a rag doll which remained her favorite for years.
With so much food, Dad wanted to have a Christmas feast, to spread it all out and eat as they had never eaten before. Mom, ever the caretaker, said, "No, we need to make this last." And it did last, for weeks.
The next Sunday, Mrs. Canaday stood in church and told what the members---and one deacon in particular---had done for her family. There was not a dry eye in the house.
Years later, the oldest sister Eva wrote up this story about her family for a school project. Eva said, "We were so thrilled by all the wonderful things in the bags, for a while ;we lost sight of the most special gift. The best gift that Christmas was not in brown bags at all.
It was Mom's faith, as she taught her children to bring their needs to Jesus and trust Him to meet them. And a Dad's love that wanted only to protect his children from hurt and disappointment."
When Carrie finished telling her story, she added, "Little Judy is my wonderful grandmother." Today, Judy Canaday Dryden lives in Sanger, Texas. As she relived this event from seventy years ago over the phone, one could hear the tear in her voice and feel her pride in being the recipient of such a precious heritage from her mother and father.
At Christmas, we celebrate praying mothers and caring fathers and believing children. We give thanks for sensitive deacons and generous friends and sleepless nights. And we praise God for the hard times that teach unforgettable lessons, stories of faithfulness that get told and retold through the years inspiring each new generation to place their faith in a loving Savior.
Actions speak louder than words
I was waiting in line at a store and I struck up a conversation with the woman behind me. (A habit that gets different reactions depending upon the person). Somehow we got onto the subject of family. I had just recently spent weeks in a burn unit watching my brother fight for his life, but he did not survive. So when the woman asked after my family I didn't quite know how to respond. With a forced smile on my face I told her about my brother (leaving out most details - I did not wish for her to feel discomfort). Instead of saying the usual: "I'm sorry to hear that." She simply reached out her arms and hugged me. It may not have seemed significant to her, for she could not have known that she was the only person to offer a "physical" sympathy since it happened. I will never forget that woman. In my minds eye she wears a halo whenever I think of her.
Blind LovE
While finishing my hamburger on the 14th of February at Mickey Dee's, I noticed an elderly man walk into the restaurant with a stoic arm stretched out resting on the shoulder of the woman he loved. She was slowly leading him because he was blind. She guided him to a booth and proceeded to the counter to order their meals.
He sat down, and while his wife was placing their order and putting cream in his coffee, he began to tear at a red placemat that was left on his table. She returned with his tray and placed his coffee down so he could feel the warmth of her hand near his cup.
He, in return, directed her hand to his fragile torn place mat. It was then I saw the beautiful, red paper heart he had so carefully created from the placemat. He gently put her hand on the paper heart and said, "Happy Valentine's Day, I love you."
Christmas Comes to a Family
I work for a small city police department. I was on patrol one evening, and our probation officer saw a small boy walking. She contacted me by phone, and I made contact with her and the small boy. This was on Dec 19th, 2003.
It was a cold evening in Kansas, and the little boy, who was 8 years old, was very cold. We noticed that the little boy's coat was very thin and would not zip. I gave the boy a ride home.
While I was taking him home, I asked him where his mom and dad were. The little boy began a telling me a story that would bring a tear to anyone. He told me that his mom and dad had to take his little three-year-old sister to Kansas City for chemotherapy because she had cancer. The little boy told me that his grandmother was watching him.
I spoke with the grandmother when I dropped the boy off at home. I found out that the little three-year-old girl had surgery three weeks prior and that they had removed a kidney and part of her diaphragm, and there was concern about spots on her lung.
After doing some checking on the family, I learned that they did not have much, and the father makes about $160 a week and has been putting most of the money to take the little girl to chemotherapy every Friday 250 miles one way.
I also found out that the grandfather had passed away five weeks prior from a heart attack. And to top it off, the mom and dad had their vehicle repossessed last week. I spoke with the probation officer, and we decided that we could get together and get the kids new coats, and maybe a present or two for Christmas.
Well, word spread like wildfire in our small city. The family had only lived in our city for about three months, and had moved from Texas to try to get a new start, when everything came tumbling down. The parents did not know many people and were proud and did not look for handouts.
On the 24th at 5:30 p.m., Santa arrived to my office, where we loaded over 75 presents for the family, and almost $1,000 in cash. Also there was a fully cooked Christmas dinner. All the items were donated by the great people of our city.
My Christmas spirit has been down for many years, and when I saw the the three-year-old baby smile at me, a tear came from my eye. My Christmas spirit will never be the same.
The people made me believe once again that there is good in everyone’s heart. I hope and pray that Katy will be with us next Christmas, because I have a new angel on my Christmas list. Thank you to all who were involved. The Christmas spirit will live with me always.
Tommy's Essay
Soon Tommy's parents, who had recently separated, would arrive for a conference on his failing schoolwork and disruptive behavior. Neither parent knew that I had summoned the other.
Tommy, an only child, had always been happy, cooperative, and an excellent student. How could I convince his father and mother that his recent failing grades represented a brokenhearted child's reaction to his adored parents' separation and pending divorce?
Tommy's mother entered and took one of the chairs I had placed near my desk. Then the father arrived. They pointedly ignored each other.
As I gave a detailed account of Tommy's behavior and schoolwork, I prayed for the right words to bring these two together to help them see what they were doing to their son. But somehow the words wouldn't come. Perhaps if they saw one of his smudged, carelessly done papers.
I found a crumpled, tear-stained sheet stuffed in the back of his desk. Writing covered both sides, a single sentence scribbled over and over.
Silently I smoothed it out and gave it to Tommy's mother. She read it and then without a word handed it to her husband. He frowned. Then his face softened. He studied the scrawled words for what seemed an eternity.
At last he folded the paper carefully and reached for his wife's outstretched hand. She wiped the tears from her eyes and smiled up at him. My own eyes were brimming, but neither seemed to notice.
In his own way God had given me the words to reunite that family. He had guided me to the sheet of yellow copy paper covered with the anguished outpouring of a small boy's troubled heart.
"Dear Mother . . . Dear Daddy . . . I love you . . . I love you . . . I love you."
V FORMATION AND THE GOOSE
When you see geese flying along in "V" formation, you might consider what science has discovered as to why they fly that way. As each bird flaps its wings, it creates an uplift for the bird immediately following. By flying in "V" formation, the whole flock adds at least 71 percent greater flying range than if each bird flew on its own.
People who share a common direction and sense of community can get where they are going more quickly and easily because they are traveling on the thrust of one another.
When a goose falls out of formation, it suddenly feels the drag and resistance of trying to go it alone - and quickly gets back into formation to take advantage of the lifting power of the bird in front.
If we have as much sense as a goose, we will stay in formation with those people who are headed the same way we are.
When the head goose gets tired, it rotates back in the wing and another goose flies point.
It is sensible to take turns doing demanding jobs, whether with people or with geese flying south.
Geese honk from behind to encourage those up front to keep up their speed.
What messages do we give when we honk from behind?
Finally - and this is important - when a goose gets sick or is wounded by gunshot, and falls out of formation, two other geese fall out with that goose and follow it down to lend help and protection. They stay with the fallen goose until it is able to fly or until it dies, and only then do they launch out on their own, or with another formation to catch up with their group.
If we have the sense of a goose, we will stand by each other like that.
The FIRE
A couple, whom we shall call John and Mary, had a nice home and two lovely children, a boy and a girl. John had a good job and had just been asked to go on a business trip to another city and would be gone for several days. It was decided that Mary needed an outing and would go along too. They hired a reliable woman to care for the children and made the trip, returning home a little earlier than they had planned.
As they drove into their home town feeling glad to be back, they noticed smoke, and they went off their usual route to see what it was. They found a home in flames. Mary said, "Oh well it isn't our fire, let's go home."
But John drove closer and exclaimed, "That home belongs to Fred Jones who works at the plant. He wouldn't be off work yet, maybe there is something we could do." "It has nothing to do with us." Protested Mary. "You have your good clothes on lets not get any closer."
But John drove up and stopped and they were both horror stricken to see the whole house in flames. A woman on the lawn was in hysterics screaming, "The children! Get the children!" John grabbed her by the shoulder saying, "Get a hold of yourself and tell us where the children are!" "In the basement," sobbed the woman, "down the hall and to the left." In spite of Mary's protests John grabbed the water hose and soaked his clothes, put his wet handkerchief on his head and bolted for the basement which was full of smoke and scorching hot. He found the door and grabbed two children, holding one under each arm like the football player he was. As he left he could hear some more whimpering. He delivered the two badly frightened and nearly suffocated children into waiting arms and filled his lungs with fresh air and started back asking how many more children were down there. They told him two more and Mary grabbed his arm and screamed, "John! Don't go back! It's suicide! That house will cave in any second!"
But he shook her off and went back by feeling his way down the smoke filled hallway and into the room. It seemed an eternity before he found both children and started back. They were all three coughing and he stooped low to get what available air he could. As he stumbled up the endless steps the thought went through his mind that there was something strangely familiar about the little bodies clinging to him, and at last when they came out into the sunlight and fresh air, he found that he had just rescued his own children.
The baby-sitter had left them at this home while she did some shopping.
Building Bridges
Once upon a time two brothers who lived on adjoining farms fell into conflict. It was the first serious rift in 40 years of farming side by side, sharing machinery, and trading labor and goods as needed without a hitch. Then the long collaboration fell apart. It began with a small misunderstanding and it grew into a major difference, and finally it exploded into an exchange of bitter words followed by weeks of silence.
One morning there was a knock on John’s door. He opened it to find a man with a carpenter’s toolbox. “I’m looking for a few days work” he said. “Perhaps you would have a few small jobs here and there. Could I help you?”
“Yes,” said the older brother. “I do have a job for you. Look across the creek at that farm. That’s my neighbor, in fact, it’s my younger brother. Last week there was a meadow between us and he took his bulldozer to the river levee and now there is a creek between us. Well, he may have done this to spite me, but I’ll go him one better. See that pile of lumber curing by the barn? I want you to build me a fence-an 8-foot fence-so I won’t need to see his place anymore. Cool him down, anyhow.”
The carpenter said, “I think I understand the situation. Show me the nails and the post-hole digger and I’ll be able to do a job that pleases you.”
The older brother had to go to town for supplies, so he helped the carpenter get the materials ready and then he was off for the day. The carpenter worked hard all that day measuring, sawing, nailing.
About sunset when the farmer returned, the carpenter had just finished his job. The farmer’s eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped.
There was no fence there at all. It was a bridge-a bridge stretching from one side of the creek to the other! A fine piece of work, handrails and all-and the neighbor, his younger brother, was coming across, his hand outstretched. “You are quite a fellow to build this bridge after all I’ve said and done.”
The two brothers met at the middle of the bridge, taking each other’s hand. They turned to see the carpenter hoist his toolbox on his shoulder. “No, wait! Stay a few days. I’ve a lot of other projects for you,” said the older brother. “I’d love to stay on,” the carpenter said, “but I have so many more bridges to build.”
The Blind Woman
The passengers on the bus watched sympathetically as the attractive young woman with the white cane made her way carefully up the steps. She paid the driver and, using her hands to feel the location of the seats, walked down the aisle and found the seat he’d told her was empty. Then she settled in, placed her briefcase on her lap and rested her cane against her leg.
It had been a year since Susan, 34, became blind. Due to a medical misdiagnosis she had been rendered sightless, and she was suddenly thrown into a world of darkness, anger, frustration and self-pity. And all she had to cling to was her husband, Mark.
Mark was an Air Force officer and he loved Susan with all his heart. When she first lost her sight, he watched her sink into despair and was determined to help his wife gain the strength and confidence she needed to become independent again.
Finally, Susan felt ready to return to her job, but how would she get there? She used to take the bus, but was now too frightened to get around the city by herself. Mark volunteered to drive her to work each day, even though they worked at opposite ends of the city. At first, this comforted Susan, and fulfilled Mark’s need to protect his sightless wife who was so insecure about performing the slightest task. Soon, however, Mark realized the arrangement wasn’t working. Susan is going to have to start taking the bus again, he admitted to himself. But she was still so fragile, so angry-how would she react?
Just as he predicted, Susan was horrified at the idea of taking the bus again. “I’m blind!,” she responded bitterly. “How am I supposed to know where I am going? I feel like you’re abandoning me.”
Mark’s heart broke to hear these words, but he knew what had to be done. He promised Susan that each morning and evening he would ride the bus with her, for as long as it took, until she got the hang of it. And that is exactly what happened. For two solid weeks, Mark, military uniform and all, accompanied Susan to and from work each day. He taught her how to rely on her other senses, specifically her hearing, to determine where she was and how to adapt her new environment. He helped her befriend the bus drivers who could watch out for her, and save her a seat.
Finally, Susan decided that she was ready to try the trip on her own. Monday morning arrived, and before she left, she threw her arms around Mark, her temporary bus-riding companion, her husband, and her best friend. Her eyes filled with tears of gratitude for his loyalty, his patience, and his love. She said good-bye, and for the first time, they went their separate ways. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday... Each day on her own went perfectly, and Susan had never felt better. She was doing it! She was going to work all by herself.
On Friday morning, Susan took the bus to work as usual. As she was paying the fare to exit the bus, the driver said, “Boy, I sure do envy you.” Susan wasn’t sure if the driver was speaking to her or not. After all, who on earth would ever envy a blind woman who had struggled just to find the courage to live for the past year?
Curious, she asked the driver, “Why do you say that you envy me?” The driver responded, “It must feel good to be taken care of and protected like you are.”
Susan had no idea what the driver was talking about, and again asked, “What do you mean?”
The driver answered, “You know, every morning for the past week, a fine-looking gentleman in a military uniform has been standing across the corner watching you as you get off the bus. He makes sure you cross the street safely and he watches until you enter your office building. Then he blows you a kiss, gives you a little salute and walks away. You are one lucky lady.”
Tears of happiness poured down Susan’s cheeks. For although she couldn’t physically see him, she had always felt Mark’s presence. She was lucky, so lucky, for he had given her a gift more powerful than sight, a gift she didn’t need to see to believe-the gift of love that can bring light where there is darkness.
I’ve Learned
I’ve learned- that you cannot make someone love you.
All you can do is be someone who can be loved. The rest is up to them.
I’ve learned- that no matter how much I care, some people just don’t care back.
I’ve learned- that it takes years to build up trust, and only seconds to destroy it.
I’ve learned- that it’s not what you have in your life but who you have in your life that counts.
I’ve learned- that you shouldn’t compare yourself to the best others can do.
I’ve learned- that you can do something in an instant that will give you heartache for life.
I’ve learned-that it’s taking me a long time to become the person I want to be.
I’ve learned- that you should always leave loved ones with loving words. It may be the last time you see them..
I’ve learned- that we are responsible for what we do, no matter how we feel.
I’ve learned- that either you control your attitude or it controls you.
I’ve learned-that regardless of how hot and steamy a relationship is at first, the passion fades and there had better be something else to take its place.
I’ve learned-that heroes are the people who do what has to be done, when it needs to be done, regardless of the consequences.
I’ve learned-that sometimes the people you expect to kick you when you’re down will be the ones to help you get back up.
I’ve learned-that sometimes when I’m angry I have the right to be angry, but that doesn’t give me the right to be cruel.
I’ve learned-that just because someone doesn’t love you the way you want them to doesn’t mean they don’t love you with all they have.
I’ve learned-that maturity has more to do with what types of experiences you’ve had and what you’ve learned from them and less to do with how many birthdays you’ve celebrated.
I’ve learned- that you should never tell a child their dreams are crazy or impossible. Few things are more humiliating, and what a tragedy it would be if they believed you.
I’ve learned- that no matter how good a friend is, they’re going to hurt you every once in a while and you must forgive them for that.
I’ve learned-that no matter how bad your heart is broken the world doesn’t stop for your grief.
I’ve learned- that our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are, but we are responsible for who we become. I've learned that I love u my Mija and will never b able to forget u nor replace u, Im so sorry that my words of saying sorry r not enough, I understand ur fear and hurt, pain and disappointment. I understand that I must some how prove my sorrow, but how? I beg u for another chance.. no not bcuz I deserve it but bcuz we were meant to be! and always will be .... I have learned to love you and you only!
I’ve learned-that even when you think you have no more to give, when a friend cries out to you, you will find the strength to give
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