December 2, 2012 - Erik and the Old Man

We were the only family with children in the restaurant. I sat Erik in a high chair and noticed everyone was quietly sitting and talking. Suddenly, Erik squealed with glee and said, 'Hi.' He pounded his fat baby hands on the high chair tray. His eyes were crinkled in laughter and his mouth was bared in a toothless grin, as he wriggled and giggled with merriment.

 

I looked around and saw the source of his merriment. It was a man whose pants were baggy with a zipper at half-mast and his toes poked out of would-be shoes. His shirt was dirty and his hair was uncombed and unwashed. His whiskers were too short to be called a beard and his nose was so varicose it looked like a road map.

 

We were too far from him to smell, but I was sure he smelled.. His hands waved and flapped on loose wrists.. 'Hi there, baby; hi there, big boy. I see ya, buster,' the man said to Erik.

 

My husband and I exchanged looks,

'What do we do?'

Erik continued to laugh and answer, 'Hi.'

 

Everyone in the restaurant noticed and looked at us and then at the man. The old geezer was creating a nuisance with my beautiful baby. Our meal came and the man began shouting from across the room, 'Do ya patty cake? Do you know peek-a-boo? Hey, look, he knows peek- a-boo.'

 

Nobody thought the old man was cute. He was obviously drunk.

 

My husband and I were embarrassed. We ate in silence; all except for Erik, who was running through his repertoire for the admiring skid-row bum, who in turn, reciprocated with his cute comments.

 

We finally got through the meal and headed for the door. My husband went to pay the check and told me to meet him in the parking lot. The old man sat poised between me and the door. 'Lord, just let me out of here before he speaks to me or Erik,' I prayed. As I drew closer to the man, I turned my back trying to sidestep him and avoid any air he might be breathing. As I did, Erik leaned over my arm, reaching with both arms in a baby's 'pick-me-up' position. Before I could stop him, Erik had propelled himself from my arms to the man.

 

Suddenly a very old smelly man and a very young baby consummated their love and kinship. Erik in an act of total trust, love, and submission laid his tiny head upon the man's ragged shoulder. The man's eyes closed, and I saw tears hover beneath his lashes. His aged hands full of grime, pain, and hard labor, cradled my baby's bottom and stroked his back. No two beings have ever loved so deeply for so short a time.

 

I stood awestruck. The old man rocked and cradled Erik in his arms and his eyes opened and set squarely on mine. He said in a firm commanding voice, 'You take care of this baby.'

 

Somehow I managed, 'I will,' from a throat that contained a stone.

 

He pried Erik from his chest, lovingly and longingly, as though he were in pain. I received my baby, and the man said, 'God bless you, ma'am, you've given me my Christmas gift.'

 

I said nothing more than a muttered thanks. With Erik in my arms, I ran for the car. My husband was wondering why I was crying and holding Erik so tightly, and why I was saying, 'My God, my God, forgive me.'

 

I had just witnessed Christ's love shown through the innocence of a tiny child who saw no sin, who made no judgment; a child who saw a soul, and a mother who saw a suit of clothes. I was a Christian who was blind, holding a child who was not.. I felt it was God asking, 'Are you willing to share your son for a moment?' when He shared His for all eternity. How did God feel when he put his baby in our arms 2000 years ago.

 

The ragged old man, unwittingly, had reminded me, 'To enter the Kingdom of God , we must become as little children.'

 

If this has blessed you, please bless others by sending it on. Sometimes, it takes a child to remind us of what is really important. We must always remember who we are, where we came from and, most importantly, how we feel about others. The clothes on your back or the car that you drive or the house that you live in does not define you at all; it is how you treat your fellow man that identifies who you are.

 

This one is a keeper.

 

'It is better to be liked for the true you, than to be loved for who people think you are......'(Amen! )

 

I believe we could all take lessons from God’s little children!!!

November 27, 2012 CARL

Carl

 Carl was a quiet man. He didn't talk much. He would always greet you with a
big smile and a firm handshake.
 Even after living in our neighborhood for over 50 years, no one could
really say they knew him very well.
 Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. The lone sight
of him walking down the street often worried us.
He had a slight limp from a bullet wound received in WWII.  Watching him, we
worried that although he had survived WWII,
 he may not make it through our changing uptown neighborhood  with its
ever-increasing random violence, gangs, and drug activity.
When he saw the flyer at our local church asking for volunteers for caring
for the gardens behind the minister's
residence, he responded in his characteristically unassuming manner. Without
fanfare, he just signed up.
 He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we had  always feared
finally happened.

 He was just finishing his watering for the day when three  gang members
approached him.
 Ignoring their attempt to intimidate him, he simply asked,  "Would you like
a drink from the hose?"

 The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, "Yeah,  sure," with a
malevolent little smile.
As Carl offered the hose to him, the other two grabbed Carl's arm, throwing
him down.
 As the hose snaked crazily over the ground, dousing  everything in its way,
Carl's assailants stole his
 retirement watch and his wallet, and then fled.

 Carl tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown down on his bad leg.
He lay there trying to gather himself as the
 minister came running to help him.

 Although the minister had witnessed the attack from his window, he couldn't
get there fast enough to stop it.

 "Carl, are you okay? Are you hurt?" the minister kept asking as he helped
Carl to his feet.

 Carl just passed a hand over his brow and sighed, shaking his head. "Just
some punk kids. I hope they'll wise-up someday."

 His wet clothes clung to his slight frame as he bent to pick up the hose.
He adjusted the nozzle again and started to water.

 Confused and a little concerned, the minister asked, "Carl, what are you
doing?"
 "I've got to finish my watering. It's been very dry lately," came the calm
reply.

 Satisfying himself that Carl really was all right, the minister could only
marvel. Carl was a man from a different
 time and place.

 A few weeks later the three returned. Just as before their threat was
unchallenged.
Carl again offered them a drink from his hose.

 This time they didn't rob him.. They wrenched the hose from his hand and
drenched him head to foot in the icy water.
 When they had finished their humiliation of him, they sauntered off down
the street, throwing catcalls and curses,
 falling over one another laughing at the hilarity of what they had just
done.

 Carl just watched them. Then he turned toward the warmth giving sun, picked
up his hose, and went on with his watering.

The summer was quickly fading into fall. Carl was doing some tilling when he
was startled by the sudden approach of
 someone behind him. He stumbled and fell into some evergreen branches.

 As he struggled to regain his footing, he turned to see the tall leader of
his summer tormentors reaching down for him.
 He braced himself for the expected attack.

"Don't worry old man, I'm not gonna hurt you this time."  The young man
spoke softly, still offering the tattooed and
scarred hand to Carl. As he helped Carl get up, the man pulled a crumpled
bag from his pocket and handed it to Carl.

 "What's this?" Carl asked. "It's your stuff," the man explained. "It's your
stuff back.
 Even the money in your wallet." "I don't understand," Carl said. "Why would
you help me now?"

 The man shifted his feet, seeming embarrassed and ill at ease. "I learned
something from you," he said. "I ran with
 that gang and hurt people like you. We picked you because you were old and
we knew we could do it But every time we
 came and did something to you, instead of yelling and fighting back, you
tried to give us a drink. You didn't hate
 us for hating you. You kept showing love against our hate."

 He stopped for a moment. "I couldn't sleep after we stole your stuff, so
here it is back."
 He paused for another awkward moment, not knowing what more there was to
say. "That bag's my way of saying thanks for
 straightening me out, I guess." And with that, he walked off down the
street.

 Carl looked down at the sack in his hands and gingerly opened it. He took
out his retirement watch and put it back
 on his wrist.. Opening his wallet, he checked for his wedding photo. He
gazed for a moment at the young bride that
 still smiled back at him from all those years ago.

He died one cold day after Christmas that winter. Many people attended his
funeral in spite of the weather.

 In particular the minister noticed a tall young man that he didn't know
sitting quietly in a distant corner of the church.

The minister spoke of Carl's garden as a lesson in life. In a voice made
thick with unshed tears, he said, "Do your
best and make your garden as beautiful as you can. We will never forget Carl
and his garden."

The following spring another flyer went up. It read: "Person needed to care
for Carl's garden."

 The flyer went unnoticed by the busy parishioners until one day when a
knock was heard at the minister's office door.
 Opening the door, the minister saw a pair of scarred and tattooed hands
holding the flyer. "I believe this is my job,
 if you'll have me," the young man said.

 The minister recognized him as the same young man who had returned the
stolen watch and wallet to Carl.
 He knew that Carl's kindness had turned this man's life around. As the
minister handed him the keys to the garden
 shed, he said, "Yes, go take care of Carl's garden and honor him."

The man went to work and, over the next several years, he tended the flowers
and vegetables just as Carl had done.
 During that time, he went to college, got married, and became a prominent
member of the community. But he never
 forgot his promise to Carl's memory and kept the garden as beautiful as he
thought Carl would have kept it.

One day he approached the new minister and told him that he couldn't care
for the garden any longer. He explained with a
 shy and happy smile, "My wife just had a baby boy last night, and she's
bringing him home on Saturday.."
 "Well, congratulations!" said the minister, as he was handed the garden
shed keys. "That's wonderful! What's the baby's name?"

"Carl," he replied..


That's the whole gospel message simply stated.

 GOOD FRIENDS ARE LIKE ANGELS, YOU DON'T HAVE TO SEE THEM TO KNOW THEY ARE THERE

Have a great day and God bless!

November 13, 2012 - Dogs Know

Anyone who has pets will really like this. You'll like it even if you don't and you may even decide you need one! 
Mary and her husband Jim had a dog named 'Lucky.'  Lucky was a real character.  Whenever Mary and Jim had company come for a weekend visit they would warn their friends to not leave their luggage open because Lucky would help himself to whatever struck his fancy.  Inevitably, someone would forget 
and something would come up missing.

     

Mary or Jim would go to Lucky's toy box in the basement and there the treasure would be, amid all of Lucky's other favorite toys.  Lucky always stashed his finds in his toy box and he was very particular that his toys stay in the box. 
It happened that Mary found out she had breast cancer.   Something told her she was going to die of this disease.  In fact,  she was just sure it was fatal.

She scheduled the double mastectomy, fear riding her shoulders.   The night before she was to go to the hospital she cuddled with Lucky.  A thought struck her....what would happen to Lucky?   Although the three-year-old dog liked Jim, he was Mary's dog through and through. 

If I die, Lucky will be abandoned, Mary thought.  He won't understand that I didn't want to leave him!  The thought made her sadder than thinking of her own death.

The double mastectomy was harder on Mary than her doctors had anticipated and Mary was hospitalized for over two weeks.   Jim took Lucky for his evening walk faithfully, but the little dog just drooped, whining and miserable.

Finally the day came for Mary to leave the hospital.  When she arrived home, Mary was so exhausted she couldn't even make it up the steps to her bedroom.  Jim made his wife comfortable on the couch and left her to nap. 

Lucky stood watching Mary but he didn't come to her when she called.  It made Mary sad but sleep soon overcame her and she dozed.

 

When Mary woke for a second she couldn't understand what was wrong.  She couldn't move her head and her body felt heavy and hot. But panic soon gave way to laughter when Mary realized the problem.  She was covered, literally blanketed, with every treasure Lucky owned! 
  While she had slept, the sorrowing dog had made trip after trip to the basement bringing his beloved mistress all his favorite things in life. 
He had covered her with his love.

Mary forgot about dying.  Instead she and Lucky began living again, walking further and further together every day.  It's been 12 years now and Mary is still cancer-free.  Lucky, well, he still steals treasures and stashes them in his toy box but Mary 
remains his greatest treasure.
 
 

 
 

Remember.....live every day to the fullest.  Each minute is a blessing from God.  And never forget....the people who make a difference in our lives are not the ones with the most credentials, the most money, or the most awards.  They are the ones that care for us.
  
If you see someone without a smile today give them one of yours!   Live simply.. Love seriously.   Care deeply.   Speak kindly.   Leave the rest to God .
 

November 4, 2012 - Find a Penny, Pick it Up

You always hear the usual stories of pennies on the sidewalk being good luck, gifts from angels, etc. This is the first time I've ever heard this twist on the story. Gives you something to think about.

Several years ago, a friend of mine and her husband were invited to spend the weekend at the home of her husband's employer.
My friend, Arlene, was nervous about the weekend. The boss was very wealthy, with a fine home on the waterway, and cars costing more than her house.

The first day and evening went well, and Arlene was delighted to have this rare glimpse into how the very wealthy live. Her husband's employer was quite generous as a host, and took them to the finest restaurants. Arlene knew she would never have the opportunity to indulge in this kind of extravagance again, so was enjoying herself immensely.

As the three of them were about to enter an exclusive restaurant one evening, the boss was walking slightly ahead of Arlene and her husband.
He stopped suddenly, looking down on the pavement for a long, silent moment.
Arlene wondered if she was supposed to pass him. There was nothing on the ground except a single darkened penny that someone had dropped, and a few cigarette butts. Still silent, the man reached down and picked up the penny.
He held it up and smiled, then put it in his pocket as if he had found a great treasure.
How absurd! What need did this man have for a single penny? Why would he even take the time to stop and pick it up?

Throughout dinner, the entire scene nagged at her. Finally, she could stand it no longer. She casually mentioned that her daughter once had a coin collection, and asked if the penny he had found had been of some value.

A smile crept across the man's face as he reached into his pocket for the penny and held it out for her to see. She had seen many pennies before! What was the point of this?

"Look at it," he said.. "Read what it says."
She read the words, " United States of America ."

"No, not that. Read further."

"One cent?"
"No, keep reading."

"In God we Trust?"
"Yes!"
"And?. . ."

"And if I trust in God, the name of God is holy, even on a coin. Whenever I find a coin, I see that inscription. It is written on every single United States coin, but we never seem to notice it! God drops a message right in front of me telling me to trust Him. Who am I to pass it by? When I see a coin, I pray. I stop to see if my trust IS in God at that moment. I pick the coin up as a response to God; that I do trust in Him. For a short time, at least, I cherish it as if it were gold. I think it is God's way of starting a conversation with me. Lucky for me, God is patient and pennies are plentiful!"

When I was out shopping today, I found a penny on the sidewalk. I stopped and picked it up, and realized that I had been worrying and fretting in my mind about things I cannot change. I read the words, "In God We Trust," and had to laugh. "Yes, God, I get the message!"

It seems that I have been finding an inordinate number of pennies in the last few months, but then, pennies are plentiful! And, God is patient.

September 11, 2012 Never forget!

Budweiser 9/11 Tribute

September 10, 2012 Magnolia

A Mother tells this story....

I was getting ready for my daughter June's wedding which was taking place in a church about forty miles away, and felt loaded with responsibilities as I watched my budget dwindle..... So many details, so many bills, and so little time.

My son Jack said he would walk his younger sister down the aisle, taking the place of his dad who had died a few years before. He teased Patsy, saying he'd wanted to give her away since she was about three years old!

To save money, I gathered blossoms from several friends who had large magnolia trees. Their luscious, creamy-white blooms and slick green leaves would make beautiful arrangements against the rich dark wood inside the church.

The big day arrived - the busiest day of my life - and while her bridesmaids helped Patsy to dress, her fiancé Tim walked with me to the sanctuary to do a final check. When we opened the door and felt a rush of hot air, I almost fainted; and then I saw them - all the beautiful white flowers were black, funeral black. An electrical storm during the night had knocked out the air conditioning system, and on that hot summer day, the flowers had wilted and died.

I panicked, knowing I didn't have time to drive back to our hometown, gather more flowers, and return in time for the wedding and I certainly didn't have extra money

Tim turned to me. 'Edna, can you get more flowers? I'll throw away these dead ones and put fresh flowers in these arrangements.'

I mumbled, 'Sure,' as he be-bopped down the hall to put on his cuff links.

Alone in the large sanctuary, I looked up at the dark wooden beams in the arched ceiling. 'Lord,' I prayed, 'please help me. I don't know anyone in this town. Help me find someone willing to give me flowers - in a hurry!' I scurried out praying for the blessing of white magnolias.

As I left the church, I saw magnolia trees in the distance. I approached a house.... no dog in sight.... knocked on the door and an older man answered. So far so good. No shotgun. When I stated my plea the man beamed....'I'd be happy to!'

He climbed a stepladder and cut large boughs and handed them down to me. Minutes later, as I lifted the last armload into my car trunk, I said, 'Sir, you've made the mother of a bride happy today.'

No, Ma'am,' he said. 'You don't understand what's happening here.'

'What?' I asked.

'You see, my wife of sixty-seven years died on Monday. On Tuesday I received friends at the funeral home, and on Wednesday..... He paused. I saw tears welling up in his eyes. 'On Wednesday I buried her.' He looked away. 'On Thursday most of my out-of-town relatives went back home, and on Friday - yesterday - my children left.'

I nodded.

'This morning,' he continued, 'I was sitting in my den crying out loud. I miss her so much. For the last sixteen years, as her health got worse, she needed me. But now nobody needs me. This morning I cried, 'Who needs an eighty-six-year-old wore-out man? Nobody!' I began to cry louder. 'Nobody needs me!'

About that time, you knocked, and said, 'Sir, I need you.'

I stood with my mouth open. He asked, 'Are you an angel? I assured him I was no angel.

He smiled. 'Do you know what I was thinking when I handed you those magnolias?'

'No.'

'I decided I'm needed. My flowers are needed. Why, I might have a flower ministry! I could give them to everyone! Some caskets at the funeral home have no flowers. People need flowers at times like that and I have lots of them. They're all over the backyard! I can give them to hospitals, churches - all sorts of places. You know what I'm going to do? I'm going to serve the Lord until the day He calls me home!'

I drove back to the church, filled with wonder. On Patsy's wedding day, if anyone had asked me to encourage someone who was hurting, I would have said, 'Forget it! It's my only daughter's wedding, for goodness' sake! There is no way I can minister to anyone today.'

But God found a way. Through dead flowers. 'Life is not the way it's supposed to be. It's the way it is. The way you cope with it is what makes the difference.'

If you have missed knowing me, you have missed nothing.

If you have missed some of my emails, you may have missed a laugh.

But, if you have missed knowing God you have missed everything in the world!!

He can be your everything. May God's blessings be upon you.

THIS IS SO TRUE.... "BEING NEEDED" IS SO UPLIFTING TO EACH OF US.

Thanks to my friend, Kay, for sharing this.

April 12, 2011 The Old Man

THE OLD  MAN 
   As I came out of  the supermarket that sunny day, pushing my cart of groceries towards my  car, I saw an old man with the hood of his car up and a lady sitting  inside the car, with the door open.
   
     The old man was looking at the engine. I put my groceries away in  my car, and continued to watch the old gentleman from about twenty five  feet away.
  
    I saw a young man  in his early twenties with a grocery bag in his arm walking towards the  old man. The old gentleman saw him coming too, and took a few steps  towards him.

I saw the old gentleman point to his open  hood and say something. The young man put his grocery bag into what looked  like a brand new Cadillac Escalade. He then turned back to the old  man. I heard him yell at the old gentleman saying:

     'You shouldn't even be allowed to drive a car at your age.' And  then with a wave of his hand, he got in his car and peeled rubber out of  the parking lot.
   
    I saw the old  gentleman pull out his handkerchief, and mop his brow as he went back  to his car and again looked at the engine.
    
    He then went to his wife and spoke with her;  he appeared to tell her it would be okay. I had seen enough, and I  approached the old man. He saw me coming and stood straight, and as I got  near him I said, 'Looks like you're having a problem.'
    
    He smiled sheepishly, and quietly nodded his  head. I looked under the hood myself, and knew that whatever the problem  was, it was beyond me. Looking around, I saw a gas station up the road,  and I told the old man that I would be right back. I drove to the  station and went inside. I saw three attendants working on  cars. I approached one of them, and related the problem the old man had  with his car. I offered to pay them if they could follow me back down  and help him.
   
    The old man had  pushed the heavy car under the shade of a tree and appeared to be  comforting his wife. When he saw us he straightened up and thanked me for  my help. As the mechanics diagnosed the problem (overheated engine), I  spoke with the old gentleman.
   
     When I shook hands with him earlier, he had noticed my Marine Corps ring  and had commented about it, telling me that he had been a Marine too. I  nodded and asked the usual question, 'What outfit did you serve  with?'

    He had mentioned that he served with the first  Marine Division at Tarawa, Saipan, Iwo Jima and Guadalcanal   .

    He had hit all the big ones and retired from the  Corps after the war was over. As we talked we heard the car engine come on  and saw the mechanics lower the hood. They came over to us as the old man  reached for his wallet, but was stopped by me. I told him I would  just put the bill on my AAA card..

    He still reached  for the wallet and handed me a card that I assumed had his name and  address on it and I stuck it in my pocket. We all shook hands all around  again, and I said my goodbye's to his wife.
    
    I then told the two mechanics that I would  follow them back up to the station. Once at the station, I told them that  they had interrupted their own jobs to come along with me and help the old  man. I said I wanted to pay for the help, but they refused to charge  me
   
    One of them pulled out a card  from his pocket, looking exactly like the card the old man had given to  me. Both of the men told me then that they were Marine Corps Reserves.  Once again we shook hands all around and as I was leaving, one of them  told me I should look at the card the old man had given to me. I said I  would and drove off.
   
    For some  reason I had gone about two blocks, when I pulled over and took the card  out of my pocket and looked at it for a long, long time. The name of the  old gentleman was on the card in golden leaf and under his name was  written: 'Congressional Medal of Honor  Society.' 
    I sat there  motionless, looking at the card and reading it over and over. I looked up  from the card and smiled to no one but myself and marveled that on this  day, four Marines had all come together because one of us needed help. He  was an old man all right, but it felt good to have stood next to  greatness and courage, and an honor to have been in his presence.  Remember, OLD men like him gave  you FREEDOM for America . Thanks to those who  served and still serve, and to all of those who supported them,  and who continue to support them.
Remember,  Freedom isn't Free. Thousands have paid the price, so that you can enjoy what you have today.
    
    LET'S DO THIS:   JUST 19 WORDS:
   GOD OUR  FATHER, WALK THROUGH MY HOUSE AND TAKE AWAY ALL MY WORRIES; AND PLEASE  WATCH OVER AND HEAL MY FAMILY; AND PLEASE PROTECT OUR FREEDOMS, AND  WATCH OVER OUR TROOPS, WHO ARE DEFENDING THOSE  FREEDOMS. AMEN

The SandPiper

The Sandpiper

by Mary Sherman Hilbert 

She was six years old when I first met her on the beach where I live.
I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles

whenever the world begins to close in on me.

She was building a sand castle or something
and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.

"Hello," she said.

I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.

"I'm building," she said.

"I see that.  What is it?"  I asked, not really caring.

"Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand."
 That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes.
 A sandpiper glided by.

"That's a joy," the child said.
 "It's a what?"

"It's a joy.  My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy."

The bird went gliding down the beach.

Good-bye joy, I muttered to myself,
hello pain, and turned to walk on.

I was depressed; my life seemed
completely out of balance.

"What's your name?"  She wouldn't give up.

"Ruth," I answered.  "I'm Ruth Peterson."

"Mine's Windy... I'm six."

"Hi, Wendy."

She giggled.  "You're funny," she said.

 

In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on.


Her musical giggle followed me.


"Come again, Mrs. P," she called.  "We'll have another happy day."


The next few days consisted of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings,
and an ailing mother.  The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out
of the dishwater.  I need a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up my coat.

 

The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me.  The breeze was
chilly but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.

"Hello, Mrs. P," she said.  "Do you want to play?"


"What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.


"I don't know.  You say."
 

"How about charades?"  I asked sarcastically.
 

  The tinkling laughter burst forth again.  "I don't know what that is."

 
"Then let's just walk."
  Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face.
"Where do you live?" I asked.
 
"Over there."  She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.
 
Strange, I thought, in winter.
  "Where do you go to school?"
 
"I don't go to school.  Mommy says we're on vacation"

She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach,

but my mind was on other things.

When I left for home, Windy said it had been a happy day.
Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.


Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic.

I was in no mood to even greet Windy.

I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt
like demanding she keep her child at home.

 
"Look, if you don't mind," I said crossly when Windy caught up with me,

"I'd rather be alone today."

She seemed unusually pale and out of breath.
  "Why?" she asked.
  
I turned to her and shouted, "Because my mother died!"

and thought,  My God, why was I saying this to a little child?
 

"Oh," she said quietly, "then this is a bad day."

"Yes," I said, "and yesterday and the day before and -- oh, go away!"
  
"Did it hurt?" she inquired.

  "Did what hurt?" I was exasperated with her, with myself.

  "When she died?"
  
"Of course it hurt!" I snapped, misunderstanding.
Wrapped up in myself, I strode off.

 
A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there.
Feeling guilty, ashamed, and admitting to myself I missed her; I went up
to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door.  A drawn looking
young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.

 
"Hello," I said, "I'm Ruth Peterson.

I missed your little girl today and wondered where she was."
 

 

"Oh yes, Mrs. Peterson, please come in.  Windy spoke of you so much.
I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you.

If she was a nuisance, please, accept my apologies."

 
"Not at all!  She's a delightful child," I said, suddenly realizing
that I meant what I had just said.

 
"Windy died last week, Mrs. Peterson.  She had leukemia.
Maybe she didn't tell you."
  
Struck dumb, I groped for a chair.  I had to catch my breath.

  "She loved this beach, so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no.
She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days.
But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly..." Her voice faltered, "She left
something for you, if only I can find it.  Could you wait a moment while I look?"

  I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely young
woman.  She handed me a smeared envelope with "MRS. P" printed in bold
childish letters.  Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues -- a yellow beach,
a blue sea, and a brown bird.  Underneath was carefully printed:

A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY.

  Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to love
opened wide.  I took Windy's mother in my arms.  "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry,
I'm so sorry," I uttered over and over, and we wept together.  The precious little
picture is framed now and hangs in my study.

Six words -- one for each year of her life –

that speak to me of harmony, courage, and undemanding love,
  A gift from a child with sea blue eyes and

hair the color of sand -- who taught me the gift of love.

 

 

NOTE: This story serves as a reminder
to all of us that we need to take time to enjoy living and life and each other.
The price of hating other human beings is loving oneself less.

  Life is so complicated; the hustle and bustle of everyday traumas
can make us lose focus about what is truly important
or what is only a momentary setback or crisis.

 Be sure to give your loved ones an extra hug, and by all means,
take a moment... even if it is only ten seconds, to stop and smell the roses.

This comes from someone's heart, and is read by many
and now I share it with you.

May God Bless everyone who receives this!
   I wish for you, a sandpiper.

A Soldier's Poem

THIS ALSO PERTAINS TO MARINES, AIR FORCE, NAVY, AND COAST GUARD

 

    A POEM WORTH READING

And sharing!   (Author unknown)

   

He was getting

old and paunchy

And his hair was falling fast,

And he sat around the VFW,

Telling stories of the past.

 

Of a war that he once fought in

And the deeds that he had done,

In his exploits with his buddies;

They were heroes, every one.

 

And 'tho sometimes to his neighbors

His tales became a joke,

All his buddies listened quietly

For they knew whereof he spoke.

 

But we'll hear his tales no longer,

For old Bob has passed away,

And the world's a little poorer

For a Soldier died today.

 

He won't be mourned by many,

Just his children and his wife.

For he lived an ordinary,

Very quiet sort of life.

 

He held a job and raised a family,

Going quietly on his way;

And the world won't note his passing,

'Tho a Soldier died today.

 

When politicians leave this earth,

Their bodies lie in state,

While thousands note their passing,

And proclaim that they were great.

 

Papers tell of their life stories

From the time that they were young

But the passing of a Soldier

Goes unnoticed, and unsung.

 

Is the greatest contribution

To the welfare of our land,

Someone who breaks his promise

And cons his fellow man?

 

Or the ordinary fellow

Who in times of war and strife,

Goes off to serve his country

And offers up his life?

 

The politician's stipend

And the style in which he lives,

Are often disproportionate,

To the service that he gives.

 

While the ordinary Soldier,

Who offered up his all,

Is paid off with a medal

And perhaps a pension, small.

 

It is not the politicians

With their compromise and ploys,

Who won for us the freedom

That our country now enjoys.

 

Should you find yourself in danger,

With your enemies at hand,

Would you really want some cop-out,

With his ever waffling stand?

 

Or would you want a Soldier--

His home, his country, his kin,

Just a common Soldier,

Who would fight until the end?

 

He was just a common Soldier,

And his ranks are growing thin,

But his presence should remind us

We may need his like again.

 

For when countries are in conflict,

We find the Soldier's part

Is to clean up all the troubles

That the politicians start.

 

If we cannot do him honor

While he's here to hear the praise,

Then at least let's give him homage

At the ending of his days.

 

Perhaps just a simple headline

In the paper that might say:

"OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING,

A SOLDIER DIED TODAY."

March 20, 2011 - Time

To realize
the value of a sister/brother
ask someone
who doesn't have one.

To realize
the value of ten years:
ask a newly
divorced couple.

To realize
the value of four years:
ask a graduate.

To realize
the value of one year:
ask a student who
has failed a final exam.

To realize
the value of nine months:
ask a mother who gave birth to a stillborn.

To realize
the value of one month:
ask a mother
who has given birth to a premature  baby..

To realize
the value of one minute:
ask a person
who has missed the train, bus or plane.

To realize
the value of one-second:
ask a person who has survived an accident.

Time waits for no one.
treasure every moment you have.

You will treasure it even more when
you can share it with someone special.

To realize the value of a friend or family member:
LOSE ONE.


Remember....

Hold on tight to the ones you love!

 - Author Unknown

 

 

March 14, 2011

Nobody can go back and create a new beginning. But everyone can start now and create a new ending.

 

And how wonderful is that!

 

 

March 13, 2011

You can't change the past on what you should have done, but you can change the present and future on what you do and what you will do.

 

And that is why I am grateful TODAY!

March 12, 2011

Someone has said that if Christians really understood the full extent of the power we have available through prayer, we might be speechless. Did you know that during WWII there was an adviser to Churchill who organized a group of people who dropped what they were doing every day at a prescribed hour for one minute to collectively pray for the safety of England, its people and peace? There is now a group of people organizing the same thing here in America. If you would like to participate: Every evening at 9:00 PM Eastern Time (8:00 PM Central) (7:00 PM Mountain) (6:00 PM Pacific), stop whatever you are doing and spend one minute praying for the safety of the United States, our troops, our citizens, and for a return to a Godly nation. Our prayers are the most powerful asset we have.   

New Edit

January 8, 2011

I am thankful for my husband who has put up with me while I am sick!  I am thankful for the scientists who develop medicines and the doctors and physicians assistants who prescribe them.   I am hoping that something works!!!

December 4, 2010

Today I am grateful for meeting old friends and getting caught up with each other.  The past three days we have reconnected with 7 people we met in our travels over the last year...  How blessed we are - :-)))