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!!!