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About ten years ago, a young and very successful executive named Josh was traveling down a Chicago neighborhood street. He was going a bit too fast in his sleek, black, 12 cylinder Jaguar XKE, which was only two months old.

He was watching for kids darting out from between parked cars and slowed down when he thought he saw something. As his car passed, no child darted out, but a brick sailed out and - WHUMP! - it smashed into the Jag's shiny black side door! SCREECH..!!!! Brakes slammed! Gears ground into reverse, and tires madly spun the Jaguar back to the spot from where the brick had been thrown. Josh jumped out of the car, grabbed the kid and pushed him up against a parked car. He shouted at the kid, "What was that all about and who are you? Just what the heck are you doing?!" Building up a head of steam, he went on. "That's my new Jag, and that brick you threw is going to cost you a lot of money. Why did you throw it?"

"Please, mister, please. . . I'm sorry! I didn't know what else to do!" The youngster pleaded. "I threw the brick because no one else would stop!" Tears were dripping down the boy's chin as he pointed around the parked car. "It's my brother, mister," he said. "He rolled off the curb and fell out of his wheelchair and I can't lift him up." Sobbing, the boy asked the executive, "Would you please help me get him back into his wheelchair? He's hurt and he's too heavy for me."

Moved beyond words, the young executive tried desperately to swallow the rapidly swelling lump in his throat. Straining, he lifted the young man back into the wheelchair and took out his handkerchief and wiped the scrapes and cuts, checking to see that everything was going to be OK. He then watched the younger brother push him down the sidewalk toward their home.

In 1883, a creative engineer named John Roebling was inspired by an idea to build a spectacular bridge connecting New York with the Long Island. However bridge building experts throughout the world thought that this was an impossible feat and told Roebling to forget the idea. It just could not be done. It was not practical. It had never been done before.

Roebling could not ignore the vision he had in his mind of this bridge. He thought about it all the time and he knew deep in his heart that it could be done. He just had to share the dream with someone else. After much discussion and persuasion he managed to convince his son Washington, an up and coming engineer, that the bridge in fact could be built.

Working together for the first time, the father and son developed concepts of how it could be accomplished and how the obstacles could be overcome. With great excitement and inspiration, and the headiness of a wild challenge before them, they hired their crew and began to build their dream bridge.

The project started well, but when it was only a few months underway a tragic accident on the site took the life of John Roebling. Washington was injured and left with a certain amount of brain damage, which resulted in him not being able to walk or talk or even move.
 

"We told them so."
"Crazy men and their crazy dreams."
"It’s foolish to chase wild visions."

Everyone had a negative comment to make and felt that the project should be scrapped since the Roeblings were the only ones who knew how the bridge could be built. In spite of his handicap Washington was never discouraged and still had a burning desire to complete the bridge and his mind was still as sharp as ever.

He tried to inspire and pass on his enthusiasm to some of his friends, but they were too daunted by the task. As he lay on his bed in his hospital room, with the sunlight streaming through the windows, a gentle breeze blew the flimsy white curtains apart and he was able to see the sky and the tops of the trees outside for just a moment.

It seemed that there was a message for him not to give up. Suddenly an idea hit him. All he could do was move one finger and he decided to make the best use of it. By moving this, he slowly developed a code of communication with his wife.

He touched his wife's arm with that finger, indicating to her that he wanted her to call the engineers again. Then he used the same method of tapping her arm to tell the engineers what to do. It seemed foolish but the project was under way again.

For 13 years Washington tapped out his instructions with his finger on his wife's arm, until the bridge was finally completed. Today the spectacular Brooklyn Bridge stands in all its glory as a tribute to the triumph of one man's indomitable spirit and his determination not to be defeated by circumstances. It is also a tribute to the engineers and their team work, and to their faith in a man who was considered mad by half the world. It stands too as a tangible monument to the love and devotion of his wife who for 13 long years patiently decoded the messages of her husband and told the engineers what to do.

Perhaps this is one of the best examples of a never-say-die attitude that overcomes a terrible physical handicap and achieves an impossible goal.

Often when we face obstacles in our day-to-day life, our hurdles seem very small in comparison to what many others have to face. The Brooklyn Bridge shows us that dreams that seem impossible can be realised with determination and persistence, no matter what the odds are.

A blind boy sat on the steps of a building with a hat by his feet. He held up a sign which said: "I am blind, please help." There were only a few coins in the hat.

A man was walking by. He took a few coins from his pocket and dropped them into the hat. He then took the sign, turned it around, and wrote some words. He put the sign back so that everyone who walked by would see the new words.

Soon the hat began to fill up. A lot more people were giving money to the blind boy. That afternoon the man who had changed the sign came to see how things were. The boy recognized his footsteps and asked, "Were you the one who changed my sign this morning? What did you write?"

The man said, "I only wrote the truth. I said what you said but in a different way."

What he had written was: "Today is a beautiful day and I cannot see it."

Do you think the first sign and the second sign were saying the same thing? Of course both signs told people the boy was blind.

But the first sign simply told people to help by putting some money in the hat. The second sign told people that they were able to enjoy the beauty of the day, but the boy could not enjoy it because he was blind.

The first sign simply said the boy was blind. The second sign told people they were so lucky that they were not blind. Should we be surprised that the second sign was more effective?

And all the man did was to play with the human nature of "Be thankful for what you have".

One picture was of a calm lake. The lake was a perfect mirror, for peaceful towering mountains were all around it. Overhead was a blue sky with fluffy white clouds. All who saw this picture thought that it was a perfect picture of peace.

The other picture had mountains, too. But these were rugged and bare. Above was an angry sky from which rain fell and in which lightening played. Down the side of the mountain tumbled a foaming waterfall. This did not look peaceful at all. But when the King looked, he saw behind the waterfall a tiny bush growing in a crack in the rock. In the bush a mother bird had built her nest. There, in the midst of the rush of angry water, sat the mother bird on her nest... perfect peace.

Which picture do you think won the prize?

The King chose the second picture.

Because, as explained by the King, "peace does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble, or hard work. Peace means to be in the midst of all those things and still be calm in your heart. That is the real meaning of peace."

He almost didn't see the old lady, stranded on the side of the road, but
even in the dim light of day, he could see she needed help. So he pulled
up in front of her Mercedes and got out. His old ute was still
spluttering when he approached her.

Even with the smile on his face, she was worried. No one had stopped to
help for the last hour or so was he going to hurt her? He didn't look safe; he looked poor and hungry.

He could see that she was frightened, standing out there in the cold. He knew how she felt. It was that chill which only fear can put in you.
He said, "I'm here to help you, ma'am.Why don't you wait in the car
where it's warm? By the way, my name is Bryan Anderson."

Well, all she had was a flat tyre, but for an old lady, that was bad
enough. Bryan crawled under the car looking for a place to put the jack,
skinning his knuckles a time or two. Soon he was able to change the
tyre. But he had to get dirty and his hands hurt.
As he was tightening up the lug nuts, she rolled down the window and
began to talk to him. She told him that she was from up North and was
only just passing through. She couldn't thank him enough for coming to her aide.

Bryan just smiled as he closed her boot. The lady asked how much she
owed him. Any amount would have been all right with her. She already
imagined all the awful things that could have happened had he not
stopped. Bryan never thought twice about being paid. This was not a job
to him. This was helping some one in need, and God knows there were
plenty who had given him a hand in the past. He had lived his whole life
that way, and it never occurred to him to act any other way.

He told her that if she really wanted to pay him back, the next time she
saw some one who needed help, she could give that person the assistance
they needed, and Bryan added, "And think of me."

He waited until she started her car and drove off. It had been a cold
and depressing day, but he felt good as he headed for home, disappearing
into the twilight.

A few miles down the road the lady saw a small cafe. She went in to grab
a bite to eat, and take the chill off before she made the last leg of
her trip home. It was a dingy looking restaurant.

The whole scene was unfamiliar to her. The waitress came over and
brought a clean towel to wipe her wet hair. She had a sweet smile, one
that even being on her feet for the whole day couldn't erase. The lady
noticed the waitress was nearly eight months pregnant, but she never let
the strain and aches change her attitude. The old lady wondered how
someone who had so little could be so giving to a stranger. Then she
remembered Bryan.

After the lady finished her meal, she paid with a hundred dollar bill.
The waitress quickly went to get change for her, but the old lady had
slipped right out the door. She was gone by the time the waitress came
back. The waitress wondered where the lady could be.

Then she noticed something written on the napkin. There were tears in
her eyes when she read what the lady wrote: "You don't owe me anything.
I have been there too. Somebody once helped me out, the way I'm helping
you. If you really want to pay me back, here is what you do: Do not let
this chain of love end with you."

Under the napkin were four more $100 bills.
Well, there were tables to clear, sugar bowls to fill, and people to
serve, but the waitress made it through another day. That night when she
got home from work and climbed into bed, she was thinking about the
money and what the lady had written. How could the lady have known how
much she and her husband needed it? With the baby due next month, it was
going to be hard.

She knew how worried her husband was, and as he lay sleeping next to
her, she gave him a soft kiss and whispered soft and low, "Everything's
gonna be all right. I love you, Bryan Anderson."

There is an old saying "What goes around comes around."

by W. Livingston Larned

Listen, son: I am saying this as you lie asleep, one little paw crumpled under your cheek and the blond curls stickily wet on your damp forehead. I have stolen into your room alone. Just a few minutes ago, as I sat reading my paper in the library, a stifling wave of remorse swept over me. Guiltily I came to your bedside.

These are the things I was thinking son: I had been cross to you. I scolded you as you were dressing for school because you gave your face merely a dab with a towel. I called out angrily when you threw some of your things on the floor.

At breakfast I found fault, too. You spilled things. You gulped down your food. You spread butter too thick on your bread. And as you started off to play and I made for my train, you turned and waved a hand and called, "Goodbye Daddy!" and I frowned, and said in reply, "Hold your shoulders back!"

Then it began all over again in the late afternoon. As I came up the road I spied you, down on your knees, playing marbles. There were holes in your stockings. I humiliated you before your boyfriends by marching you ahead of me to the house. Stockings were expensive - and if you had to buy them you would be more careful! Imagine that, son, from a father!

Do you remember, later, when I was reading in the library, how you came in timidly, with a sort of hurt look in your eyes? When I glanced up over my paper, impatient at the interruption, you hesitated at the door. "What is it you want?" I snapped.

You said nothing, but ran across in one tempestuous plunge, and threw your arms around my neck and kissed me, and your arms tightened with an affection that God had set blooming in our heart and which even neglect could not wither. And then you were gone, pattering up the stairs.

Well, son, it was shortly afterwards that my paper fell from my hands and a terrible sickening fear came over me. What has habit been doing to me? The habit of finding fault, of reprimanding - this was my reward to you for being a boy. It was not that I did not love you; it was that I expected too much of you. I was measuring you by the yardstick of my own years.

And there was so much that was good and fine and true in your character. The little heart of you was as big as the dawn itself over the wide hills. This was shown by your spontaneous impulse to rush in and kiss me good night. Nothing else matters tonight, son. I have come to your bedside in the darkness, and I have knelt there, ashamed!

It is a feeble atonement; I know you would not understand these things if I told them to you during your waking hours. But tomorrow I will be a real daddy! I will chum with you, and suffer when you suffer, and laugh when you laugh. I will bite my tongue when impatient words come. I will keep saying as if it were a ritual: "He is nothing but a boy - a little boy!"

I am afraid I have visualized you as a man. Yet as I see you now, son crumpled and weary in your cot, I see that you are still a baby. Yesterday you were in your mother’s arms your head on her shoulder. I have asked too much, too much.

It's okay to make wrong decisions. One day you will make a right one. When you have exhausted all the wrong ones.

Don't Blink

I've blinked too much, now you have grown.

The afternoons spent in the backyard on the swing set have slid off into the past.

The days of carrying you up to your bedroom when you were exhausted
by your exuberant play are now just rusty memories.

I've blinked too much.

I've blinked too much, now you have grown.

No more tea parties drinking an imaginary potion that you whipped up, whose ingredients
actually kept me young. No more endless afternoons of continuously chasing the ball
that you hit so that you could take a few more erratic swings.

I've blinked too much.

I've blinked too much, now you have grown.

No more Bert and Ernie and playing on a street with a big yellow bird.
No more holding your hand when you cross the street...actually,
no more holding you hand anytime. I'm sure I'll miss the Dr. Suess
bedtime stories much more than you.

I've blinked too much.

I've blinked too much, now you have grown.

The days when a swimming pool could be just a wash tub on the back patio
have gurgled down the drain of life. The Lego marathons, when we built things
that could only exist in our imaginations, have come to an end
and the blocks sit lifeless in the attic now.

I've blinked too much.

I've blinked too much, now you have grown.

The days of a thousand questions from you when I was the smartest man in the universe
have been replaced by your new confidence and the perception that you now know it all.
I will never be your expert again, only a point of reference for what not to do.

I've blinked too much.

I've blinked too much, now you have grown.

If I had it all to do over again, I wouldn't blink so much. I would keep my eyes open
every second of every minute of every hour, so not to miss any potential life long memories
that you might have been creating. I thought I didn't miss much but I missed plenty.

I know I've blinked too much.

Work made me blink when you had a ball game. Laziness made me blink, when I put you to bed earlier than I should have just to get a break from parenting. Weakness made me blink, when I fell asleep in the recliner as you were building memorable skyscrapers with your erector set on the living room floor. Lack of patience made me blink, when I lost my temper and all you wanted was my attention.

I've blinked too much.

I've blinked too much, now you have grown.

You are an outstanding young adult and someday you will face the wonderful challenge
of parenthood. You will have clones of your own and their future will depend on
your vision of the world. My only advice to you my precious child is...................

DON"T BLINK!!!!!

I had been there about a week, the nurses had been good about leaving my door closed. But one bright morning I was awakened by sounds of people out in the hallway.

Since I was still feeling sorry for myself, I didn't wake up in a pleasant mood. As I pushed the button to call the nurse, I saw a little boy in the hallway. A cast completely covered his arm, from fingers to shoulder. His face was covered with a smile. In his other hand he was holding a teddy bear.

I heard his mother telling him to sit and wait until she was done. He looked over to me and I had the permanent scowl on my face, but he smiled at me. Then without warning he came running into my room. As I was silently cursing the nurses for leaving my door open, the smile upon his face widened.

He came right up next to my bed and stood there smiling at me. Then with his good arm he held out his big brown teddy bear. It was missing an eye but I had to admit it was cute. I layed there and stared at him for the longest time. Not knowing what he was wanting from me.

He said, "This is Teddy. He's still sick. He needs to stay here. Could you keep him here till he gets better?"

I reached out and took Teddy from his hand. I promised I would take care of Teddy until the time he got better. I also promised to keep him from harm afterwards.

Just then the little boy's mother called to him. He looked back at me and said, "Bye mister, bye Teddy" and ran out of the room. His mother smiled down at him and the nurse wheeled him away. I sat there hugging Teddy for the longest time. The nurse responded to my call just in time to catch the tears rolling down my cheeks and the biggest smile on my face.

I will never forget what that little boy gave to me that day. It was so much more than a well loved, one eyed teddy bear. I have kept my promises to that little boy too.

I have kept Teddy close to me ever since that day in the hospital room, and I have kept that little boy close to my heart. Just recently I sent Teddy to the most special person in my life. She has the most incredible love. I will join her soon and we will keep Teddy for the rest of our lives.

Teddy will always be very well loved.

One of these days is yesterday, with its mistakes and cares, its faults and blunders, its aches and pains. Yesterday has passed forever beyond our control. All the money in the world cannot bring back yesterday. We cannot undo a single act we performed. We cannot erase a single word we said. Yesterday is gone!!

The other day we should not worry about is tomorrow, with its possible adversities, its burdens, its large promise and poor performance. Tomorrow is beyond our immediate control. Tomorrow’s sun will rise, whether in splendor or behind a mask of clouds. But it will rise. Until it does we have no stake in tomorrow, for it is yet unborn.

This leaves only one day: today.

Any man can fight the battles of just one day. It is when you and I add the burdens of two awful eternities – yesterday and tomorrow, that we break down.

It is not necessarily the experience of today that disturbs one’s peace of mind. It is oftentime the bitterness for something which happened yesterday and the dread of what tomorrow may bring. Let us therefore live one day at a time.

very touching one. Fantastic phrases that you can use too.

I could not breathe. The silence was deafening. From every corner a kind, yet seemingly grotesque, face looked upon me in pity. I could hear women in dusty black dresses and overdone make-up nudging their friends whispering, "the girl who lost her mother," nodding their heads in my direction and then their friend would reply, "poor dear, that is such a horrible thing to happen and at her age."

What did my age matter? I barely looked my eight years. For the first time in my life my incredibly kinky and wild dark brown hair had been tamed by someone other than my Oma. Children at school used to laugh at my unusual name for my mother, but that just made it more special. I sighed and averted my eyes. There was a lump in my throat that threatened to consume every ounce of restraint I had left. It didn't matter how old I was because that lump would never go away.

Then I lost it. My face was flushed hot and warm tears burst from my eyes like a waterfall. My father tapped my arm and directed me into a different room. I rose, blinded by the shield of mist covering my eyes. I slowly felt my way into the other room. The pastor's deep kind voice echoed from the wooden banisters of the small country church. "Charlotte Rose lived a beautiful life. We were each blessed to have her with us as long as we did. She fought long and hard against the cancer that took her from us. She was a faithful wife, a loving mother, a..."

The rest was lost to me. The grief that I bore racked my body until I lay sprawled on the floor. I was unaware how long it took for me to breathe again. I shut my eyes while my head was propped against the stained blue carpeting and her image floated back to me.

She was in the garden bent over on her hands and knees pulling weeds. That was where she always was. Her dark hair was tied in a hasty bun, loose strands hanging around the dark nape of her neck. She always wore dresses that allowed her to be loose and free. She loved them in bright colors that reflected her personality and the beauty of life. Seldom did I see her without a hat. Hats were her glory. She would buy them in every size and color. The crazier the hat was, the better.

She was very old fashioned. She would go to specific department stores and order out of certain catalogues so that she might receive genuine hatboxes. She would then organize her flower and vegetable seeds in them. Father would sometimes jokingly state that mother was his flower because of the way she dressed, simple and beautiful, yet wild and ornate. Mother would always say that his statement was a contradiction of terms, but I always agreed with father.

Mother's love of flowers reached beyond the garden. When we would drive together on the highway, she would suddenly stop the car in order to pick a flower she considered unique. She would then place it into her Bible so it could be pressed. She believed each one bore it's own fingerprint of life. We would spend hours pressing flowers and identifying them, working in the garden, or just sitting on the swing and planning what we would plant the following year.

It was one such occasion after Oma had been sick for a while. I knew she was not feeling well but I did not understand she was dying. She promised that we would plant tulips. Those were her favorites. She would smile at me and hold me in her arms and tell me why tulips are my favorite, because you can plant a few, and in a few years there will be abundance. I would look up at her in awe of her wisdom.

"They are called Resurrection Tulips because throughout the whole year they appear dead. But in the early spring they bloom even more radiant than the year before."

My aunt yanked me out of my reverie. "Felicia, your father is waiting." She looped her arm around mine and lifted me to my feet. I suddenly smelled the musty choir room and was eager to leave. No words were spoken on the way home. There was nothing to say.

Her death was my fault. I should have been there by her side. I had wanted to spend the night with my friend Grace the night Oma died. I should not have left. Throughout her sickness I had remained by her side but, when the chance came for me to leave, I took it. I couldn't take it any more, to see her slowly fade away and to see her color disappear.

I didn't understand. She was dying like the daisies I planted. Little by little she was disappearing. However, she had taken care of my dying daisies. She had placed them in the sunlight so that they wouldn't wilt, she had given them water so that they could breathe, and then she spilt her magic on them so that life could spring anew. She gave so much of her magic away she did not have any left for herself.

She steadily deteriorated. I would sit by her bedside and would read to her from our favorite book, The Secret Garden, but she could barely blink her eyes. Her dark eyes that used to pore into mine, understanding every feeling or thought that I had. She could not respond. But even still in the midst of her pain, even until the moment that I left her side she promised me tulips. Tulips, they were all but forgotten.

The next day father told me that we were leaving. Mother's presence was too strong in that place. As we drove away I tried to imprint forever in my mind our home. It was small and picturesque set against the hills that Oma's promise was to be planted on.

A white washed picket fence surrounded the house and the gardens. I held in my hand Oma's Bible. I opened it and began to turn the pages. In between every other page there was a flower. She felt flowers alone could spurn a belief in God. Each was so beautiful, so ornate, and so unique. I shut it. They were too much like mother. They were too weak, too vulnerable.

Were all humans so fragile that they could offer joy and pleasure, but then be destroyed by the unkind heel of a passing stranger known as a cancer?

I lived in Portland for ten years. We had never returned to our home in Washington. Soon after I graduated father passed away. I was then given the responsibility of seeing after our property in Marysville. I dreaded yet yearned for this excursion.

As I drove up the narrow stretch of road to our home feeling of anxiety consumed me. I was filled was again with guilt at my betrayal. I suppose I never truly came to peace about my absence at the time of her death. I felt that I needed, well, I did not know what I needed. I wanted a sign to know that everything was going to be OK and that some how Oma had forgiven me.

I slowly turned the curve to the small cottage on the corner. The picket fence had been torn down. The garden had been trampled upon by passing children and overrun by weeds. Vines covered the small brick house and pieces had begun to crumble. The normal Seattle weather of early spring made the scene even more somber. I sighed as I turned off the ignition. I walked up to the house studying the deterioration that had occurred. My home had been destroyed by the forces of nature.

I swung open the back gate to look out at the hills where so many dreams had been founded, where so many memories were buried. I couldn't breathe. There was a lump and in my throat and I dropped to my knees. My face was flushed hot. Warm tears began to break through the barriers that had held them in check for so long. I began to gasp and sob uncontrollably as the barrier broke. Through the blur of tears I saw tulips.

They were in every color, ornate and beautiful. Each was unique, inexplicably fragile and vulnerable. Every flower was able to be crushed in a moment by an unkind stranger, yet, they had grown. How they began I'll never know. This unseen act from God was the greatest gift I could have ever received.

Perhaps in some way when Oma said there would be tulips in the spring she knew it would be more than that. She knew that it would be the memory of overcoming death and the forces of remorse and guilt that had held me down. She knew that I would understand there was never anything for her to forgive. Then, I would be able to embrace life and fly away.

--- Copyright © 2004 Aryanne Young

CHECK THIS OUT GIRLS!  http://www.jayce.youaremighty.com/  or http://www.6Peace.youaremighty.com/   (I'm sure you'll love it. Or love me! haha)

Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour a day to drain the fluids from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back.

The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation. And every afternoon when the man in the bed next to the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.

The man in the other bed would live for those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the outside world.

The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake, the man had said. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Lovers walked arm in arm amid flowers of every color of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape, and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance. As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene. One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man could not hear the band, he could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words. Unexpectedly, an alien thought entered his head: Why should he have all the pleasure of seeing everything while I never get to see anything?

It didn't seem fair. As the thought fermented, the man felt ashamed at first. But as the days passed and he missed seeing more sights, his envy eroded into resentment and soon turned him sour. He began to brood and found himself unable to sleep. He should be by that window --- and that thought now controlled his life.

Late one night, as he lay staring at the ceiling, the man by the window began to cough. He was choking on the fluid in his lungs. The other man watched in the dimly lit room as the struggling man by the window groped for the button to call for help. Listening from across the room, he never moved, never pushed his own button which would have brought the nurse running. In less than five minutes, the coughing and choking stopped, along with the sound of breathing. Now, there was only silence-deathly silence.

The following morning the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths. When she found the lifeless body of the man by the window, she was saddened and called the hospital attendant to take it away-no works, no fuss.

As soon as it seemed appropriate, the man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone. Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it all himself. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed...........

It faced a blank wall.

21 June

Thomas Edison tried two thousand different materials in search of a filament for the light bulb. When none worked satisfactorily, his assistant complained, "All our work is in vain. We have learned nothing."

Edison replied very confidently, "Oh, we have come a long way and we have learned a lot. We now know that there are two thousand elements which we cannot use to make a good light bulb."

-21 June 2006

During my second month of nursing school, our professor gave us a pop quiz. I was a conscientious student and had breezed through the questions, until I read the last one: "What is the first name of the woman who cleans the school?" Surely, this was some kind of joke.

I had seen the cleaning woman several times. She was tall, dark-haired and in her 50s, but how would I know her name? I handed in my paper, leaving the last question blank.

Just before class ended, one student asked if the last question would count toward our quiz grade. "Absolutely," said the professor. "In your careers, you will meet many people. All are significant. They deserve your attention and care, even if all you do is smile and say 'hello'." "I've never forgotten that lesson. I also learned her name was Dorothy

21 June 2006

Two men were traveling together, when a Bear suddenly met them on their path. One of them climbed up quickly into a tree and concealed himself in the branches. The other, seeing that he must be attacked, fell flat on the ground, and when the Bear came up and felt him with his snout, and smelt him all over, he held his breath, and feigned the appearance of death as much as he could. The Bear soon left him, for it is said he will not touch a dead body. When he was quite gone, the other Traveler descended from the tree, and jocularly inquired of his friend what it was the Bear had whispered in his ear. "He gave me this advice," his companion replied. "Never travel with a friend who deserts you at the approach of danger."

"Daddy, may I ask you a question?"

"Yeah, sure, what is it?" replied the man.

"Daddy, how much money do you make an hour?"

"That's none of your business! What makes you ask such a thing?" the man said angrily.

"I just want to know. Please tell me, how much do you make an hour?" pleaded the little boy.

"If you must know, I make $20.00 an hour."

"Oh," the little boy replied, head bowed. Looking up, he said,

"Daddy, may I borrow $10.00 please?"

The father was furious. "If the only reason you wanted to know how much money I make is just so you can borrow some to buy a silly toy or some other nonsense, then you march yourself straight to your room and go to bed. Think about why you're being so selfish. I work long, hard hours everyday and don't have time for such childish games."

The little boy quietly went to his room and shut the door. The man sat down and started to get even madder about the little boy's questioning.

How dare he ask such questions only to get some money.

After an hour or so, the man had calmed down, and started to think he may have been a little hard on his son.

Maybe there was something he really needed to buy with that $10.00, and he really didn't ask for money very often. The man went to the door of the little boy's room and opened the door.

"Are you asleep son?" he asked.

"No daddy, I'm awake," replied the boy.

"I've been thinking, maybe I was too hard on you earlier," said the man.

"It's been a long day and I took my aggravation out on you. Here's that $10.00 you asked for."

The little boy sat straight up, beaming. "Oh, thank you daddy!" he yelled.

Then, reaching under his pillow, he pulled out some more crumpled up bills.

The man, since the boy already had money, started to get angry again.

"Why did you want more money if you already had some?" the father grumbled.

"Because I didn't have enough, but now I do," the little boy replied.

"Daddy, I have $20.00 now. Can I buy an hour of your time?"

~ Ms Kok

This reminds me of 'xiao hai bu ben 2'. Sweet right? (Jacq will agree with me, ya? It's my fave part too.)

It was a busy morning, approximately 8:30 am, when an elderly gentleman in his 80's, arrived to have stitches removed from his thumb. He stated that he was in a hurry as he had an appointment at 9:00 am. I took his vital signs and had him take a seat, knowing it would be over an hour before someone would to able to see him. I saw him looking at his watch and decided, since I was not busy with another patient, I would evaluate his wound.
 
On exam it was well healed, so I talked to one of the doctors, got the needed supplies to remove his sutures and redress his wound. While taking care of his wound, we began to engage in conversation I asked him if he had a doctor's appointment this morning, as he was in such hurry. The gentleman told me no, that he needed to go to the nursing home to eat breakfast with his wife. I then inquired as to her health. He told me that she had been there for a while and that she was a victim of Alzheimer Disease.
 
As we talked, and I finished dressing his wound, I asked if she would be worried if he was a bit late. He replied that she no longer knew who he was, that she had not recognized him in five years now. I was surprised, and asked him. "And you still go every morning, even though she doesn't know who you are?" He smiled as he patted my hand and said. "She doesn't know me, but I still know who she is."
 
I had to hold back tears as he left. Indeed, true love is an acceptance of all that is, has been, will be, and will not be. 
 
"The happiest of people don't necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the best of everything that comes along their way."
 
Peace is seeing a sunset and knowing who to thank.

~ from Ms Kok

One day a farmer's donkey fell down into a well. The animal cried piteously for hours as the farmer tried to figure out what to do.yours too… Finally he decided since the animalwas old, and the well needed to be covered up anyway, it just wasn't worth it to retrieve the donkey. So, the farmer invited all his neighbors to come over and help him. They all grabbed shovels, and began to shovel dirt into the well.

All the other farm animals were very upset about this, because the donkey was their friend. But they discovered there was nothing they could do to help him. At first, when the donkey realized what was happening, he cried horribly. Then, to everyone's amazement, he quieted down. A few shovel loads later, the farmer finally looked down the well, and was astonished at what he saw.

With every shovel of dirt that hit his back, the donkey was doing something amazing. He would shake it off, and take a step up on the dirt as it piled up. As the farmer's neighbors continued to shovel dirt on top of the animal, he would shake it off and take a step up. Pretty soon, everyone was amazed as the donkey stepped up over the edge of the well, and trotted off!

MORAL: Life is going to shovel dirt on you, all kinds of dirt. But each trouble can be a stepping stone. What happens to you isn't nearly as important as how you react to it.

We can get out of the deepest wells just by not giving up!

~ Ms Kok

When Colonel Harland Sanders retired at the age of 65, he had little to show for himself, except an old van, a $105 monthly pension check, and a recipe for chicken.

Knowing he couldn't live on his pension, he took his chicken recipe in hand, got behind the wheel of his van, and set out to make his fortune. His first plan was to sell his chicken recipe to restaurant owners, who would in turn give him a residual for every piece of chicken they sold--5 cents per chicken. The first restaurateur he called on turned him down.

So did the second.

So did the third.

In fact, the first 1008 sales calls Colonel Sanders made ended in rejection. Still, he continued to call on owners as he traveled across the USA, sleeping in his car to save money. Prospect number 1009 gave him his first "yes."

After two years of making daily sales he had signed up a total of five restaurants. Still the Colonel pressed on, knowing that he had a great chicken recipe and that someday the idea would catch on.

Of course, you know how the story ends. The idea DID catch on. By 1963 the Colonel had 600 restaurants across the country selling his secret recipe of Kentucky Fried Chicken (with 11 herbs and spices).

In 1964 he was bought out by future Kentucky governor John Brown. Even though the sale made him a multi-millionaire, he continued to represent and promote KFC until his death in 1990.

    A group of alumni, highly established in their careers, got together to visit their old university lecturer.

    Conversation soon turned into complaints about stress in work life