"It's just over this ridge," she said as I held back a smile. For almost an hour she had been greeting me this way whenever I finally caught up with her. Somehow she always convinced me to go on one of these hikes with her every year. Let's just say I don't exactly have a natural talent for this sort of thing. "Almost here," she said as she held out her hand and gently pulled me to the ledge beside her. It had been like this all of our lives. She loved pushing herself and pulling others out of difficult situations. I always tried to be right there whenever she needed someone, but more often than not it was the other way around.
She was one of those people that was easy to predict because every single decision she made seemed to make perfect sense. I have always been able to ask her for advice and I never hesitate to use it. "We're always there for each other, and that's what makes us friends," she says. All that I have to do in return is pretend to enjoy myself once a year whenever we go hiking.
"Is it really over this ridge?" I ask as she races to the top. "Trust me," she yells as I start to smile again.
A Pastor had a kitten that climbed up a tree in his backyard and then was afraid to come down. The pastor coaxed and offered warm milk. The kitty would not come down.
The tree was not sturdy enough to climb, so the pastor decided that if he tied a rope to his car and drove away so that the tree bent down, he could then reach up and get the kitten. He did all this, checking his progress in the car frequently, then figured if he went just a little bit further, the tree would be bent sufficiently for him to reach the kitten. But as he moved a little further forward... the rope broke.
The tree went "boing!" and the kitten instantly sailed through the air - out of sight.
The pastor felt terrible. He walked all over the neighborhood asking people if they'd seen a little kitten. Nobody had seen a stray kitten. So, he prayed, "Lord, I just commit this kitten to your keeping," and went on about his business.
A few days later he was at the grocery store, and met one of his church members. He happened to look into her shopping cart and was amazed to see cat food. Now this woman was a cat hater and everyone knew it, so he asked her, "Why are you buying cat food when you hate cats so much?"
She replied, "You won't believe this," and told him how her little girl had been begging her for a cat, but she kept refusing. Then a few days before, the child had begged again, so the Mom finally told her little girl, "Well, if the Lord gives you a cat, I'll let you keep it." She told the pastor, "I watched my child go out in the yard, get on her knees, and ask Lord for a cat. And really, Pastor, you won't believe this, but I saw it with my own eyes.
A kitten suddenly came flying out of the blue sky, with its paws spread out, and landed right in front of her."
I knew something was wrong because he always seemed happier than this after spending time with his friends; so I asked him about it. They had just finished playing a game of basketball and were getting on their bikes to head home. As he was unlocking his, it tipped over, scratching and denting a nearby car. The sullen look on his face indicated he had come home without telling this to anyone.
I asked him if he wanted to run errands with me. As we were driving to the store together, I explained the choice that he would have to make and the consequences of his decision. On the way home, I asked him if he wanted to stop at the park and he sheepishly answered, ?No.? ?Well then, do you want some lunch?? I asked as we pulled over.
The restaurant hadn?t changed a bit since I had worked there so many years ago. I recognized the voice of my old boss, Fred, coming from the kitchen, and asked one of the waitresses if I could speak to him. He didn?t remember me at first but that soon changed; I was something of a superstar in the field of dishwashing back in the day. "I owe you some money, Fred. I ate lots of burgers in between washes and I never paid you for them." Fred looked surprised and refused to take any money, but he expressed his gratitude to me, and said it was the first time anyone had returned after so many years to pay a debt.
Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light on in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, and then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself.
So I walked to the door and knocked.
"Just a minute," answered with a frail elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie.
By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
"Would you carry my bag out to the car"? she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.
She kept thanking me for my kindness. "It's nothing," I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated."
"Oh, you're such a good boy," she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, and then asked, "Could you drive through downtown"?
"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly. "Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice."
I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long."
I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take"? I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now."
We drove in silence to he address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.
Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every love. They must have been expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair. "How much do I owe you"? she asked, reaching into her purse.
"Nothing," I said.
"You have to make a living," she answered. "There are other passengers," I responded. Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.
"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."
I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.
I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift?
What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life.
Jerry was the kind of guy you love to hate. He was always in a good mood and always had something positive to say. When someone would ask him how he was doing, he would reply, ?If I were any better, I would be twins!?
He was a unique manager because he had several waiters who had followed him around from restaurant to restaurant. The reason the waiters followed Jerry was because of his attitude. He was a natural motivator. If an employee was having a bad day. Jerry was there telling the employee about how to look on the positive side of the situation.
Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up to Jerry and asked him, ?I don?t get it! You can?t be a positive person all of the time. How do you do it??
Jerry replied, ? Each morning I wake up and say to myself, ? Jerry, you have two choices today. You can choose to be in a good mood or you can choose to be in a bad mood.? I choose to be in a good mood. Each time something happens, I can choose to be a victim or I can choose to learn from it. I choose to learn from it. Every time someone comes to me complaining, I can choose to accept their complaining or I can point out the positive side of life. I choose the positive side of life.?
?Yeah, right, it?s not easy,? I protested.
?Yes, it is,? Jerry said. Life is all about choices. When you cut away all the junk, every situation is a choice. You choose how you react to situations. You choose how people will affect your mood. You choose to be in a good mood or bad mood. The bottom line: It?s your choice how you live your life.?
I reflected on what Jerry said. Soon thereafter, I left the restaurant industry to start my own business. We lost touch, but I often thought about him when I made a choice about life instead of reacting to it.
Several years later, I heard that Jerry did something you are never supposed to do in a restaurant business: he left the back door open one morning and was held up at gunpoint by three armed robbers. While trying to open the safe, his hand, shaking from nervousness, slipped off the combination. The robbers panicked and shot him. Luckily, Jerry was found relatively quickly and was rushed to the local trauma center.
After 18 hours of surgery and weeks of intensive care, Jerry was released from the hospital with fragments of the bullets still in his body.
I saw Jerry about six months after the accident. When I asked him how he was, he replied, ?If I were any better, I?d be twins. Wanna see my scars??
I declined to see his wounds, but did ask him what had gone through his mind as the robbery took place. ?The first thing that went through my mind was that I should have locked the back door,? Jerry replied. ?then, as I lay on the floor, I remembered that I had two choices: I could choose to live, or I could choose to die. I chose to live.?
Weren?t you scared? Did you lose consciousness?? I asked.
Jerry continued, ?The paramedics were great. They kept telling me I was going to be fine. But when they wheeled me into the emergency room and I saw the expressions on the faces of the doctors and nurses, I got really scared. In their eyes, I read, ?He?s a dead man.? ?I knew I needed to take action.?
?What did you do?? I asked.
?Well, there was a big, burly nurse shouting questions at me,? said Jerry. ?She asked if I was allergic to anything. ?Yes,? I replied. The doctors and nurses stopped working as they waited for my reply. I took a deep breath and yelled, ?Bullets!? Over their laughter, I told them ? I am choosing to live. Operate on me as if I am alive, not dead.?
Jerry lived thanks to the skill of his doctors, but also because of his amazing attitude. I learned from him that every day we have the choice to live fully. Attitude, after all, is everything.
A husband and wife are getting ready for bed. The wife is standing in front of a full-length mirror taking a hard look at herself.
"You know, dear," she says, "I look in the mirror, and I see an old woman. My face is all wrinkled, my hair is grey, my shoulders are hunched over, I've got fat legs, and my arms are all flabby." She turns to her husband and says, "Tell me something positive to make me feel better about myself."
He studies hard for a moment thinking about it and then says in a soft, thoughtful voice, "Well, there's nothing wrong with your eyesight."
Mary and her husband Jim had a dog, 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 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, 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 night.
It's been 12 years now and Mary is still cancer free.
Lucky?
He still steals treasures and stashes them in his toy box, but Mary remains his greatest treasure.
We can only bring true lasting benefit to others when we have a loving attitude towards them, no matter what they are like. To help bring out the best in everyone, regardless of their mood or disposition, we need to ask " How can I make a positive contribution here?" Instead of wondering what can we get out of situations and people for ourselves, this attitude of giving is one of the great secrets of inner contentment.
The positive thinker is a hard-headed, tough-minded, and factual realist. He sees all the difficulties clearly... which is more than can be said for the average negative thinker. But he sees more than difficulties -- he tries to see the solutions of those difficulties.' - Norman Vincent Peale
Quotes on Positive Thinking
Remez Sasson
The difference between can and cannot are only three letters. Three letters that determine your life's direction.
Being positive or negative are habits of thoughts that have a very strong influence on life.
Positive and negative are directions. Which direction do you choose?
Positive thinking is expecting, talking and visualizing with certainty what you want to achieve, as an accomplished fact.
Riches, mediocrity and poverty begin in the mind.
Reality is the mirror of your thoughts. Choose well what you put in front of the mirror.
The mind is the decisive factor in your life, but who decides for the mind?
A positive attitude brings strength, energy and initiative.
To think negatively is like taking a weakening drug.
Positive thoughts are not enough. There have to be positive feelings and positive actions.
When you say, "I can't" and expect the worst, you become weak and unhappy.
When you say "I can", and expect success, you fill yourself with confidence and happiness.
Being resolute, decisive and courageous in small matters and in big ones is being positive.
You can close the windows and darken your room, and you can open the windows and let light in. It is a matter of choice. Your mind is your room. Do you darken it or do you fill it with light?
Positive thinking and negative thinking are attitudes. They are points of view, and show the way people handle their affairs.
Suppose you stand at a crossroads, one way leads to a desert and the other one to lush meadows, which way do you choose?
Clear thoughts produce produce clear results.
Positive thinking evokes more energy, more initative and more happiness.
Train your mind to think in terms of 'possible' and 'can be done'.
When you have control over your thoughts, you have control over your life.
Happy thoughts attract happy people into your life.
Happy thoughts fill your life with happiness.
When you change your habitual thoughts, it is like changing the direction of a train.
Affirm the positive, visualize the positive and expect the positive, and your life will change accordingly.
When there are difficulties and you feel down, this is the time to visualize, think and expect the positive.
Do not let circumstances influence your thoughts and moods. By rising over them mentally, you will eventually rise over them materially.
Fill your mind with light, happiness, hope, feelings of security and strength, and soon your life will reflect these qualities.
Reading inspiring quotes uplifts the mind.
Repeating inspiring quotes during the day, helps to cope better with with every situation that arises.
The power of positive thinking is like a car with a powerful engine that can take you to the summit of a mountain.
* 19:00 07 September 2006
* From New Scientist Print Edition. Subscribe and get 4 free issues.
* Phil McKenna
It appears that an element of Lady Macbeth may reside in most of us. The metaphorical desire to wash away one?s sins is not just wishful thinking but evidence of an innate psychological association between moral and physical cleanliness, according to a new study.
Shakespeare?s notorious murderess ? who famously shouts ?Out damn spot!? as she tries to scrub away imagined bloodstains ? may represent an extreme case. Nevertheless, researchers found that study participants who focused on unethical behaviours such as lying, stealing, or betraying friends were more likely to follow up with activities that indicated they felt physically dirty.
Those who were given an opportunity to wash their hands after recalling incidents of immoral behaviour showed signs of a clearer conscious than those who had not washed.
?After we feel morally threatened, we have this deep psychological urge to cleanse ourselves,? says Chen-Bo Zhong at the University of Toronto, Canada, who led the study.
Shower time
Zhong and colleagues, who dubbed this urge to cleanse ?the Macbeth effect?, came up with the experiment after noticing similar behaviour in contemporary popular culture.
In nearly every movie involving homicide the actor or actress will jump into the shower to try to wash off, whether they have blood on their hands or not, Zhong says. ?It made me wonder if it wasn?t physical cleanliness they were after but a psychological link between physical and moral cleanliness.?
To test his hypothesis, the team asked volunteers to focus on ethical or unethical deeds from their past before participating in various exercises. Those who focused on immoral actions were more likely to select activities or products that involved cleaning, such as selecting an antiseptic wipe over a pencil as a freebie for taking part in the study.
Slimy and rotten
In the final experiment, participants were asked to focus on an example of unethical behaviour from their past and were then given the option to wash their hands. Participants were then asked whether they would volunteer without pay to help a desperate graduate student out of a tight spot.
Seventy-four percent of those who had not washed their hands offered to help, while only 41% of those who had washed volunteered.
This final experiment establishes a link between moral and physical cleanliness, says Philip Tetlock, a psychologist at the University of California, Berkeley, US, who was not involved in the study.
?When you have been associated with something immoral, there are two ways you can cleanse yourself ? engaging in moral behaviour or physically cleaning yourself,? Tetlock says. ?We talk about things being dirty, slimy, or rotten. A lot of people would say those are just metaphors, but this study shows that there is a connection on a visceral level.?
dolphin2 , thats a great story , since my dad beat his cancer I'M going to email that to him .thank you
and as always good post Ireland !!
Forgiveness
As young boys we used to enjoy skipping class to take the short hike down to the river and see who could catch the biggest trout. This year had been a great year for fishing. The conditions were perfect, and so was my fishing rod. I vividly remember opening that present with my friend, Tom, at my side the morning of my birthday. We were both so excited. On this particular day it was his turn to carry it to the river. We shared as he was still working on saving enough money to buy one of his own just like mine. As we headed down the embankment, he slid and fell bracing his fall with his hand, and my fishing pole. We both heard it snap and I saw the look in his eyes when they met mine.
Well, I said some things that I definitely shouldn't have. I insulted things that he told me in confidence. I violated his trust. I made him leave. I distinctly remember walking home alone that day holding a piece of my prize possession in each hand, feeling more awful about what had happened to me than what I had just made happen.
As I got closer to the house, I could tell something was wrong. When I got inside, my family was sitting perfectly still in a circle. "The weather is getting bad, son. We only have about a week left to harvest our crops before they say the storms will start."
I was shocked. Only a week before we could lose it all. I was about to say something to my father when I heard a knock. As I opened the door there stood Tom, my best friend, his hands in his pockets as he stared at his shoes. "I just heard about the storms, Rick. I thought maybe you could use some help." I was amazed. My father smiled as he stood up and said, "Let's get started." Tom?s forgiveness went a long way in helping my family through that difficult time. Together, as friends, we have both come a long way since then. And it's far from over...
Recently I overheard a mother and daughter in their last moments together at the airport. They had announced the departure. Standing near the security gate, they hugged and the mother said, "I love you and I wish you enough". The daughter replied, "Mum, our life together has been more than enough. Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too, Mum".
They kissed and the daughter left. The mother walked over to the window where I was seated. Standing there I could see she wanted and needed to cry. I tried not to intrude on her privacy but she welcomed me in by asking,
"Did you ever say good-bye to someone knowing it would be forever?".
"Yes, I have," I replied. "Forgive me for asking, but why is this a forever good-bye?".
"I am old and she lives so far away. I have challenges ahead and the reality is - the next trip back will be for my funeral," she said.
"When you were saying good-bye, I heard you say, 'I wish you enough'.
May I ask what that means?".
She began to smile. "That's a wish that has been handed down from other generations. My parents used to say it to everyone".
She paused a moment and looked up as if trying to remember it in detail and she smiled even more. "When we said, 'I wish you enough', we were wanting the other person to have a life filled with just enough good things to sustain them".
Then turning toward me, she shared the following as if she were reciting it from memory.
I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright
I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more.
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive.
I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
I wish you enough hellos to get you through the final good-bye.
She then began to cry and walked away. They say it takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, a day to love them, but then an entire life to forget them.
@lonernz...That really was quite beautiful. I enjoyed the "enoughs" and its all quite true and appropriate.
Your post brought back bitter-sweet memories of my mom's death. We're both looking into each others eyes both knowing she would die at any moment "I love you ma" were such special words at that moment but even though she couldn't speak, she got a smile on her face and mouthed the words "I love you too".
But you know, at least I got to say "I love you ma" and she heard me. SO many people don't get that chance and wish to god they'd had been able to say it at least once. I'm thankful for that moment.
My Dad turned 100 in June, I know I'll go nuts when that day comes despite his age and wisdom. The man has seen it all ... imagine seeing the first car amidst horse and buggies or hear this roar in the sky overhead just prior to the first airplane LOL! Dad has seen it all and has the greatest stories to tell! You know what still amazes him the most...of all things? ...The Ballpoint Pen. With all the inventions he's seen from the car, to the plane to the first television, what amazes him the most is the ballpoint pen LOL! The fact that it just writes on and on for hundreds of pages without having to dip it in a well of ink still amazes him LOL!
the write of this is a guy call bob perth in the first writting its a father saying good bye to his dauther. Ill post the first writting when I find it.Hes done a couple of writtings like this.Ill post the link to his site soon ,glad you liked it .
I love them and I hate them. I love them because of the people I get to watch. But they are also the same reason why I hate airports. It all comes down to "hello" and "goodbye."I must have mentioned this a few times while writing my stories for you.
I have great difficulties with saying goodbye. Even as I write this I am experiencing that pounding sensation in my heart. If I am watching such a scene in a movie I am affected so much that I need to sit up and take a few deep breaths. So when faced with a challenge in my life I have been known to go to our local airport and watch people say goodbye. I figure nothing that is happening to me at the time could be as bad as having to say goodbye.
Watching people cling to each other, crying, and holding each other in that last embrace makes me appreciate what I have even more. Seeing them finally pull apart, extending their arms until the tips of their fingers are the last to let go, is an image that stays forefront in my mind throughout the day.
On one of my recent business trips, when I arrived at the counter to check in, the woman said, "How are you today?" I replied, "I am missing my wife already and I haven't even said goodbye."
She then looked at my ticket and began to ask, "How long will you...Oh, my God. You will only be gone three days!" We all laughed. My problem was I still had to say goodbye.
But I learn from goodbye moments, too.
Recently I overheard a father and daughter in their last moments together. They had announced her departure and standing near the security gate, they hugged and he said, "I love you. I wish you enough." She in turn said, "Daddy, our life together has been more than enough. Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too, Daddy."
They kissed and she left. He walked over toward the window where I was seated. Standing there I could see he wanted and needed to cry. I tried not to intrude on his privacy, but he welcomed me in by asking, "Did you ever say goodbye to someone knowing it would be forever?"
"Yes, I have," I replied. Saying that brought back memories I had of expressing my love and appreciation for all my Dad had done for me. Recognizing that his days were limited, I took the time to tell him face to face how much he meant to me.
So I knew what this man experiencing.
"Forgive me for asking, but why is this a forever goodbye?" I asked.
"I am old and she lives much too far away. I have challenges ahead and the reality is, the next trip back would be for my funeral," he said.
"When you were saying goodbye I heard you say, "I wish you enough." May I ask what that means?"
He began to smile. "That's a wish that has been handed down from other generations. My parents used to say it to everyone." He paused for a moment and looking up as if trying to remember it in detail, he smiled even more."When we said 'I wish you enough,' we were wanting the other person to have a life filled with just enough good things to sustain them," he continued and then turning toward me he shared the following as if he
were reciting it from memory.
"I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright.
I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more.
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive.
I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much
bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
I wish enough "Hello's" to get you through the final "Goodbye."
He then began to sob and walked away.
My friends, I wish you enough!
by
Bob Perks
My friends, I wish you enough!
Bob Perks
Bob@BobPerks.com
I wish you enough.
I wish you enough love in your heart, and enough communion with your soul.
I wish you enough light to illuminate your lessons, and enough dark to integrate your wisdom.
I wish you enough giving to open your heart, and enough receiving to bring you home.
I wish you enough commerce to enrich your bank account, and enough service to enrich your life.
I wish you enough activity to sharpen your mind and strengthen your body, and enough rest to bring you peace.
I wish you enough sunshine to warm your face and to cheer your heart.
I wish you enough gentle wind to lift your hair and your dreams.
I wish you enough friendship to remind you that you are not alone, and enough solitude to remember your center.
I wish you enough rain to nourish your garden and to cleanse your spirit.
I wish you enough storms to clear away the old and make room for the new.
I wish you enough mist to bring you into the here and now and to remind you of your own magic.
I wish you enough dirt to grow your herbs and flowers and to keep your feet firmly on the ground.
I wish you enough clouds in the sky to inspire you to reach beyond them.
I wish you enough birds in flight to delight your eyes, and enough birdsong to serenade your ears.
I wish you enough kisses and cuddles with children and animals to bring you simple joy.
I wish you enough earth to sustain the roots of your trees and the roots of your intentions.
I wish you enough starlight to inspire your imagination, and enough moonlight to stir your soul.
I wish you enough.
Her husband, David, held her hand as they braced themselves for the latest news.
That afternoon of March 10, 1991, complications had forced Diana, only 24-weeks pregnant, to undergo an emergency Cesarean to deliver the couple's new daughter, Dana Lu Blessing.
At 12 inches long and weighing only one pound nine ounces, they already knew she was perilously premature.
Still, the doctor's soft words dropped like bombs. "I don't think she's going to make it," he said, as kindly as he could. "There's only a 10 percent chance she will live through the night, and even then, if by some slim chance she does make it, her future could be a very cruel one."
Numb with disbelief, David and Diana listened as the doctor described the devastating problems Dana would likely face if she survived.
She would never walk, she would never talk, she would probably be blind, and she would certainly be prone to other catastrophic conditions from cerebral palsy to complete mental retardation, and on and on.
"No! No!" was all Diana could say.
She and David, with their five-year-old son Dustin, had long dreamed of the day they would have a daughter to become a family of four. Now, within a matter of hours, that dream was slipping away. But as those first days passed, a new agony set in for David and Diana.
Because Dana's underdeveloped nervous system was essentially raw, the lightest kiss or caress only intensified her discomfort, so they couldn't even cradle their tiny baby girl against their chests to offer the strength of their love. All they could do, as Dana struggled alone beneath the ultraviolet light in the tangle of tubes and wires, was to pray that God would stay close to their precious little girl.
There was never a moment when Dana suddenly grew stronger.
But as the weeks went by, she did slowly gain an ounce of weight here and an ounce of strength there.
At last, when Dana turned two months old, her parents were able to hold her in their arms for the very first time.
And two months later, though doctors continued to gently but grimly warn that her chances of surviving, much less living any kind of normal life, were next to zero, Dana went home from the hospital, just as her mother had predicted.
Five years later, Dana was a petite, but feisty young girl with glittering gray eyes and an unquenchable zest for life. She showed no signs whatsoever of any mental or physical impairment. Simply, she was everything a little girl could be and more. But that happy ending is far from the end of her story.
One blistering afternoon in the summer of 1996 near her home in Irving, Texas, Dana was sitting in her mother's lap in the bleachers of a local ball park where her brother Dustin's baseball team was practicing.
As always, Dana was chattering nonstop with her mother and several other adults sitting nearby when she suddenly fell silent . Hugging her arms across her chest, little Dana asked, "Do you smell that"?
Smelling the air and detecting the approach of a thunderstorm, Diana replied, "Yes, it smells like rain."
Dana closed her eyes and again asked, "Do you smell that"?
Once again, her mother replied, "Yes, I think we're about to get wet. It smells like rain."
Still caught in the moment, Dana shook her head, patted her thin shoulders with her small hands and loudly announced, "No, it smells like Him. It smells like God when you lay your head on His chest."
Tears blurred Diana's eyes as Dana happily hopped down to play with the other children.
Before the rain, her daughter's words confirmed what Diana and all the members of the extended Blessing family had known, at least in their hearts, all along.
During those long days and nights of the first two months of her life, when her nerves were too sensitive for them to touch her, God was holding Dana on His chest and it is His loving scent that she remembers so well.
Harry is every coach's dream kid. He shows up for every practice early, stays late and is enthusiastic. Harry is also every coach's nightmare. He has neither the instinct nor the physical talent for the game.
I stepped in as a stand-in coach for my son's Little League team when the regular coach got married. Somehow he thought a honeymoon took precedence over next Tuesday's game. How can you blame him? Our team hadn't won in more than two years.
As I accepted the fill-in spot, I promised myself that I would show no disappointment if we lost. That was the least I could do. The best I could do was give a good heart to the effort.
I met Harry at the first practice. A small, thin, awkward kid, his best throw was about five feet, which made the choice of fielding position difficult. And he was scared. Every time he came to bat, he would glance at the pitcher, lean the bat on his shoulder, close his eyes and wait until the misery of three pitches was over. Then he'd trudge back to the dugout. It was painful to watch.
I met Harry before Tuesday's game, took him aside and worked with him on keeping his eyes open. He tried, but it's tough to overcome the habit of fear. We were about to play a team that had beat us 22-1 the last time. It didn't seem a fortunate moment for a breakthrough. Then I thought, why not?
I went to the dugout, got a different bat and returned to our practice area. "Harry," I said, "I want you to use this bat. It's the one for you. It's a magic bat. All you have to do is swing and it will hit the ball."
Harry seemed skeptical, but he said he would try. I hoped I wasn't complicating an already tough problem for Harry, but I wanted to try to help.
Our team was trailing from the first inning. No surprise in that, but we had some loyal parents in the stands to give constant encouragement to the kids.
On Harry's first at bat, I noticed he wasn't using his special bat, but I didn't step in. He struck out, as usual, and I decided to let it ride.
We were able to score from time to time. In the last inning, we were behind by only three runs. I was thinking about a "respectable outcome" speech to give the kids while packing up the gear. As the home team, we were last up. We alternated for five batters between singles with players safely on base and strikeouts. We had bases loaded and two outs. Only then did I notice that Harry was our last chance.
Surveying the field from my spot by first base, I saw the left fielder sprawl on the grass as Harry came from the dugout. He obviously expected no action. The right fielder was bothering some butterfly that was flitting about. The shortstop had moved well in, I suppose anticipating the possibility of a miraculous bunt. Clearly, the opposing players were already tasting the double-scoop ice cream cones they would go for after the victory.
Harry limped up to the batter's box. I noticed he had his usual bat. I called a time out, ran up to him and whispered, "Harry, this is the time for the magic bat. Give it a try. Just keep your eyes open and swing."
He looked at me in disbelief, but he said he'd try. He walked off for the special bat as I trotted back to first base.
First pitch, strike one. Harry didn't swing, but he kept his eyes open. I pumped my fist and gave it a little swing, encouraging him to swing. He smiled, got into his awkward stance and waited. He swung, eyes open, but missed. Strike two. That was the first real swing Harry had ever taken. Who cared if we won the game? I considered Harry a winner already.
The other coach yelled to his pitcher, "Fire one past him and end this thing!" I grimaced.
The pitcher threw a straight fastball and Harry swung. The magic bat did its trick. It found the ball, which flew over the shortstop's head.
Pandemonium erupted in the stands, in the dugouts, on the bases. I was cheering Harry to run to first as fast as he could. It seemed like an eternity. The left fielder called to the center fielder to get it. "You're closer!"
I kept cheering the runners. We had one in at home and three guys pouring it on from first to second, second to third, third to home. The second baseman yelled for the center fielder to get the ball to him. Excitedly, he obeyed, but the ball skipped across the grass and passed by the second baseman toward the right-field line. My job as coach was simple at this point. "Run, guys, run," I yelled.
Another guy scored. By this time, the entire team had joined the cheering, "Go, Harry, go Harry!" This was surely the longest distance Harry had ever run. He was panting as he headed for third and another guy crossed home. The right fielder's throw was critical, and it was pretty good, but the third baseman muffed it. The ball scooted past him out of play. The rule: one base on an overthrow that goes out of play. Harry, exhausted, kept the push on as best he could.
About then, the first cry of a grand slam hit the air. Everyone joined in. When Harry reached home plate, about to collapse, his teammates lifted him as high as they could and chanted, "Harry, Harry, Harry!"
I ran over to the team to hug the proudest kid in America. Tears streaming, Harry looked up at me and said, "The bat, Coach, the bat."
I smiled and said, "No, Harry. It was you who hit the ball, not the bat."
aabbccdd.yes there are some great words of wisdom out there, would be nice if the whole world felt the same.Im reading a book called the fingerprints of the gods ,its queit mind blowing . The human race has been around longer then they thought It revels that a lost race map the north and south pole long before they thought humans lived. the north and south pole have no ice on them they think it was map before 4000 bc.So this lost race was far more clever then the human race todat wonder what happen to them.And get this the usa military have this map.even albert einstein new the map was real. mind blowing reading.
