Sunday, April 26, 2015

For Lila Sophia

Welcoming my niece Lila Sophia to the Christian world...






Sunday, January 26, 2014

Pa and Ma

For my father...







January 26, 2014 - My father would have been 77 years old. As a memorial, here's the slideshow I made for their wedding anniversary. I originally made it with the karaoke version of the song, and I was supposed to sing the song while the slideshow plays. Sadly, that is not gonna happen. Anyway, happy birthday, Pa!

FOR YSHEE

For my niece Yshee, on her birthday






Wednesday, July 10, 2013

WHAT GOES AROUND COMES AROUND

One day a man saw an 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 Pontiac was still sputtering 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 those chills 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 tire, 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 tire. 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 St. Louis and was only just passing through. She couldn’t thank him enough for coming to her aid.
 
Bryan just smiled as he closed her trunk. 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 someone 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 someone 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. Outside were two old gas pumps. 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 hundred dollar bill, 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 going to be all right. I love you, Bryan Anderson.”
 
There is an old saying “What goes around comes around.”

Monday, June 17, 2013

FOR MY MOM

For my mom on her 76th birthday and retirement party...



Tuesday, March 5, 2013

WHY YOU SHOULD MARRY A NURSE

 
Click on the link
 
 

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

MY LOVE AFFAIR WITH SUPERMAN

Since the first time I laid eyes on the man of steel, he effortlessly captivated my heart. I fell in love. I first saw him in the pages of a comic book, he was just a cartoon. Nothing prepared me for the magic Hollywood weaved in  the first film Superman The Movie, and I was so young then. Needless to say, I was spellbound. I had since then seen all the Christopher Reeve movies. It broke my heart when he had his injury, and devastated when he died, but not before he made a historic appearance in the series "Smallville".

Clark Kent had such an impact on me that I just found myself naturally gravitating towards men with glasses! Only to find out the harsh reality that Clarks in the real world are so hard to come by. When I went into Journalism for a while, I wanted to be like Los Lane. But again, reality bit hard. I had changed career, and resigned to the fact that there are no Clark Kents in this planet.
 
I have kids now and we all share the same fascination with Superheroes. They have their generation's slew of Superheroes continuously spewed by Marvel and DC, some are amazing, incredible, uncanny; some are just plain ridiculous. I stuck to my first love, Superman. The 2006 reboot was good, but it didn't compare to the first movie. Brandon Routh was the perfect choice after Christopher Reeve and I would have wanted to see him in more sequels. Unfortunately, the franchise fell prey to the mercurial moods of the powers-that-be in Hollywood. Now there's a new reboot (a re-reboot?). I'm eagerly counting the days til the June 2013 release of "Man Of Steel". The man from Krypton lives on.
 
As a tribute, I made this video...
 
 

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

TWIN FLAMES



Twin flames, also called twin souls, are literally the other half of our soul. We each have only one twin, and generally after being split the two went their separate ways, incarnating over and over to gather human experience before coming back together. Ideally, this happens in both of their last lifetimes on the planet so they can ascend together. So you probably haven't had many lifetimes with your twin.

Each twin is a complete soul, not half a soul. It is their task to become more whole, balancing their female and male sides, and ideally become enlightened, before reuniting with their twin. This reunion is of two complete and whole beings. All other relationships through all our lives could be said to be "practice" for the twin, the ultimate relationship.

Have I Met My Twin?


Twin Flame reunions are the most fulfilling relationships we can enter into as humans, on all levels. However, twin flame couples have been extremely rare on the planet, and for good reasons, which will be described later. Despite this, we are finding that more and more twins are finding each other now, because of the acceleration of spiritual transformation and opportunities for soul evolution we are all experiencing. People are evolving and learning and healing at such a fast rate that they are getting ready for their twins faster. What used to take lifetimes to learn and heal, people are now going through in years or even months. This is the astounding level of acceleration we and the planet are going through.

When twins get together, it is for some kind of spiritual service work. This is their primary reason for finding each other, because through their union a huge birthing of creative energy is released, to be used for their mission together. More and more twins are attempting to get together now to help the planet and humanity make a big shift forward in consciousness.


However, many of these attempts at reunion are unsuccessful because the individual people are not quite ready for the intensity of a twin flame union. It is more intense than any other union, and this intensity is at a soul level, not as much in the physical or even emotional bodies. This doesn't mean that there isn't a good attraction at those levels as well, but the strongest attraction is of spirit. This is one of the distinguishing characteristics of a twin soul. Many people think they have met their twin because the attraction is so intense, but it is a karmic attraction, one of need or bodily desire rather than the Divine Love of twins.


Your chance of meeting and staying with your twin depends on how evolved your soul is, and how much of your baggage from this and past lives you have cleared. The biggest reason twins have to separate after coming together is their individual emotional baggage. Because in the presence of your twin, there can be nothing between you, nothing blocking your closeness. This means that everything comes up for healing that you haven't previously healed. Everything!


When twins reunite, both of them experience an acceleration of their spiritual growth and awakening. They get on the fast track of learning about esoteric wisdom and experiencing other states of consciousness. They usually haven't been together all that often during their series of lives on the planet, and so their backgrounds may be different. Yet, there is a closeness and similarities of spirit that are almost uncanny, noticed in many ways, such as looking back at yourself when you look at your mate, and a remembering of the distant past when you first split up. Guidance is strong with these relationships, and usually one or both have a good channel for communication with Spirit. Their connection is telepathic, and hugging each other is like coming home for nourishment.
 
What is a Soulmate?


Soulmates are our soul family, the ones we do have many lifetimes and experiences with, who help us grow and evolve, create and dissipate karma. According to ancient wisdom, when the soul is "born" or descended from Source, it is created in a group. The souls in this group are our soulmates, ones who are very like us in frequency makeup. Then each of these souls is split into two, creating the twins.


A soulmate is someone you are close to at a soul level, and with whom you have had many shared experiences in different lifetimes, in various kinds of relationships -- siblings, parent-child, best friend, as well as romantic relationships. There is a deep love for each other, and a spiritual bond that sets them apart from the superficiality of most other people in your life. Conversations are generally deep, about personal growth and service to make the world a better place. We can have many soulmates in our lives, and they come to us to help us grow spiritually.

Thursday, June 21, 2012

THE MIRACLE OF $1.11

Tess was a precocious eight year old when she heard her Mom and Dad talking about her little brother, Andrew. All she knew was that he was very sick and they were completely out of money. They were moving to an apartment complex next month because Daddy didn’t have the money for the doctor bills and our house. Only a very costly surgery could save him now and it was looking like there was no-one to loan them the money. She heard Daddy say to her tearful Mother with whispered desperation, “Only a miracle can save him now.”
 

Tess went to her bedroom and pulled a glass jelly jar from its hiding place in the closet. She poured all the change out on the floor and counted it carefully. Three times, even. The total had to be exactly perfect. No chance here for mistakes. Carefully placing the coins back in the jar and twisting on the cap, she slipped out the back door and made her way 6 blocks to Rexall’s Drug Store with the big red Indian Chief sign above the door. She waited patiently for the pharmacist to give her some attention but he was too busy at this moment. Tess twisted her feet to make a scuffing noise. Nothing. She cleared her throat with the most disgusting sound she could muster. No good.
 
Finally she took a quarter from her jar and banged it on the glass counter. That did it!
 
“And what do you want?” the pharmacist asked in an annoyed tone of voice. “I’m talking to my brother from Chicago whom I haven’t seen in ages,” he said without waiting for a reply to his question.
 
“Well, I want to talk to you about my brother,” Tess answered back in the same annoyed tone. “He’s really, really sick… and I want to buy a miracle.”
 
“I beg your pardon?” said the pharmacist.
 
“His name is Andrew and he has something bad growing inside his head and my Daddy says only a miracle can save him now. So how much does a miracle cost?”
 
“We don’t sell miracles here, little girl. I’m sorry but I can’t help you,” the pharmacist said, softening a little.
 
“Listen, I have the money to pay for it. If it isn’t enough, I will get the rest. Just tell me how much it costs.”
 
The pharmacist’s brother was a well dressed man. He stooped down and asked the little girl, “What kind of a miracle does you brother need?”
 
“I don’t know,” Tess replied with her eyes welling up. “I just know he’s really sick and Mommy says he needs an operation. But my Daddy can’t pay for it, so I want to use my money.”
 
“How much do you have?” asked the man from Chicago.
 
“One dollar and eleven cents,” Tess answered barely audibly. “And it’s all the money I have, but I can get some more if I need to."
 
“Well, what a coincidence,” smiled the man. “A dollar and eleven cents – the exact price of a miracle for little brothers.” He took her money in one hand and with the other hand he grasped her mitten and said, “Take me to where you live. I want to see your brother and meet your parents. Let’s see if I have the kind of miracle you need.”
 
That well dressed man was Dr. Carlton Armstrong, a surgeon, specializing in neurosurgery. The operation was completed without charge and it wasn’t long until Andrew was home again and doing well. Mom and Dad were happily talking about the chain of events that had led them to this place.
 
“That surgery,” her Mom whispered. “was a real miracle. I wonder how much it would have cost?”
 
Tess smiled. She knew exactly how much a miracle cost… one dollar and eleven cents … plus the faith of a little child.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

JUST BE THERE

 
A nurse took the tired, anxious serviceman to the bedside. "Your son is here," she said to the old man. She had to repeat the words several times before the patient's eyes opened.

Heavily sedated because of the pain of his heart attack, he dimly saw the young uniformed Marine standing outside the oxygen tent. He reached out his hand. The Marine wrapped his toughened fingers around the old man's limp ones, squeezing a message of love and encouragement.

The nurse brought a chair so that the Marine could sit beside the bed. All through the night the young Marine sat there in the poorly lighted ward, holding the old man's hand and offering him words of love and strength. Occasionally, the nurse suggested that the Marine move away and rest awhile. He refused.

Whenever the nurse came into the ward, the Marine was oblivious of her and of the night noises of the hospital - the clanking of the oxygen tank, the laughter of the night staff members exchanging greetings, the cries and moans of the other patients. Now and then she heard him say a few gentle words. The dying man said nothing, only held tightly to his son all through the night.

Along towards dawn, the old man died. The Marine released the now lifeless hand he had been holding and went to tell the nurse. While she did what she had to do, he waited.

Finally, she returned. She started to offer words of sympathy, but the Marine interrupted her, "Who was that man?" he asked.

The nurse was startled, "He was your father," she answered.

"No, he wasn't," the Marine replied. "I never saw him before in my life."

"Then why didn't you say something when I took you to him?"

"I knew right away there had been a mistake, but I also knew he needed his son, and his son just wasn't here. When I realized that he was too sick to tell whether or not I was his son, knowing how much he needed me, I stayed. I came here tonight to find a Mr. William Grey. His Son was killed in Iraq today, and I was sent to inform him. What was this gentleman's name? "

The nurse with tears in her eyes answered, "Mr. William Grey........."

The next time someone needs you ...just be there. Stay.


Monday, December 12, 2011

A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE

This is a real Christmas miracle story, happened in December 1997 in Wisconsin, USA.
 
A little girl named Sarah had leukemia and was not expected to live to see Christmas.
 
Her brother and grandmother went to the mall to ask Mark Leonard who was a professional Santa Claus to visit the hospital to give Sarah the gift of hope through encouragement and prayer.
 
A year later Sarah surprised Santa by showing up at the mall where he worked. Here goes the story.

 
A little boy and his grandmother came to see Santa at The Mayfair Mall in Wisconsin. The child climbed up on Santa’s lap, holding a picture of a little girl.
 
“Who is this?” – asked Santa, smiling. “Your friend? Your sister?”
 
“Yes, Santa.” – he replied. “My sister, Sarah, who is very sick.” – he said sadly.
 
Santa glanced over at the grandmother who was waiting nearby and saw her dabbing her eyes with a tissue.
 
“She wanted to come with me to see you, oh, so very much, Santa!” – the child exclaimed. “She misses you.” – he added softly.
 
Santa tried to be cheerful and encouraged a smile to the boy’s face, asking him what he wanted Santa to bring him for Christmas.
 
When they finished their visit, the grandmother came over to help the child off his lap, and started to say something to Santa, but halted.
 
“What is it?” – Santa asked warmly.
 
“Well, I know it’s really too much to ask you, Santa, but ..” – the old woman began, shooing her grandson over to one of Santa’s elves to collect the little gift which Santa gave all his young visitors.
 
“The girl in the photograph… my granddaughter well, you see … she has leukemia and isn’t expected to make it even through the holidays.” – she said through tear-filled eyes. “Is there anyway, Santa, any possible way that you could come see Sarah? That’s all she’s asked for, for Christmas, is to see Santa.”
 
Santa blinked and swallowed hard and told the woman to leave information with his elves as to where Sarah was, and he would see what he could do. Santa thought of little else the rest of that afternoon. He knew what he had to do.
 
“What if it were MY child lying in that hospital bed, dying?” – he thought with a sinking heart, “This is the least I can do.”
 
When Santa finished visiting with all the boys and girls that evening, he retrieved from his helper the name of the hospital where Sarah was staying. He asked Rick, the assistant location manager how to get to Children’s Hospital.
 
“Why?” – Rick asked, with a puzzled look on his face.
 
Santa relayed to him the conversation with Sarah’s grandmother earlier that day.
 
“Common….I’ll take you there.” – Rick said softly. Rick drove them to the hospital and came inside with Santa. They found out which room Sarah was in. A pale Rick said he would wait out in the hall.
 
Santa quietly peeked into the room through the half-closed door and saw little Sarah on the bed.
 
The room was full of what appeared to be her family; there was the grandmother and the girl’s brother he had met earlier that day. A woman whom he guessed was Sarah’s mother stood by the bed, gently pushing Sarah’s thin hair off her forehead. And another woman who he discovered later was Sarah’s aunt, sat in a chair near the bed with a weary, sad look on her face. They were talking quietly, and Santa could sense the warmth and closeness of the family, and their love and concern for Sarah.
 
Taking a deep breath, and forcing a smile on his face, Santa entered the room, bellowing a hearty, “Ho, ho, ho!”
 
“Santa!” – shrieked little Sarah weakly, as she tried to escape her bed to run to him.
 
Santa rushed to her side and gave her a warm hug. A child the tender age of his own son — 9 years old — gazed up at him with wonder and excitement.
 
Her skin was pale and her short tresses bore telltale bald patches from the effects of chemotherapy. But all he saw when he looked at her was a pair of huge, blue eyes. His heart melted, and he had to force himself to choke back tears.
 
Though his eyes were riveted upon Sarah’s face, he could hear the gasps and quiet sobbing of the women in the room.
 
As he and Sarah began talking, the family crept quietly to the bedside one by one, squeezing Santa’s shoulder or his hand gratefully, whispering “Thank you” as they gazed sincerely at him with shining eyes.
 
Santa and Sarah talked and talked, and she told him excitedly all the toys she wanted for Christmas, assuring him she’d been a very good girl that year.
 
As their time together dwindled, Santa felt led in his spirit to pray for Sarah, and asked for permission from the girl’s mother. She nodded in agreement and the entire family circled around Sarah’s bed, holding hands.
 
Santa looked intensely at Sarah and asked her if she believed in angels, “Oh, yes, Santa… I do!” – she exclaimed.
 
“Well, I’m going to ask that angels watch over you.” – he said.
 
Laying one hand on the child’s head, Santa closed his eyes and prayed. He asked that God touch little Sarah, and heal her body from this disease. He asked that angels minister to her, watch and keep her. And when he finished praying, still with eyes closed, he started singing, softly, “Silent Night, Holy Night…. all is calm, all is bright…”
 
The family joined in, still holding hands, smiling at Sarah, and crying tears of hope, tears of joy for this moment, as Sarah beamed at them all.
 
When the song ended, Santa sat on the side of the bed again and held Sarah’s frail, small hands in his own. “Now, Sarah,” – he said authoritatively, “you have a job to do, and that is to concentrate on getting well. I want you to have fun playing with your friends this summer, and I expect to see you at my house at Mayfair Mall this time next year!”
 
He knew it was risky proclaiming that to this little girl who had terminal cancer, but he ‘had’ to. He had to give her the greatest gift he could — not dolls or games or toys — but the gift of HOPE.
 
“Yes, Santa!” – Sarah exclaimed, her eyes bright. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead and left the room.
 
Out in the hall, the minute Santa’s eyes met Rick’s, a look passed between them and they wept unashamed.
 
Sarah’s mother and grandmother slipped out of the room quickly and rushed to Santa’s side to thank him.
 
“My only child is the same age as Sarah.” – he explained quietly. “This is the least I could do.”
They nodded with understanding and hugged him.
 
One year later, Santa Mark was again back on the set in Milwaukee for his six-week, seasonal job which he so loves to do. Several weeks went by and then one day a child came up to sit on his lap.
“Hi, Santa! Remember me?!”
 
“Of course, I do.” – Santa proclaimed (as he always does), smiling down at her. After all, the secret to being a ‘good’ Santa is to always make each child feel as if they are the ‘only’ child in the world at that moment.
 
“You came to see me in the hospital last year!”
 
Santa’s jaw dropped. Tears immediately sprang in his eyes, and he grabbed this little miracle and held her to his chest. “Sarah!” – he exclaimed. He scarcely recognized her, for her hair was long and silky and her cheeks were rosy — much different from the little girl he had visited just a year before.
He looked over and saw Sarah’s mother and grandmother in the sidelines smiling and waving and wiping their eyes.
 
That was the best Christmas ever for Santa Claus.
 
He had witnessed –and been blessed to be instrumental in bringing about — this miracle of hope. This precious little child was healed. Cancer-free. Alive and well. He silently looked up to Heaven and humbly whispered, “Thank you, Father. ‘Tis a very, Merry Christmas!”
 
 
By Susan Morton Leonard, Santa’s wife
Santa’s name: Mark Leonard or Santa Mark

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

PETER'S RESUME

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

THIRTY DAYS

When I got home that night as my wife served dinner, I held her hand and said, 'I’ve got something to tell you'. She sat down and ate quietly. I observed the hurt in her eyes, as if she knew what was coming.

Suddenly I didn’t know how to open my mouth. But I had to let her know what I was thinking. I wanted a divorce. I raised the topic calmly. She didn’t seem to be annoyed by my words, instead she asked me softly, 'Why?'

I avoided her question. This made her angry. She threw away the chopsticks and shouted at me, 'You are not a man!' That night, we didn’t talk to each other. She was weeping. I knew she wanted to find out what had happened to our marriage. But I could hardly give her a satisfactory answer; she had lost my heart to Jane. I didn’t love her anymore. I just pitied her!

With a deep sense of guilt, I drafted a divorce agreement which stated that she could own our house, our car, and 30% stake of my company. She glanced at it and then tore it into pieces. The woman who had spent ten years of her life with me had become a stranger. I felt sorry for her wasted time, resources and energy but I could not take back what I had said for I loved Jane so dearly. Finally she cried loudly in front of me, which was what I had expected to see. To me her cry was actually a kind of release. The idea of divorce which had obsessed me for several weeks seemed to be firmer and clearer now.

The next day, I came home very late and found her writing something at the table. I didn’t have supper but went straight to bed and fell asleep quickly, tired after an eventful day with Jane. When I woke up, she was still at the table writing. I just did not care so I turned over and was asleep again.

In the morning she presented her divorce conditions: she didn’t want anything from me, but needed a month’s notice before the divorce. She requested that in that one month we both struggle to live as normal a life as possible. Her reasons were simple: our son had his exams in a month’s time and she didn’t want to disrupt him with our broken marriage.

This was agreeable to me. But she had something more, she asked me to recall how I had carried her into our bridal room on our wedding day. She requested that every day for the month’s duration I carry her out of our bedroom to the front door every morning. I thought she was going crazy. Just to make our last days together bearable I accepted her odd request.

I told Jane about my wife’s divorce conditions. She laughed loudly and thought it was absurd. 'No matter what tricks she applies, she has to face the divorce', she said scornfully.

My wife and I hadn’t had any body contact since my divorce intention was explicitly expressed. So when I carried her out on the first day, we both appeared clumsy. Our son clapped behind us, 'Daddy is holding mommy in his arms.' His words brought me a sense of pain. From the bedroom to the sitting room, then to the door, I walked over ten meters with her in my arms. She closed her eyes and said softly, 'Don’t tell our son about the divorce.' I nodded, feeling somewhat upset. I put her down outside the door. She went to wait for the bus to work. I drove alone to the office.

On the second day, both of us acted much more easily. She leaned on my chest. I could smell the fragrance of her blouse. I realized that I hadn’t looked at this woman carefully for a long time. I realized she was not young any more. There were fine wrinkles on her face, her hair was graying! Our marriage had taken its toll on her. For a minute I wondered what I had done to her.

On the fourth day, when I lifted her up, I felt a sense of intimacy returning. This was the woman who had given ten years of her life to me. On the fifth and sixth day, I realized that our sense of intimacy was growing again. I didn’t tell Jane about this. It became easier to carry her as the month slipped by. Perhaps the everyday workout made me stronger.

She was choosing what to wear one morning. She tried on quite a few dresses but could not find a suitable one. Then she sighed, all my dresses have grown bigger. I suddenly realized that she had grown so thin, that was the reason why I could carry her more easily.

Suddenly it hit me. She had buried so much pain and bitterness in her heart. Unconsciously I reached out and touched her head.

Our son came in at the moment and said, 'Dad, it’s time to carry mom out.' To him, seeing his father carrying his mother out had become an essential part of his life. My wife gestured to our son to come closer and hugged him tightly. I turned my face away because I was afraid I might change my mind at this last minute. I then held her in my arms, walking from the bedroom, through the sitting room, to the hallway. Her hand wrapped around my neck softly and naturally. I held her body tightly; it was just like our wedding day.

But her much lighter weight made me sad. On the last day, when I held her in my arms I could hardly move a step. Our son had gone to school. I held her tightly and said, 'I hadn’t noticed that our life lacked intimacy.' I drove to work, jumped out of the car swiftly without locking the door. I was afraid any delay would make me change my mind. I walked upstairs. Jane opened the door and I said to her, 'Sorry, Jane, I do not want the divorce anymore.'

She looked at me, astonished, and then touched my forehead. 'Do you have a fever?' She said. I moved her hand off my head. 'Sorry, Jane', I said, 'I won’t divorce. My marriage life was boring probably because she and I didn’t value the details of our lives, not because we didn’t love each other anymore. Now I realize that since I carried her into my home on our wedding day I am supposed to hold her until death do us apart'. Jane seemed to suddenly wake up. She gave me a loud slap and then slammed the door and burst into tears. I walked downstairs and drove away. At the floral shop on the way, I ordered a bouquet of flowers for my wife. The salesgirl asked me what to write on the card. I smiled and wrote, 'I’ll carry you out every morning until death do us apart.'

That evening I arrived home, flowers in my hands, a smile on my face, I run upstairs, only to find my wife in the bed - dead. My wife had been fighting CANCER for months and I was so busy with Jane to even notice. She knew that she would die soon and she wanted to save me from whatever negative reaction from our son, in case we push through with the divorce. At least, in the eyes of our son - I’m a loving husband….

Friday, May 20, 2011

I WISH YOU ENOUGH




Recently, I overheard a mother and daughter in their last moments together at the airport as the daughter's departure had been announced. Standing near the security gate, they hugged and the mother said:

"I love you and I wish you enough."


The daughter replied, "Mom, our life together has been more than enough. Your love is all I ever needed. I wish you enough, too, Mom." They kissed and the daughter left.

The mother walked over to the window where I sat. 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, 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. And an entire life to forget them.

Friday, March 11, 2011

A BROTHER'S LOVE


A BOY SINGING TO HIS LITTLE SISTER `You Are My Sunshine, My Only Sunshine'

Like any good mother, when Karen found out that another baby was on the way, she did what she could to help her 3-year-old son, Michael, prepare for a new sibling.  
They found out that the new baby was going be a girl, and day after day, night after night, Michael sang to his sister in mommy's tummy.
He was building a bond of love with his little sister before he even met her.
The pregnancy progressed normally for Karen. In time, the labor pains came. Soon it was every five minutes, every three, every minute. But serious complications arose during delivery and Karen found herself in hours of labor.
Would a C-section be required? Finally, after a long struggle, Michael's little sister was born. But she was in very serious condition.  With a siren howling in the night, the ambulance rushed the infant to the neonatal intensive care unit at a nearby hospital. The days inched by. The little girl got worse. The pediatrician had to tell the parents there was very little hope, and to prepare for the worst.
Karen and her husband contacted a local cemetery about a burial plot. They had fixed up a special room in their house for their new baby but now they found themselves having to plan for a funeral. Michael, however, kept begging his parents to let him see his sister. `I want to sing to her’, he kept saying.
Week two in intensive care looked as if a funeral would come before the week was over.
Michael kept nagging about singing to his sister, but kids are never allowed in Intensive Care. Karen decided to take Michael whether they liked it or not.
If he didn't see his sister right then, he may never see her alive. She dressed him in an oversized scrub suit and marched him into ICU. He looked like a walking laundry basket.
The head nurse recognized him as a child and bellowed, 'Get that kid out of here now. No children are allowed.' The mother rose up strong in Karen, and the usually mild-mannered lady glared steel-eyed right into the head nurse's face, her lips a firm line. 'He is not leaving until he sings to his sister' she stated.
Then Karen towed Michael to his sister's bedside. He gazed at the tiny infant losing the battle to live.
After a moment, he began to sing. In the pure-hearted voice of a 3-year-old, Michael sang:
'You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray.' Instantly the baby girl seemed to respond. The pulse rate began to calm down and become steady.
'Keep on singing, Michael,' encouraged Karen with tears in her eyes.
'You never know, dear, how much I love you, please don't take my sunshine away.' As Michael sang to his sister, the baby's ragged, strained breathing became as smooth as a kitten's purr.
'Keep on singing, sweetheart.'
'The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms.' Michael's little sister began to relax as rest, healing rest, seemed to sweep over her.
'Keep on singing, Michael.' Tears had now conquered the face of the bossy head nurse. Karen glowed.
'You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. Please don't take my sunshine away.'
The next day....the very next day the little girl was well enough to go home.
Woman's Day Magazine called it The Miracle of a Brother's Song. The medical staff just called it a miracle. Karen called it a miracle of God's love.
 NEVER GIVE UP ON THE PEOPLE YOU LOVE. LOVE IS SO INCREDIBLY POWERFUL.

Friday, November 12, 2010

A GLASS OF MILK, PAID IN FULL

One day, a poor boy who was selling goods from door to door to pay his way through school, found he had only one thin dime left, and he was hungry. He decided he would ask for a meal at the next house. However, he lost his nerve when a lovely young woman opened the door.
 
Instead of a meal he asked for a drink of water. She thought he looked hungry so she brought him a large glass of milk.
 
He drank it slowly, and then asked, “How much do I owe you?”
 
“You don’t owe me anything,” she replied. “Mother has taught us never to accept pay for a kindness.”
 
He said, “Then I thank you from my heart.”
 
As Howard Kelly left that house, he not only felt stronger physically, but his faith in God and man was strong also. He had been ready to give up and quit.
 
Years later that young woman became critically ill. The local doctors were baffled. They finally sent her to the big city, where they called in specialists to study her rare disease.
 
Dr. Howard Kelly was called in for the consultation. When he heard the name of the town she came from, a strange light filled his eyes. Immediately he rose and went down the hall of the hospital to her room.
 
Dressed in his doctor’s gown he went in to see her. He recognized her at once. He went back to the consultation room determined to do his best to save her life. From that day he gave special attention to the case.
 
After a long struggle, the battle was won. Dr. Kelly requested the business office to pass the final bill to him for approval. He looked at it, then wrote something on the edge and the bill was sent to her room.
 
She feared to open it, for she was sure it would take the rest of her life to pay for it all. Finally she looked, and something caught her attention on the side of the bill. She began to read the following words:
 
“Paid in full with one glass of milk”
Signed, Dr. Howard Kelly.
 
 
Author Unknown

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

THE WOODEN BOWL


A frail old man went to live with his son, daughter-in-law, and four-year-old grandson.
The old man's hands trembled, his eyesight was blurred, and his step faltered.

The family ate together at the table. But the elderly grandfather's shaky hands and failing sight made eating difficult. Peas rolled off his spoon onto the floor. When he grasped the glass, milk spilled on the tablecloth.
The son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess.
'We must do something about father,' said the son.
'I've had enough of his spilled milk, noisy eating, and food on the floor.'
So the husband and wife set a small table in the corner.
There, Grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed dinner.
Since Grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in a wooden bowl.
When the family glanced in Grandfather's direction, sometimes he had a tear in his eye as he sat alone.
Still, the only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled food.
The four-year-old watched it all in silence.
One evening before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps on the floor.
He asked the child sweetly, 'What are you making?'
Just as sweetly, the boy responded, 'Oh, I am making a little bowl for you and Mama to eat your food in when I grow up’. The four-year-old smiled and went back to work.
The words so struck the parents so that they were speechless. Then tears started to stream down their cheeks. Though no word was spoken, both knew what must be done.
That evening the husband took Grandfather's hand and gently led him back to the family table. For the remainder of his days he ate every meal with the family... And for some reason, neither husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk spilled, or the tablecloth soiled.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

KEANU LOVE AFFAIR

Just waxing nostalgic...saw the movie Speed on cable and I remembered my love affair with Keanu Reeves. I had such a huge crush on him and I know I made a slideshow of him, sort of my tribute to his hotness...



Tuesday, April 20, 2010

IT'S WHAT YOU SCATTER


I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes... I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily appraising a basket of freshly picked green peas.
I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.
Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next to me.

'Hello Barry, how are you today?'

 'H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas. They sure look good.'
'They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?'
'Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time.'
'Good. Anything I can help you with?'
'No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas.'
'Would you like to take some home?'  Asked Mr. Miller.
'No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with.'
'Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?'
'All I got's my prize marble here.'
'Is that right? Let me see it' said Miller.
'Here 'tis. She's a dandy.'
'I can see that. Hmm mmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?' the store owner asked.
'Not zackley but almost.'
'Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble'. Mr. Miller told the boy.
'Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller.'
Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me.
With a smile she said, 'There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances.  Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever.
When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, when they come on their next trip to the store.'
I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado, but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering for marbles.

Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his visitation that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.
Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts...all very professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket.

Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as one by one each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.
Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and reminded her of the story from those many years ago and what she had told me about her husband's bartering for marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.
'Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about.
They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim 'traded' them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size....they came to pay their debt.'
'We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world,' she confided, 'but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho..'
With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.
 The Moral:
We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds. Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath.
Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles:  A fresh pot of coffee you didn't make yourself...An unexpected phone call from an old friend.... Green stoplights on your way to work...The fastest line at the grocery store...A good sing-along song on the radio...Your keys found right where you left them.
IT'S NOT WHAT YOU GATHER, BUT WHAT YOU SCATTER THAT TELLS WHAT KIND OF LIFE YOU HAVE LIVED!
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