A Gift from the Heart

December is the busiest time of the year. Everyone's busy preparing for the holidays and continuing family traditions. Has it ever crossed your mind, as to how many really stop and think what Christmas is all about? Are we teaching our children the true meaning of Christmas or how many gifts need to be bought? If we have taught our children the true meaning of Christmas, what we've instilled in them will be carried into generations to come. I like to see families create traditions all year long. Afterall, the original gift to all of us here on earth, was given from His heart. For through our hearts, one single gift of kindness, can touch an endless amount of hearts forever.

This is a story about a child that saw the importance of giving and never thought about giving up. Some may think a child isn't old enough to carry enough wisdom to teach us all a lesson in living. But I've learned a heart grows from life's many challenges and sometimes a child's challenges can be far greater than some adults. We met a little girl seven years ago, during one of my daughter's occasional hospital stays. Her name was Beth and she was my daughter's room mate for a week. Beth was a very happy girl despite her medical problems she was facing. Her long blonde curls always seemed to bounce with her smile. The girls got to know each other well and had become good friends. On the pediatric floor of the hospital, we saw many seriously ill children. It was so sad, even though my daughter had an uncurable kidney disease and not a very good chance of living to see old age herself. We always saw many children with all kinds of cancer, and sadly enough Beth was one of those children. She was doing two weeks of chemo and radiation. I was amazed at her will and determination to never give up despite how very sick her treatments made her. She was always concerned about my daughter and the other children with cancer she grew to know over her many hospital stays.

My daughter's IV treatments were done after a week and I was happy to finally bring her home. We were awaiting the final discharge orders when Beth appeared from the other side of the curtain that separated their beds. She said, "I want you to have this. I know you need a new kidney, so keep this angel pin with you till you get better. She will watch over you so you smile all over. My friend, John gave this to me to watch over me, but it's time for this angel to watch over you. When you get your new kidney and smile, you can give this angel to someone that needs her too. I'm done reading my book so here's my bookmark that has a poem on it called, Don't Quit!, I know it by heart anyhow." My daughter thanked her and the girls exchanged hugs and big smiles. I knew, we may never see Beth again, but we never forgot the gift she gave from her heart that day. During that year, we found out Beth has passed away. It was so sad to know such a beautiful little girl was no longer bouncing smiles to everyone she would meet. Her sincere kindness will stay with us forever.

We kept that angel for six more years. My daughter had gone beyond what medical journals had studied and expected from her disease. Was it the angel watching over her or pure luck? My daughter ended up on kidney dialysis for over a year, and one month after almost loosing her, a kidney became available and she received a transplant. My heart tells me, an angel upstairs was watching with a loving smile. My daughter had kept that angel pin and now she felt it was time to give it to someone who needed watched over till they could smile again. She gave it to an elderly man trying to overcome the damage from heart problems and undergoing extensive therapy. His family has informed us, that when he returns home he wants to give the angel to someone he knows suffering from a brain tumor.

How many families and hearts this angel has touched no one knows for sure.

But all it took was one single gift of kindness, that has and will touch an endless amount of hearts forever.

So this Christmas season, look around and see that gift that can't be bought. Create a tradition with your children or maybe someone you love. Make someone's day and do the unexpected, let a friend know you care, or greet a stranger with a warm smile. Give the gift that keeps on giving. It's open twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year, it's a gift from your heart. Afterall, isn't that what Christmas is all about?

by: Bonnie, , A Heartprint Original

The Shredder

The last few days i have been busy cleaning out a room in my house that i have been using as storage. This room has several tubs that contain various things in them. I have a few that contains the boys' school keepsakes that i would NEVER get rid of, one that has winter clothing items, one that has old billing statements and many that is just junk.

I finally drew up enough ambition to go in and start weeding out what i no longer needed and came up with a plan to free up some space. I decided to donate the clothing and other house hold items that no longer fit or that we no longer use to a local organization to hopefully help someone that could use what i was deeming unuseful to me.  

As for the tub of old billing statements that i no longer needed, i decided that i would just sit down and have a "shredding session" to get rid of the paper and to protect myself from anyone getting ahold of them and using them to steal my identity. This process took me forever as i had to look through everything to make sure it was something that i didn't nee to keep.

It wasn't until this morning as i was driving to work that i made an analogy that really got me to thinking. Our lives are much like "the storage room". We have spent a lifetime of accumulating things that we are either really proud of and never want to get rid of or that we want to use "the shredder" to get rid of and destroy so that it can never be used again.

I challenge you to go through your "storage room" and see if there are things that you need to shred and get rid of that you no longer need or want. I know a really good "shredder" that is only a prayer away that will free up some space in your "storage room" if you will just hand it over to him!

Eight Gifts that Do Not Cost a Cent

Now that Thanksgiving has came and went many of us are busy thinking about our Christmas list and have begun the sometimes stressful (for me ALWAYS stressful) task of finding the perfect gift. I came across this list of gifts and thought i would share it with you. Sometimes the "perfect gift" doesn't cost a thing!

 
EIGHT GIFTS THAT DO NOT COST A CENT
 

THE GIFT OF LISTENING...
But you must REALLY listen. No interrupting, no daydreaming, no planning your response. Just listening.


THE GIFT OF AFFECTION...
Be generous with appropriate hugs, kisses, pats on the back and holds. Let these small actions demonstrate the love you have for family and friends.


THE GIFT OF LAUGHTER...
Clip cartoons. Share articles and funny stories. Your gift will say, "I love to laugh with you."


THE GIFT OF A WRITTEN NOTE...
It can be a simple "Thanks for the help" note or a full sonnet. A brief, handwritten note may be remembered for a lifetime, and may even change a life.


THE GIFT OF A COMPLIMENT...
A simple and sincere, "You look great in red," "You did a super job" or "That was a wonderful meal" can make someone's day.


THE GIFT OF A FAVOR...
Every day, go out of your way to do something kind.


THE GIFT OF SOLITUDE...
There are times when we want nothing better than to be left alone. Be sensitive to those times and give the gift of solitude to others.


THE GIFT OF A CHEERFUL DISPOSITION...
The easiest way to feel good is to extend a kind word to someone, really it's not that hard to say, Hello or Thank You.
THE GIFT OF LISTENING...
But you must REALLY listen. No interrupting, no daydreaming, no planning your response. Just listening.


THE GIFT OF AFFECTION...
Be generous with appropriate hugs, kisses, pats on the back and holds. Let these small actions demonstrate the love you have for family and friends.


THE GIFT OF LAUGHTER...
Clip cartoons. Share articles and funny stories. Your gift will say, "I love to laugh with you."


THE GIFT OF A WRITTEN NOTE...
It can be a simple "Thanks for the help" note or a full sonnet. A brief, handwritten note may be remembered for a lifetime, and may even change a life.


THE GIFT OF A COMPLIMENT...
A simple and sincere, "You look great in red," "You did a super job" or "That was a wonderful meal" can make someone's day.


THE GIFT OF A FAVOR...
Every day, go out of your way to do something kind.


THE GIFT OF SOLITUDE...
There are times when we want nothing better than to be left alone. Be sensitive to those times and give the gift of solitude to others.


THE GIFT OF A CHEERFUL DISPOSITION...
The easiest way to feel good is to extend a kind word to someone, really it's not that hard to say, Hello or Thank You.

Thanksgiving Story

Most stories of Thanksgiving history start with the harvest celebration of the pilgrims and the Native Americans that took place in the autumn of 1621. Although they did have a three-day feast in celebration of a good harvest, and the local natives did participate, this "first thanksgiving" was not a holiday, simply a gathering. There is little evidence that this feast of thanks led directly to our modern Thanksgiving Day holiday. Thanksgiving can, however, be traced back to 1863 when Pres. Lincoln became the first president to proclaim Thanksgiving Day. The holiday has been a fixture of late November ever since.
However, since most school children are taught that the first Thanksgiving was held in 1621 with the Pilgrims and Indians, let us take a closer look at just what took place leading up to that event, and then what happened in the centuries afterward that finally gave us our modern Thanksgiving.   The Pilgrims who sailed to this country aboard the Mayflower were originally members of the English Separatist Church (a Puritan sect). They had earlier fled their home in England and sailed to Holland (The Netherlands) to escape religious persecution. There, they enjoyed more religious tolerance, but they eventually became disenchanted with the Dutch way of life, thinking it ungodly. Seeking a better life, the Separatists negotiated with a London stock company to finance a pilgrimage to America. Most of those making the trip aboard the Mayflower were non-Separatists, but were hired to protect the company's interests. Only about one-third of the original colonists were Separatists.   The Pilgrims set ground at Plymouth Rock on December 11, 1620. Their first winter was devastating. At the beginning of the following fall, they had lost 46 of the original 102 who sailed on the Mayflower. But the harvest of 1621 was a bountiful one. And the remaining colonists decided to celebrate with a feast - including 91 natives who had helped the Pilgrims survive their first year. It is believed that the Pilgrims would not have made it through the year without the help of the natives. The feast was more of a traditional English harvest festival than a true "thanksgiving" observance. It lasted three days.   Governor William Bradford sent "four men fowling" after wild ducks and geese. It is not certain that wild turkey was part of their feast. However, it is certain that they had venison. The term "turkey" was used by the Pilgrims to mean any sort of wild fowl.   Another modern staple at almost every Thanksgiving table is pumpkin pie. But it is unlikely that the first feast included that treat. The supply of flour had been long diminished, so there was no bread or pastries of any kind. However, they did eat boiled pumpkin, and they produced a type of fried bread from their corn crop. There was also no milk, cider, potatoes, or butter. There was no domestic cattle for dairy products, and the newly-discovered potato was still considered by many Europeans to be poisonous. But the feast did include fish, berries, watercress, lobster, dried fruit, clams, venison, and plums.   This "thanksgiving" feast was not repeated the following year. Many years passed before the event was repeated. It wasn't until June of 1676 that another Day of thanksgiving was proclaimed. On June 20 of that year the governing council of Charlestown, Massachusetts, held a meeting to determine how best to express thanks for the good fortune that had seen their community securely established. By unanimous vote they instructed Edward Rawson, the clerk, to proclaim June 29 as a day of thanksgiving. It is notable that this thanksgiving celebration probably did not include Native Americans, as the celebration was meant partly to be in recognition of the colonists' recent victory over the "heathen natives," (see the proclamation). By then, it had become apparent to the settlers that the natives were a hindrance to their quest for more land, so the good will they shared at the first feast had long been lost. A hundred years later, in October of 1777 all 13 colonies joined in a thanksgiving celebration. It also commemorated the patriotic victory over the British at Saratoga. But it was a one-time affair.

George Washington proclaimed a National Day of Thanksgiving in 1789, although some were opposed to it. There was discord among the colonies, many feeling the hardships of a few pilgrims did not warrant a national holiday. And later, President Thomas Jefferson opposed the idea of having a day of thanksgiving. It was Sarah Josepha Hale, a magazine editor, whose efforts eventually led to what we recognize as Thanksgiving. Hale wrote many editorials championing her cause in her Boston Ladies' Magazine, and later, in Godey's Lady's Book. Finally, after a 40-year campaign of writing editorials and letters to governors and presidents, Hale's obsession became a reality when, in 1863, President Lincoln proclaimed the last Thursday in November as a national day of Thanksgiving.   Thanksgiving was proclaimed by every president after Lincoln. The date was changed a couple of times, most recently by Franklin Roosevelt, who set it up one week to the next-to-last Thursday in order to create a longer Christmas shopping season. Public uproar against this decision caused the president to move Thanksgiving back to its original date two years later. And in 1941, Thanksgiving was finally sanctioned by Congress as a legal holiday, as the fourth Thursday in November.

The Hand

At first it sounded like a Thanksgiving story, but the more I reflected on it, the more appropriate it seemed for any time of the year. The way I heard it, the story went like this:

Thanksgiving Day was near. The first grade teacher gave her class a fun assignment -- to draw a picture of something for which they were thankful.

Most of the class might be considered economically disadvantaged, but still many would celebrate the holiday with turkey and other traditional goodies of the season. These, the teacher thought, would be the subjects of most of her student's art. And they were.

But Douglas made a different kind of picture. Douglas was a different kind of boy. He was the teacher's true child of misery, frail and unhappy. As other children played at recess, Douglas was likely to stand close by her side. One could only guess at the pain Douglas felt behind those sad eyes.

Yes, his picture was different. When asked to draw a picture of something for which he was thankful, he drew a hand. Nothing else. Just an empty hand.

His abstract image captured the imagination of his peers. Whose hand could it be? One child guessed it was the hand of a farmer, because farmers raise turkeys. Another suggested a police officer, because the police protect and care for people. Still others guessed it was the hand of God, for God feeds us. And so the discussion went -- until the teacher almost forgot the young artist himself.

When the children had gone on to other assignments, she paused at Douglas' desk, bent down, and asked him whose hand it was. The little boy looked away and murmured, "It's yours, teacher."

She recalled the times she had taken his hand and walked with him here or there, as she had the other students. How often had she said, "Take my hand, Douglas, we'll go outside." Or, "Let me show you how to hold your pencil." Or, "Let's do this together." Douglas was most thankful for his teacher's hand.

Brushing aside a tear, she went on with her work.

The story speaks of more than thankfulness. It says something about teachers teaching and parents parenting and friends showing friendship, and how much it means to the Douglases of the world. They might not always say thanks. But they'll remember the hand that reaches out.

A Thanksgiving Poem

Gettin' together to smile an' rejoice,
An' eatin' an' laughin' with folks of your choice;
An' kissin' the girls an' declarin' that they
Are growin' more beautiful day after day;
Chattin' an' braggin' a bit with the men,
Buildin' the old family circle again;
Livin' the wholesome an' old-fashioned cheer,
Just for awhile at the end of the year.
Greetings fly fast as we crowd through the door
And under the old roof we gather once more
Just as we did when the youngsters were small;
Mother's a little bit grayer, that's all.
Father's a little bit older, but still
Ready to romp an' to laugh with a will.
Here we are back at the table again
Tellin' our stories as women an' men.

Bowed are our heads for a moment in prayer;
Oh, but we're grateful an' glad to be there.
Home from the east land an' home from the west,
Home with the folks that are dearest an' best.
Out of the sham of the cities afar
We've come for a time to be just what we are.
Here we can talk of ourselves an' be frank,
Forgettin' position an' station an' rank.

Give me the end of the year an' its fun
When most of the plannin' an' toilin' is done;
Bring all the wanderers home to the nest,
Let me sit down with the ones I love best,
Hear the old voices still ringin' with song,
See the old faces unblemished by wrong,
See the old table with all of its chairs
An' I'll put soul in my Thanksgivin' prayers.

by Edgar Albert Guest

A Thanksgiving Story

It was the day before Thanksgiving ­ the first one my three children and I would be spending without their father, who had left several months before. Now the two older children were very sick with the flu, and the eldest had just been prescribed bed rest for a week.

It was a cool, gray day outside, and a light rain was falling. I grew wearier as I scurried around, trying to care for each child: thermometers, juice, diapers. And I was fast running out of liquids for the children. But when I checked my purse, all I found was about $2.50 ­ and this was supposed to last me until the end of the month. That's when I heard the phone ring.

It was the secretary from our former church, and she told me that they had been thinking about us and had something to give us from the congregation. I told her that I was going out to pick up some more juice and soup for the children, and I would drop by the church on my way to the market.

I arrived at the church just before lunch. The church secretary met me at the door and handed me a special gift envelope. "We think of you and the kids often," she said, "and you are in our hearts and prayers. We love you." When I opened the envelope, I found two grocery certificates inside. Each was worth $20. I was so touched and moved, I broke down and cried.

"Thank you very much," I said, as we hugged each other. "Please give our love and thanks to the church." Then I drove to a store near our home and purchased some much-needed items for the children.

At the check-out counter I had a little over $14.00 worth of groceries, and I handed the cashier one of the gift certificates. She took it, then turned her back for what seemed like a very long time. I thought something might be wrong. Finally I said, "This gift certificate is a real blessing. Our former church gave it to our family, knowing I'm a single patent trying to make ends meet."

The cashier then turned around, with tears in her loving eyes, and replied, "Honey, that's wonderful! Do you have a turkey?"

"No. It's okay because my children are sick anyway."

She then asked, "Do you have anything else for Thanksgiving dinner?"

Again I replied, "No."

After handing me the change from the certificate, she looked at my face and said, "Honey, I can't tell you exactly why right now, but I want you to go back into the store and buy a turkey, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie or anything else you need for a Thanksgiving dinner."

I was shocked, and humbled to tears. "Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yes! Get whatever you want. And get some Gatorade for the kids."

I felt awkward as I went back to do more shopping, but I selected a fresh turkey, a few yams and potatoes, and some juices for the children. Then I wheeled the shopping cart up to the same cashier as before. As I placed my groceries on the counter, she looked at me once more with giant tears in her kind eyes and began to speak.

"Now I can tell you. This morning I prayed that I could help someone today, and you walked through my line." She reached under the counter for her purse and took out a $20 bill. She paid for my groceries and then handed me the change. Once more I was moved to tears.

The sweet cashier then said, "I am a Christian. Here is my phone number if you ever need anything." She then took my head in her hands, kissed my cheek and said, "God bless you, honey."

As I walked to my car, I was overwhelmed by this stranger's love and by the realization that God loves my family too, and shows us his love through this stranger's and my church's kind deeds.

The children were supposed to have spent Thanksgiving with their father that year, but because of the flu they were home with me, for a very special Thanksgiving Day. They were feeling better, and we all ate the goodness of the Lord's bounty ­ and our community's love. Our hearts were truly filled with thanks.

Author: Andrea Nannette Mejia

One Rainy Night

One rainy night many years ago, an elderly man and his wife entered the lobby of a small hotel in Philadelphia. Trying to get out of the storm, the couple reached the front desk hoping to get some shelter for the night.

"Could you possibly give us a room here?" the husband asked. The clerk, a friendly man with a winning smile, looked at the couple and explained that there were three conventions in town. "All of our rooms are taken," the clerk said. "But I can't send a nice couple like you out into the rain at one o'clock in the morning. Would you perhaps be willing to sleep in my room? It's not exactly a suite, but it will be good enough to make you folks comfortable for the night." When the couple declined, the young man pressed on. "Don't worry about me; I'll make out just fine," the clerk told them. So the couple agreed.

As he paid his bill the next morning, the elderly man said to the clerk, "You are the kind of manager who should be the boss of the best hotel in the United States. Maybe someday I'll build one for you." The clerk looked at them and smiled. The three of them had a good laugh. As they drove away, the elderly couple agreed that the helpful clerk was indeed exceptional,as finding people who are both friendly and helpful isn't easy.

Two years passed. The clerk had almost forgotten the incident when he received a letter from the old man. It recalled that stormy night and enclosed a round-trip ticket to New York, asking the young man to pay them a visit.

The old man met him in New York, and led him to the corner of Fifth Avenue and 34th Street. He then pointed to a great new building there, a palace of reddish stone, with turrets and watchtowers thrusting up to the sky. "That," said the older man, "is the hotel I have just built for you to manage." "You must be joking," the young man said. "I can assure you I am not," said the older man, a sly smile playing around his mouth.

The older man's name was William Waldorf Astor, and the magnificent structure was the original Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. The young clerk who became its first manager was George C. Boldt. This young clerk never foresaw the turn of events that would lead him to become the manager of one of the world's most glamorous hotels. The Bible says that we are not to turn our backs on those who are in need, for we might be entertaining Angels.

Father's Eyes

Practice after practice, he eagerly gave everything he had. But being half the size of the other boys, he got absolutely nowhere.

At all the games, this hopeful athlete sat on the bench and hardly ever played. This teenager lived alone with his father, and the two of them had a very special relationship. Even though the son was always on the bench, his father was always in the stands cheering. He never missed a game.

This young man was still the smallest of the class when he entered high school. But his father continued to encourage him but also made it very clear that he did not have to play football if he didn't want to. But the young man loved football and decided to hang in there. He was determined to try his best at every practice, and perhaps he'd get to play when he became a senior.

All through high school he never missed a practice nor a game but remained a bench-warmer all four years. His faithful father was always in the stands, always with words of encouragement for him.

When the young man went to college, he decided to try out for the football team as a walk-on. Everyone was sure he could never make the cut, but he did. The coach admitted that he kept him on the roster because he always puts his heart and soul to every practice, and at the same time, provided the other members with the spirit and hustle they badly needed.

The news that he had survived the cut thrilled him so much that he rushed to the nearest phone and called his father. His father shared the son's excitement and received season tickets for all the college games.

This persistent young athlete never missed practice during his four years at college, but he never got to play in a game. It was the end of his senior football season, and as he trotted onto the practice field shortly before the big playoff game, the coach met him with a telegram.

The young man read the telegram and he became deathly silent. Swallowing hard, he mumbled to the coach, "My father died this morning. Is it all right if I miss practice today"? The coach put his arm gently around his shoulder and said, "Take the rest of the week off, son. And don't even plan to come back to the game on Saturday."

Saturday arrived, and the game was not going well. In the third quarter, when the team was ten points behind, a silent young man quietly slipped into the empty locker room and put on his football gear.

As he ran onto the sidelines, the coach and his players were astounded to see their faithful team-mate back so soon. "Coach, please let me play. I've just got to play today," said the young man. The coach pretended not to hear him. There was no way he wanted his worst player in this close playoff game. But the young man persisted, and finally, feeling sorry for the kid, the coach gave in. "All right," he said. "22 You can go in."

Before long, the coach, the players and everyone in the stands could not believe their eyes. This little unknown, who had never played before was doing everything right. The opposing team could not stop him. He ran, he passed, blocked, and tackled like a star. His team began to triumph. The score was soon tied.

In the closing seconds of the game, this kid intercepted a pass and ran all the way for the winning touchdown. The fans broke loose. His team-mates hoisted him onto their shoulders. Such cheering you never heard.

Finally, after the stands had emptied and the team had showered and left the locker room, the coach noticed that this young man was sitting quietly in the corner all alone. The coach came to him and said, "Kid, I can't believe it. You were fantastic! Tell me, what got into you? How did you do it?" The young man looked at the coach, with tears in his eyes, and said, "Well, you knew my dad died, but did you know that my dad was blind?"

The young man swallowed hard and forced a smile, "Dad came to all my games, but today was the first time he could see me play, and I wanted to show him I could do it."

The Glasses

Mother's father worked as a carpenter. On this particular day, he was building some crates for the clothes his church was sending to some orphanage in China. On his way home, he reached into his shirt pocket to find his glasses, but they were gone. When he mentally replayed his earlier actions, he realized what happened; the glasses had slipped out of his pocket unnoticed and fallen into one of the crates, which he had nailed shut. His brand new glasses were heading for China!

The Great Depression was at it's height and Grandpa had six children. He had spent $20 for those glasses that very morning. He was upset by the thought of having to buy another pair. "It's not fair," he told God as he drove home in frustration. "I've been very faithful in giving of my time and money to your work, and now this."

Several months later, the director of the orphanage was on furlough in the United States. He wanted to visit all the churches that supported him in China, so he came to speak one Sunday at my grandfather's small church in Chicago. The missionary began by thanking the people for their faithfulness in supporting the orphanage. "But most of all," he said, "I must thank you for the glasses you sent last year. You see, the Communists had just swept through the orphanage, destroying everything, including my glasses. I was desperate. Even if I had the money, there was simply no way of replacing those glasses. Along with not being able to see well, I experienced headaches every day, so my coworkers and I were much in prayer about this. Then your crates arrived. When my staff removed the covers, they found a pair of glasses lying on top.

The missionary paused long enough to let his words sink in. Then, still gripped with the wonder of it all,
he continued: "Folks, when I tried on the glasses, it was as though they had been custom-made just
for me! I want to thank you for being a part of that."

The people listened, happy for the miraculous glasses. But the missionary surely must have confused their
church with another, they thought. There were no glasses on their list of items to be sent overseas.
But sitting quietly in the back, with tears streaming down his face, an ordinary carpenter realized the
Master Carpenter had used him in an extraordinary way.

The Desk

In my office at home, there is an old oak desk. It sat for many years in my grandfather's office. After he passed on, it sat in my sister's house for many years until she gave it to me. I finally decided to refinish the old desk, and make it look more respectable. After carefully stripping away over 80 years of accumulated grime and varnish, the old oak desk revealed its beauty once again, and I marveled at the glow of the newly found wood. The top had been marred by the years of daily use, so I carefully began to sand it smooth. There were many deep scratches and nicks that testified to the use and abuse that the old desk had endured. Moving finally to the right rear corner, I saw a faint mark and bent down to examine the damage. Catching the light, I saw two faint initials, "CY".

"CY" was Carl, one of my father's three older brothers. He had grown up, gone off to war, fathered five children, and retired as a vice-president of a large oil company. He had truly made many more important marks in his life. I had buried my father three years earlier, and my uncle Carl had passed away five years before that. Their father had been gone for over twenty years. But in that single instant, all their memories came flooding back to me. I can only imagine what was going through my uncle Carl's mind that day long ago in his childhood when he made his mark on his father's big oak desk. I'm sure that his father gave him a stern lecture, and probably inflicted a quick swat to his behind. There may have even been a missed dinner imposed. But the initials were never removed. By the time I came along, there was a thick sheet of glass covering the top of the old desk, which prevented further damage to a well worn top. The old oak desk survived my grandfather, grandmother, and all four of their sons. They are all gone, but here was this old desk, reaching across the years to remind me of a time when they were young, and suddenly I connected with the family long gone. Gone, but still teaching me the ways of fathers and sons. When I was a small child, there was a poem under that thick glass cover on the old desk. On yellowed newsprint my grandfather had cut and saved, there were eight little lines: I've four and twenty golden hours To spend just as I choose, With no one but myself to blame For minutes that I lose, Oh, but then I must remember Those lost minutes for I see, There is nothing I can ever do To bring them back to me. In my office at home, there is an old oak desk. It has sat for many years in my office. And carved into the right rear corner, there are still two faint initials, "CY", that remind me of who I am, where I came from, and about fathers and sons, and the marks they make on each others' lives. It reminds me of the marks my son and I make on each others' lives. And I must remember....

The Good vs The Evil

Every morning a woman baked Chapati, an Indian flatbread, for members of her family and an extra one for a hungry passerby. She would always place the extra Chapati on the windowsill, for whosoever needed to eat it.

She noticed a hunchback came every day and took the extra Chapati. Instead of expressing gratitude, he would muttered the following words as he went on his way: "The evil you do remains with you. The good you do, comes back to you!"

This went on day after day after day. The woman felt very irritated. "Not a word of gratitude," she said to herself. "Every day this hunchback utters this jingle! What does he mean? "

One day, exasperated, she decided to do away with him. "I shall get rid of this hunchback," she said.

And what did she do? She added poison to the Chapati she prepared for him!

As she was about to place it on the windowsill, her hands trembled. "What is this I am doing?" she said. Immediately, she threw his Chapati into the fire, prepared another one and put it on the sill.

As usual, the hunchback came, picked up the Chapati and muttered the words: "The evil you do, remains with you. The good you do, comes back to you!"

The hunchback proceeded on his way, blissfully unaware of the war raging in the mind of the woman.

Every day, as the woman placed the Chapati on the windowsill, she offered a prayer for her son who had gone to a distant place to seek his fortune. For many months she had no news of him and she always prayed for his safe return.

That evening, there was a knock on the door. As she opened it, she was surprised to find her son standing in the doorway. He had grown thin and lean. His garments were tattered and torn. He was hungry, starved and weak.

Looking at his mother he said, "Mom, it's a miracle I'm here. While I was but a mile away, I was so famished that I collapsed. I would have died, but just then an old hunchback passed by. I begged him for a morsel of food and he was kind enough to give me a whole Chapati."

"When he gave it to me, he said, 'This is what I eat every day. Today, I shall give it to you, for your need is greater than mine!'"

As the mother heard those words, her face turned pale. She leaned against the door for support. She remembered the poisoned Chapati that she had made that morning. Had she not burnt it in the fire, it would have been eaten by her own son and he would have lost his life!

It was then that she realized the significance of the words: "The evil you do remains with you. The good you do, comes back to you!"

Do good and don't ever stop doing good, even if it's not appreciated at that time.

Heaven's Grocery Store

I was walking down life's highway a long time ago. One day I saw a sign that read, "Heaven's Grocery Store". As I got a little closer the door came open wide, And when I came to myself I was standing inside. I saw a host of Angels, they were standing everywhere. One handed me a basket and said "My Child shop with care." Everything a Christian needs is in that grocery store, And all you can't carry, come back the next day for more. First, I got some Patience, Love was in the same row. Further down was Understanding, needed everywhere you go. I got a box or two of Wisdom, a bag or two of Faith, I just couldn't miss the Holy Ghost, it was all over the place. I stopped to get some Strength and Courage to help me run this race, But then my blanket was getting full, and I remembered I needed Grace. I didn't forget Salvation, which like the others was free, So I tried to get enough of that to save both you and me. Then I started to the counter to pay my grocery bill, For I thought I had everything to do my Master's will. As I went up the aisle, I saw Prayer and had to put it in, For I knew when I stepped outside, I would run right into sin. Peace and Joy were plentiful, they were on the last shelf. Song and Praises were hanging near, so I just helped myself. Then I said to the Angel, "How much do I owe"? The Angel smiled and said, "Just take them everywhere you go." Again, I politely asked "How much do I really owe?" The Angel smiled again and said, "My Child, Jesus Paid Your Bill A Long Time Ago."

A Glass of Milk

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 and 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 strengthened 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, he 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 from the business office to pass the final billing 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 read these words: "PAID IN FULL WITH ONE GLASS OF MILK.... " (Signed) Dr. Howard Kelly Tears of joy flooded her eyes as her happy heart prayed: "Thank You, God, that Your love is shed abroad through human hearts and hands." --- Author Unknown

I Feared

I feared being alone
Until I learned to like Myself.

I feared failure
Until I realized that I only Fail when I don't try.

I feared success
Until I realized that I had to try in order to be happy with myself.

I feared people's opinions
Until I learned that people would have opinions about me anyway.

I feared rejection
Until I learned to have faith in myself.

I feared pain
Until I learned that it's necessary for growth.

I feared the truth
Until I saw the ugliness in lies.

I feared life
Until I experienced its beauty.

I feared death
Until I realized that it's not an end, but a beginning.

I feared my destiny,
Until I realized that I had the power to change my life.

I feared hate
Until I saw that it was nothing more than ignorance.

I feared love
Until it touched my heart, making the darkness fade into endless sunny days.

I feared ridicule
Until I learned how to laugh at myself.

I feared growing old
Until I realized that I gained wisdom every day.

I feared the future
Until I realized that Life just kept getting better.

I feared the past
Until I realized that it could no longer hurt me.

I feared the dark
Until I saw the beauty of the starlight.

I feared the light
Until I learned that the Truth would give me Strength.

I feared change
Until I saw that even the most beautiful butterfly had to undergo a Metamorphosis before it could fly.

The Pretty One

It had been a very long night. Our black Cocker spaniel, Precious, was having a difficult delivery. I lay on the floor beside her large four-foot square cage, watching her every movement. Watching and waiting, just in case I had to rush her to the veterinarian.

After six hours the puppies started to appear. The first-born was black and white. The second and third puppies were tan and brown in color. The fourth and fifth were also spotted black and white. "One, two, three, four, five," I counted to myself as I walked down the hallway to wake my wife, Judy, and tell her that everything was fine.

As we walked back down the hallway and into the spare bedroom, I noticed a sixth puppy had been born and was now laying all by itself over to the side of the cage. I picked up the small puppy and laid it on top of the large pile of puppies, who were whining and trying to nurse on the mother. Precious immediately pushed the small puppy away from rest of the group. She refused to recognize it as a member of her family.

"Something's wrong," said Judy.

I reached over and picked up the puppy. My heart sank inside my chest when I saw the little puppy had a cleft lip and palate and could not close its little mouth. I decided right there and then that if there was any way to save this animal I was going to give it my best shot.

I took the puppy to the vet and was told nothing could be done unless we were willing to spend about a thousand dollars to try and correct the defect. He told us that the puppy would die mainly because it could not suckle. After returning home, Judy and I decided that we could not afford to spend that kind of money without getting some type of assurance from the vet that the puppy had a chance to live. However, that did not stop me from purchasing a syringe and feeding the puppy by hand, which I did every day and night, every two hours, for more than ten days. The little puppy survived and learned to eat on his own as long as it was soft canned food.

The fifth week I placed an ad in the newspaper, and within a week we had people interested in all of the pups, except the one with the deformity. Late one afternoon I went to the store to pick up a few groceries. Upon returning I happened to see the old retired schoolteacher, who lived across the street from us, waving at me. She had read in the paper that we had puppies and was wondering if she might get one from us for her grandson and his family.

I told her all the puppies had found homes, but I would keep my eyes open for anyone else who might have an available cocker spaniel. I also mentioned that if someone should change their mind, I would let her know. Within days, all but one of the puppies had been picked up by their new families. This left me with one brown and tan cocker as well as the smaller puppy with the cleft lip and palate.

Two days passed without me hearing anything from the gentleman who had been promised the tan and brown pup. I telephoned the schoolteacher and told her I had one puppy left and that she was welcome to come and look at it. She advised me that she was going to pick up her grandson and would come over at about eight o'clock that evening.

That night at around seven-thirty, Judy and I were eating supper when we heard a knock on the front door. When I opened the door, the man who had wanted the tan and brown pup was standing there. We walked inside, took care of the adoption details and I handed him the puppy. Judy and I did not know what we would do or say when the teacher showed up with her grandson.

At exactly eight o'clock the doorbell rang. I opened the door, and there was the schoolteacher with her grandson standing behind her. I explained to her the man had come for the puppy after all, and there were no puppies left. "I'm sorry, Jeffery. They found homes for all the puppies," she told her grandson.

Just at that moment, the small puppy left in the bedroom began to yelp.

"My puppy! My puppy!" yelled the little boy as he ran out from behind his grandmother.

I just about fell over when I saw that the small child also had a cleft lip and palate. The boy ran past me as fast as he could, down the hallway to where the puppy was still yelping. When the three of us made it to the bedroom, the small boy was holding the puppy in his arms. He looked up at his grandmother and said, "Look, Grandma. They found homes for all the puppies except the pretty one, and he looks just like me."

The schoolteacher turned to us, "Is this puppy available?"

"Yes," I answered. "That puppy is available."

The little boy, who was now hugging the puppy, chimed in, "My grandma told me these kind of puppies are real expensive and that I have to take real good care of it."

The lady opened her purse, but I reached over and pushed her hand back down into her purse so that she would not pull her wallet out. "How much do you think this puppy is worth?" I asked the boy. "About a dollar?" "No. This puppy is very, very expensive," he replied.

"More than a dollar?" I asked.

"I'm afraid so," said his grandmother.

The boy stood there pressing the small puppy against his cheek. "We could not possibly take less than two dollars for this puppy," Judy said, squeezing my hand. "Like you said, it's the pretty one."

The schoolteacher took out two dollars and handed it to the young boy.

"It's your dog now, Jeffery. You pay the man."

Still holding the puppy tightly, the boy proudly handed me the money. Any worries I'd had about the puppy's future were gone.

The image of the little boy and his matching pup stays with me still. I think it must be a wonderful feeling for any young person to look at themselves in the mirror and see nothing, except "the pretty one."