The King & Macaw Parrots

Once upon a time, there was a king who had gone to visit neighboring kingdoms. He was gifted a pair of baby Macaw Parrots by the king of the last kingdom where he was visiting. They were the most beautiful birds he had ever seen. So, upon returning to his kingdom, he called for a bird trainer and asked him to train macaw parrots.

The king also arranged a place in the palace garden for the parrots. He often looked at them from his palace window. As time passed, one day the trainer came to the palace and informed the king that though one of the parrots was flying majestically high in the sky, the other one was not moving from its branch since the day it had arrived.

Upon hearing this, the king summoned trainer and healers from the nearby kingdoms. They all tried their best, but couldn’t make the parrot fly! He even asked his courtiers to try to find a way to make the parrot fly but they all failed. The parrot was not moving from his branch at all. Finally, after trying everything, the king thought that maybe he needs someone who may be more familiar with natural habitat. He asked his courtier to get a farmer from the countryside and take him to the parrot to see if he can understand the problem with the parrot.

The next morning, the king was thrilled to see the parrot flying high above the palace gardens. He asked his servant to call that farmer to meet him. The servant quickly went and located the farmer, who came and stood before the king. The king asked him, “How did you make the parrot fly?”

With his hands folded with respect, the farmer said to the king, “It was very easy, your majesty. I simply cut the branch where the bird was sitting.”

Moral: We are all gifted with energy to find a success in our life, but fail to gather a courage which is required to reach heights of success and end up clinging to the things that are familiar to us. We need to free ourselves from our comfort zone to explore new opportunities and find a success beyond our capacity.

Live & Work

by Stephen

Father was a hardworking man who delivered bread as a living to support his wife and three children. He spent all his evenings after work attending classes, hoping to improve himself so that he could one day find a better paying job. Except for Sundays, Father hardly ate a meal together with his family. He worked and studied very hard because he wanted to provide his family with the best money could buy.

Whenever the family complained that he was not spending enough time with them, he reasoned that he was doing all this for them. But he often yearned to spend more time with his family.

The day came when the examination results were announced. To his joy, Father passed, and with distinctions too! Soon after, he was offered a good job as a senior supervisor which paid handsomely.

Like a dream come true, Father could now afford to provide his family with life’s little luxuries like nice clothing, fine food and vacation abroad.

However, the family still did not get to see father for most of the week. He continued to work very hard, hoping to be promoted to the position of manager. In fact, to make himself a worthily candidate for the promotion, he enrolled for another course in the open university.

Again, whenever the family complained that he was not spending enough time with them, he reasoned that he was doing all this for them. But he often yearned to spend more time with his family.

Father’s hard work paid off and he was promoted. Jubilantly, he decided to hire a maid to relieve his wife from her domestic tasks. He also felt that their three-room flat was no longer big enough, it would be nice for his family to be able to enjoy the facilities and comfort of a condominium. Having experienced the rewards of his hard work many times before, Father resolved to further his studies and work at being promoted again. The family still did not get to see much of him. In fact, sometimes Father had to work on Sundays entertaining clients. Again, whenever the family complained that he was not spending enough time with them, he reasoned that he was doing all this for them. But he often yearned to spend more time with his family.

As expected, Father’s hard work paid off again and he bought a beautiful condominium overlooking the coast of Singapore. On the first Sunday evening at their new home, Father declared to his family that he decided not to take anymore courses or pursue any more promotions. From then on he was going to devote more time to his family.

Father did not wake up the next day.

Live & Then Work.

What Goes Around ...Comes Around....

This is a true story that had happened in 1892 at Stanford University. It's moral is still relevant today.

A young, 18 year old student was struggling to pay his fees. He was an orphan, and not knowing where to turn for money, he came up with a bright idea. A friend and he decided to host a musical concert on campus to raise money for their education.

They reached out to the great pianist Ignacy J. Paderewski. His manager demanded a guaranteed fee of $2,000 for the piano recital. A deal was struck. And the boys began to work to make the concert a success.

The big day arrived. Paderewski performed at Stanford.

But unfortunately, they had not managed to sell enough tickets. The total collection was only $1,600. Disappointed, they went to Paderewski and explained their plight. They gave him the entire $1,600, plus a cheque for the balance of $400. They promised to honour the cheque soonest possible.

"No" said Paderewski. "This is not acceptable" He tore up the cheque, returned the $1,600 and told the boys "Here's the $1,600.
Please deduct whatever expenses you have incurred. Keep the money you need for your fees. And just give me whatever is left" The boys were surprised, and thanked him profusely.

It was a small act of kindness. But it clearly marked out Paderewski as a great human being. Why should he help two people he did not even know? We all come across situations like these in our lives.

And most of us only think "If I help them, what would happen to me?"

The truly great people think, "If I don't help them, what will happen to them?" They don't do it expecting something in return.

They do it because they feel it's the right thing to do.

Paderewski later went on to become the Prime Minister of Poland. He was a great leader, but unfortunately when the World War began, Poland was ravaged. There were over 1.5 million people starving in his country, and no money to feed them.

Paderewski did not know where to turn for help. He reached out to the US Food and Relief Administration for help.

The head was a man called Herbert Hoover - who later went on to become the US President. Hoover agreed to help and quickly shipped tons of food grains to feed the starving Polish people. A calamity was averted.

Paderewski was relieved. He decided to go across to meet Hoover and personally thank him. When Paderewski began to thank Hoover for his noble gesture, Hoover quickly interjected and said, "You shouldn't be thanking me, Mr. Prime Minister. You may not remember this, but several years ago, you helped two young students go through college in the US. I was one of them."

The world is a wonderful place... What goes around usually comes around.

Appreciation of Hard Work

One young academically excellent person went to apply for a managerial position in a big company.

He passed the first interview, the director did the last interview, made the last decision. The director discovered from the CV that the youth’s academic achievements were excellent all the way, from the secondary school until the postgraduate research, Never had a year when he did not score.

The director asked, “Did you obtain any scholarships in school?” The youth answered “none”.

The director asked,  “Was it your father who paid for your school fees?” The youth answered, “My father passed away when I was one year old, it was my mother who paid for my school fees”.

The director asked,  “Where did your mother work?” The youth answered, “My mother worked as clothes cleaner. The director requested the youth to show his hands. The youth showed a pair of hands that were smooth and perfect”.

The director asked,  “Have you ever helped your mother wash the clothes before?” The youth answered, “Never, my mother always wanted me to study and read more books. Furthermore, my mother can wash clothes faster than me”.

The director said, “I have a request. When you go back today, go and clean your mother’s hands, and then see me tomorrow morning”.

The youth felt that his chance of landing the job was high. When he went back, he happily requested his mother to let him clean her hands. His mother felt strange, happy but with mixed feelings, she showed her hands to the kid. The youth cleaned his mother’s hands slowly. His tears fell as he did that. It was the first time he noticed that his mother’s hands were so wrinkled, and there were so many bruises in her hands. Some bruises were so painful that his mother shivered when they were cleaned with water.

This was the first time the youth realized that it was this pair of hands that washed the clothes everyday to enable him to pay the school fee. The bruises in the mother’s hands were the price that the mother had to pay for his graduation, academic excellence and his future. After finishing the cleaning of his mother’s hands, the youth quietly washed all the remaining clothes for his mother. That night, mother and son talked for a very long time.

Next morning, the youth went to the director’s office.The Director noticed the tears in the youth’s eyes, asked:  “Can you tell me what have you done and learned yesterday in your house?” The youth answered,  “I cleaned my mother’s hand, and also finished cleaning all the remaining clothes”.

The Director asked,  “please tell me your feelings”. The youth said, “Number 1, I know now what is appreciation. Without my mother, there would not the successful me today. Number 2, By working together and helping my mother, only I now realize how difficult and tough it is to get something done. Number 3, I have come to appreciate the importance and value of family relationship”.

The director said,  “This is what I am looking for to be my manager. I want to recruit a person who can appreciate the help of others, a person who knows the sufferings of others to get things done, and a person who would not put money as his only goal in life. You are hired”.

Later on, this young person worked very hard, and received the respect of his subordinates. Every employee worked diligently and as a team. The company’s performance improved tremendously.

Moral: If one doesn’t understand and experience the difficulty it takes to earn the comfort provided by their loved ones, than they will never value it.  The most important thing is to experience the difficulty and learn to value hard work behind all the given comfort.

The Badge Story

A landscape gardener ran a business that had been in the family for two or three generations. The staff were happy, and customers loved to visit the store, or to have the staff work on their gardens or make deliveries - anything from bedding plants to ride-on mowers.

For as long as anyone could remember, the current owner and previous generations of owners were extremely positive happy people.

Most folk assumed it was because they ran a successful business.

In fact it was the other way around...

A tradition in the business was that the owner always wore a big lapel badge, saying Business Is Great!

The business was indeed generally great, although it went through tough times like any other. What never changed however was the owner's attitude, and the badge saying Business Is Great!

Everyone who saw the badge for the first time invariably asked, "What's so great about business?" Sometimes people would also comment that their own business was miserable, or even that they personally were miserable or stressed.

Anyhow, the Business Is Great! badge always tended to start a conversation, which typically involved the owner talking about lots of positive aspects of business and work, for example:

-the pleasure of meeting and talking with different people every day
-the reward that comes from helping staff take on new challenges and experiences
-the fun and laughter in a relaxed and healthy work environment
-the fascination in the work itself, and in the other people's work and businesses
-the great feeling when you finish a job and do it to the best of your capabilities
-the new things you learn every day - even without looking to do so
-and the thought that everyone in business is blessed - because there are many millions of people who would swap their own situation to have the same opportunities of doing a productive meaningful job, in a civilized well-fed country, where we have no real worries.

And so the list went on. And no matter how miserable a person was, they'd usually end up feeling a lot happier after just a couple of minutes listening to all this infectious enthusiasm and positivity.

It is impossible to quantify or measure attitude like this, but to one extent or another it's probably a self-fulfilling prophecy, on which point, if asked about the badge in a quiet moment, the business owner would confide:

"The badge came first. The great business followed."

A Girl On the Roof

A girl was standing on the roof of a high building. After finding out that her husband was cheating on her, she wanted to end with her life. After a short hesitation, she made a step forward. The girl fell fast towards the ground. But just before the death, the fear filled her soul. Suddenly she felt like she was in someone’s embrace. She opened her eyes and saw an angel, who was holding her in his hands.

– Why didn’t you let me fall? – She asked with anger.
– I will let you go if you agree to die understanding that there won’t be any memories of you left on earth, nothing.
– How is that? – asked the girl in surprise.
– You don’t have children, who would remember you, your mother is old and she will die soon. And everyone else…they will forget about you soon…
– And my husband? He will blame himself for my death. If he will feel remorse all his life, he will remember me.
– That won’t happen, he doesn’t love you, he is happy with another woman. And he won’t blame himself for a long time, soon he will forget you.
– Fine, I believe you. But I have things, photographs.
– Your apartment will burn down after one year. And all your things will turn into ash…
– But my friends have photos of me.
– You don’t have friends, – the angel said quite coldly.
– But… I am on the collective school photos.
Suddenly, the angel started to unclamp his hands.
– You are letting me go because I proved to you that there will be memories about me left? – The girl asked mockingly.
– No. You are clinging to the strings so hard; you are convincing me that I would let you die, just like others are clinging to some futile opportunities so that they could live. I don’t want to spend these moments with you, because I could help other people during that time. I want to give people a chance to live, not to die.

It Should Once Again See Light

by Blair P. Grubb, M.D.

Several years ago, a physician from southern France contacted me.  His granddaughter had taken ill with a disease that baffled the physicians there.  He called after reading several of my articles on disorders of the autonomic nervous system.  His granddaughter's symptoms seemed to match those I had described, and he asked me if I could help.  I readily agreed, and for many months, I collaborated with the child's French physicians by telephone and by fax, directing their diagnostic testing.  At last we came to a diagnosis, and I prescribed a course of therapy.  During the next several weeks, the child made a seemingly miraculous recovery.  Her grandparents expressed their heartfelt thanks and told me to let them know should I ever come to France.

In the summer of 1996, I was invited to speak at a large international scientific meeting that was held in Nice, France.  I sent word to the physician I had helped years before.  Upon my arrival at the hotel, I received a message to contact him.  I called him, and we arranged a night to meet for dinner.
   
On the appointed day, we met and then drove north to his home in the beautiful southern French countryside.  It was humbling to learn his home was older than the United States.  During the drive he told me that his wife had metastatic breast cancer and was not well, but she insisted upon meeting me.  When introduced to her, I saw that despite her severe illness, she was still a beautiful woman with a noble bearing.
   
I was thereafter treated to one of the most wonderful meals I have ever eaten, complemented by the most exquisite of wines.  After dinner, we sat in a seventeenth-century salon, sipping cognac and chatting.  Our conversation must have seemed odd to the young man and woman who served us because it came out in a free-flowing mixture of English, French and Spanish.  After a time the woman asked, "My husband tells me you are Jewish, no?"
     "Yes," I said, "I am a Jew."
   
They asked me to tell them about Judaism, especially the holidays.  I did my best to explain and was astounded by how little they knew of Judaism.  She seemed to be particularly interested in Hannukah.
   
Once I had finished answering her questions, she suddenly looked me in the eye and said, "I have something I want to give to you."  She disappeared and returned several moments later with a package wrapped in cloth.  She sat, her tired eyes looking into mine, and she began to speak slowly.
   
"When I was a little girl of eight years, during the Second World War, the authorities came to our village to round up all the Jews.  My best friend at that time was a girl of my age named Jeanette.  One morning when I came to play, I saw her family being forced at gunpoint into a truck.  I ran home and told my mother what had happened and asked where Jeanette was going.  'Don't worry,' she said, 'Jeanette will be back soon.'  I ran back to Jeanette's house only to find that she was gone and that the other villagers were looting her home of valuables, except for the Judaic items, which were thrown into the street.  As I approached, I saw an item from her house lying in the dirt.  I picked it up and recognized it as an object that Jeanette and her family would light around Christmas time.  In my little girl's mind I said, 'I will take this home and keep it for Jeanette until she comes back,' but she and her family never returned."
   
She paused and took a slow sip of brandy.  "Since that time I have kept it.  I hid it from my parents and didn't tell a soul of its existence.  Indeed, over the last fifty years the only person who knew of it was my husband.  When I found out what really happened to the Jews, and how many of the people I knew had collaborated with the Nazis, I could not bear to look at it.  Yet I kept it, hidden, waiting for something, although I wasn't sure what.  Now I know what I was waiting for.  It was you, a Jew, who helped cure our granddaughter, and it is to you I entrust this."
   
Her trembling hands set the package on my lap.  I slowly unwrapped the cloth from around it.  Inside was a menorah, but one unlike any I had seen before.  Made of solid brass, it had eight cups for holding oil and wicks and a ninth cup centered above the others.  It had a ring attached to the top, and the woman mentioned that she remembered that Jeanette's family would hang it in the hallway of their home.  It looked quite old to me; later, several people told me that it is probably at least one hundred years old.  As I held it and thought about what it represented, I began to cry.  All I could manage to say was a garbled "merci."  As I left, her last words to me were "Il faudra voir la lumière encore une fois" - it should once again see light.
   
I later learned that she died less than one month after our meeting.  This Hannukah, the menorah will once again see light.  And as I and my family light it, we will say a special prayer in honor of those whose memories it represents.  We will not let its lights go out again.
     

They're Waving at Me

By Robert Crum

Every year, I experience an odd moment shortly after my family and I arrive at the country house we rent in Montana.
     
I drive down a back road, minding my own business, when I gradually realize that people are waving at me.  They wave from their pickups and cars, barely lifting their hands off the steering wheel.  At first the gesture is unsettling.  I wonder if they are trying to tell me my lights are on or a tire is flat.  Or perhaps it is a case of mistaken identity.  I've never seen most of these people, so who do they think they are waving at?
     
Then I remember.  I'm not in the city anymore.  And if anything distinguishes city folk from country folk, it's that in rural areas people make a habit of waving at strangers.
     
Soon I'm waving at everyone too.  I lift my fingers a little from the steering wheel, and the other driver lifts his.  Or I shift my arm outward a bit as it rests on the window frame, raising my palm, and the other driver does likewise.  One needn't be too obvious or exuberant about these things.  A raised index finger speaks volumes, and a simple nod is eloquent in its restraint.
     
When I pass our neighbor, he salutes me with his customary broad, slow wave, which makes him look as though he's cleaning a window.  His wife waggles her fingers to wave hello; I can almost imagine her saying "Tootle-ooo!"  A detective with the sheriff's office waves as though he's firing a six-shooter - with the thumb up and a quick jab of the index finger.  (I'm still waiting for him to blow away the smoke.)
     
People in the country will wave whether they're going sixty miles an hour or ten.  They wave on narrow curves, on the crests of hills or driving into a blinding sun.  Often they wave in town when they should be watching for pedestrians.  In short, they wave at all the times it's most inadvisable to wave.
     
If for some reason I forget to wave back - say I'm fiddling with the radio dial - I can't help but feel a twinge of guilt.  Did the people who just waved know me?  Were they neighbors?  Do they think I'm putting on airs?  I worry that I've violated one of the cardinal principles of the universe, ordained when the first good person waved hospitably to another from his cave.
     
To understand the geographical nature of this custom, try a simple test: Wave from your car at strangers along a city street.  You may be stared at as if you are crazy.  But most likely you will be ignored.  I also suspect that if a city person spent a couple of weeks on country roads, he'd be waving just as much as any dairyman, cowboy, logger, beekeeper - or darn-fool visitor like me.
     
The reason is that, in the country, the human figure stands out against the landscape; it demands recognition.  A wave is simply the easiest way of confirming that recognition.  But I think waving is also a way of recognizing the setting around the human figure.
     
I wave at the farmer passing me in a pickup, and my wave extends to the grasses swaying along the roadside, the line of trees tossing in the wind, the billowing white clouds.  I wave, and my wave goes all the way to the horizon.
     
And so, as long as I'm in the country, I'm a dedicated waver.  Howdy, I wave to the far range of mountains.  Howdy, I wave to the horses trotting in the fields.  Howdy, I wave to the kids and dogs romping in the yard.
     
When I pull into the driveway, my wife waves from the porch.  Then she tries to teach our baby daughter to do the same.  Howdy, I wave to them.  Howdy, I wave.  Howdy!  Howdy!

Make A Difference ... Be Happy

This story is about a beautiful, expensively dressed lady who complained to her psychiatrist that she felt that her whole life was empty, it had no meaning.

So, the lady went to visit a counselor to seek out happiness.

The counselor called over the old lady who cleaned the office floors.

The counselor then said to the rich lady "I'm going to ask Mary here to tell u how she found happiness. All I want u to do is listen to her."

So the old lady put down her broom and sat on a chair and told her story:

"Well, my husband died of malaria and three months later my only son was killed by a car.
I had nobody... I had nothing left. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat, I never smiled at anyone, I even thought of taking my own life.

Then one evening a little kitten followed me home from work, Somehow I felt sorry for that kitten. It was cold outside, so I decided to let the kitten in. I got it some milk, and the kitten licked the plate clean. Then it purred and rubbed against my leg and, for the first time in months,I smiled.

Then I stopped to think, if helping a little kitten could make me smile, maybe doing something for people could make me happy.So the next day I baked some biscuits and took them to a neighbor who was sick in bed.

Every day I tried to do something nice for someone. It made me so happy to see them happy.

Today, I don't know of anybody who sleeps and eats better than I do. I've found happiness, by giving it to others."

When she heard that the rich lady cried. She had everything that money could buy, but she had lost the things which money cannot buy.

"The beauty of life does not depend on how happy you are; but on how happy others can be because of you..."

Happiness is not a destination, it's a journey.

Happiness is not tomorrow, it is now.

Happiness is not a dependency, it is a decision.

Happiness is what you are, not what you have!

One Finger

by Linda Osmundson

"Mom, you should put some of your things away.  Baby-proof this house," stated our oldest son Mark as he lumbered up the stairs followed by his wife, Kim, and fifteen-month-old Hannah.
     
Visiting for the Thanksgiving holiday, he finished unloading the luggage and took it to the guest room downstairs.  After driving all day from Salt Lake to Ft. Collins, his temper showed.
     
"That one-finger rule may work with the twins, but it'll never work with Hannah," he insisted.
     
When my three granddaughters were born four months apart and the twins moved into our house at eight months, my close friend offered me her secret to entertaining grandchildren with few mishaps.
     
"Teach them the 'one-finger rule.'"  All of her five grandchildren learned it at a young age.  The success of the method surprised me.
     
I picked up my granddaughter and said, "Well, Mark, you just watch."  I hugged her and walked all around the great room.
     
"Hannah, you may touch anything in this room you want.  But, you can only use one finger."
     
I demonstrated the technique by touching my forefinger to the African sculpture on the mantel.  Hannah followed my example.
     
"Good girl.  Now what else would you like to touch?"
     
She stretched her finger toward another object on the mantel.  I allowed her to touch everything in sight - plants, glass objects, TV, VCR, lamps, speakers, candles and artificial flowers.  If she started to grab, I gently reminded her to use one finger.  She always obeyed.
     
But, Hannah, an only child, possessed a more adventurous personality.  Her father predicted it would prevent her from accepting the one-finger rule.
     
During their four-day stay, we aided Hannah in remembering the one-finger rule.  She learned quickly.  I only put away the things that might prove to be a danger to a child.  Otherwise, we watched her closely, and nothing appeared to suffer any damage.  Besides, "things" can be replaced.
     
A few fingerprints on glass doors, windows and tables remained after Hannah and her family returned home.  I couldn't bring myself to clean them for days.  Each one reminded me of some wonderful experience with Hannah.
     
Months later, my husband and I drove to Salt Lake, and I watched Mark and Kim continue to practice the one-finger rule.  But I refrained from saying, "I told you so."  Yet, I smiled inwardly each time they prodded Hannah to touch with "one finger."
     
Mark, a salesman, always gave a packet of gifts to his potential clients.  The night before we returned home, Mark sat on the floor stuffing gifts into their packets.
     
Hannah helped.
     
Then she picked up one gift, held it in her hand as if it were a fragile bird, and walked toward me.  At my knee, her beautiful blue eyes looked into mine.  She stretched her prize to me and said, "One finger, Nana!"

Dog Days of School

By Jean Wensink

Teaching second grade is always a challenge.  Each student arrives at school with his own needs and difficulties.  One particular year a student I'll call Billy challenged me with his behavior as well as his academic requirements.  He struggled daily with his overpowering emotions and often became angry - sometimes even violent.  I knew that in order to make academic progress, his emotional outbursts needed to be controlled.
     
One way I tried to help Billy was to have him come directly into the classroom when he arrived at school, rather than playing on the playground.  Billy liked the extra attention before school, and I could make sure his school day started out on a positive note.  I also found that when Billy came to the classroom early, he avoided the usual playground fights and arguments caused by his volatile temper.
     
Oftentimes Billy's mom would call me to alert me to a particularly emotional morning at home.  On those mornings, I would focus on defusing his anger and calming him down before the other students arrived.  Billy's mother loved him and wanted desperately for him to improve and do well.  As the weeks passed, home communication, firm boundaries, and love and care were helping Billy make big strides in controlling his own behavior, yet he still lapsed now and then.
     
One week our class was studying pets.  I thought one way to bring hands-on learning into the classroom was to bring my dog Rocky to school for the day.  Rocky is a two-year-old shih tzu.  A perky, friendly creature, Rocky loves people - especially children.  He was raised with my own children, so he is used to being petted, played with and snuggled.  I was confident that the class would adore him, and I knew that Rocky would love all the attention from twenty eager, excited seven-year-olds.
     
The morning of Rocky's big day at school began as normal.  Arriving at school early, I prepared activities focused on dog themes.  Our math for the day was to measure Rocky in as many ways as we could think of.  We were going to measure the length of his ears and body, his weight, and even how much water he drank.  The read-aloud story I planned for the day was about a dog.  I was looking forward to a fun day.
     
A few minutes before I expected Billy to arrive, the phone rang.  It was Billy's mom.  She was calling to tell me that he had a rough morning at home and I might need to spend some time getting him settled.  As I was talking to his mom, Billy stormed into the classroom.  To Billy's surprise, Rocky immediately ran up to his new "friend," wagging his tail.  Billy knelt and Rocky licked Billy's face, slathering him with doggy affection.  Billy couldn't resist Rocky's charm.  The little boy began giggling and laughing as his anger melted away.  The happy sound of his laughter traveled through the phone line to his mother's ears.  In a quavering voice she asked me, "Is that Billy?"
     
"Yes," I replied.  "I brought my dog to school today, and Billy and he are getting acquainted."
     
"It sounds like Billy will be just fine," she said, her voice filled with relief.
     
I couldn't have chosen a better day to have Rocky at the door.
     
Throughout the day, Billy showed his caring and loving nature.  He never left Rocky's side and took responsibility for Rocky by feeding him, being gentle with him and even shushing the other students when Rocky took a snooze.
     
Billy was known for doing anything he could to avoid reading.  But on this day he found a good dog story, Clifford's Puppy Days, and read it to Rocky.  Rocky was a good listener and never minded if Billy missed a word.  I marveled at the sight of Billy reading happily.  My little dog was able to transform Billy's day from one of anger and frustration, to one of joy, laughter, gentleness and unconditional love.
     
That day Rocky did more than just help me with teaching; he helped to change the life of a child.  After that Billy's behavior definitely improved.  For, thanks to his mom, Billy soon had a dog friend of his very own at home.

A Thanksgiving Story

By Andréa Nannette Mejia

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 parent 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.

Mrs. B's Thanksgiving Surprise

By Suzanne L. Helminski

Todd Zimmerman was not altogether happy to be working on Thanksgiving Day.  As one of a skeleton staff of five manning the State of Maryland's EBT Help Desk (the state's alternative to food stamps), the morning seemed to stretch on.  As lunchtime approached, it was hard not to fantasize about the feast his family was preparing, and the laughter and stories that would be told.
     
Before his lunch break, a call came in from an elderly woman who was obviously distressed."I was at the grocery store buying food, but my purchase didn't go through!" she said.  "The clerk said the transaction was denied."

Todd knew the questions to ask, and it wasn't long before he diagnosed the problem: the woman's temporary card had expired.  Apparently she hadn't understood that she needed to obtain a permanent card.
     
"Oh, but . . . but I hadn't collected my $10 from October, either!  I purposefully left it on account to put together with this $10 for a Thanksgiving dinner."
     
"I'm sorry," Todd said sympathetically.  "Do you have any food in the house?"
     
"No . . . not really, I was saving up for today, you see.  My family thought they were going to be able to come, and I wanted to have a nice meal for them.  But something came up, and they can't make it."  There was a catch in her voice.  "I guess it's just as well."
     
After she hung up, Todd couldn't get her off his mind.  He realized that because of the error this woman, whom he knew only as "Mrs. B," would not only be alone, she'd also go hungry on Thanksgiving Day, all for want of $20.  Determinedly, Todd called the grocery store where the woman's transaction had been denied, his own credit card at the ready.
     
Sorry, they said, no phone orders.  And they didn't deliver, and couldn't make an exception today of all days.  They also had a skeleton crew and more customers than they could handle.
     
Lunchtime came.  Todd suddenly didn't care that he was eating cafeteria food.  Two of his coworkers, Kim Twito and I, took lunch with him, and together we vowed to do whatever we could to solve Mrs. B's problem.
     
Back at the help desk, we let our compatriots, Julie Simon and Mark Liessmann, in on the dilemma.  Working together, we felt we could surely staff the phones while finding a Thanksgiving dinner for Mrs. B.
     
Unfortunately, by then, virtually every grocery store in Mrs. B's county was closed or closing.  None would deliver.
     
Exhausting the Yellow Pages, one of our coworkers thought of Chesapeake Beef, a grocery store with which EBT had a high volume of business and a good relationship.
     
Chesapeake Beef was closed for Thanksgiving.
     
"The owners, Stas and Mary Witezak, are very nice people," I said.  "They might know of a local store that's open.  I bet they wouldn't mind if I called them at home, even if it is a holiday."
     
"I'm sorry," said Mary, "I can't think of any open stores.  But you know what?  I have a better idea.  It sounds like Mrs. B lives about 15 miles from here.  We've finished our dinner, but we still have plenty left!  Let us bring Thanksgiving to her.  I'll put the kids to work making a special card while Stas and I get together a meal.  Oh - but please let her know someone is coming.  We're unexpected strangers, and we don't want to frighten her."
     
This was easier asked than accomplished.  E.B.T. didn't have Mrs. B's phone number, which was unlisted.  However, the telephone operator was willing to call Mrs. B and ask her to return a call to Todd at the Helpline.
     
When a confused Mrs. B called back, Todd simply told her that friends were coming with a surprise.
     
Several hours later, Stas Witezak called in.  "Thanks so much for giving our family the opportunity to make a difference in someone's life," he said.  "Mrs. B very much appreciated the food, but what really touched her were the cards the children made.  She nearly cried when she read them.  Her response was to ask if she could hug them - and they happily let her."
     
Mrs. B called back, too.  She thanked everyone involved in her Thanksgiving surprise.
     
When our shift ended, the five of us who had reluctantly come to work that Thanksgiving bade each other farewell with a smile.  Though we didn't say it, we were all recalling Mrs. B's words: "I've always been a Christian - but now I know for sure there is a God!"

"Happy Thanksgiving!" said Todd as we parted ways.  And in fact, it had been the happiest Thanksgiving of all.

Finding My Wings

by Sue Augustine

Like so many other girls, my self-confidence growing up was almost nonexistent.  I doubted my abilities, had little faith in my potential and questioned my personal worth.  If I achieved good grades, I believed that I was just lucky. Although I made friends easily, I worried that once they got to know me, the friendships wouldn't last.  And when things went well, I thought I was just in the right place at the right time.  I even rejected praise and compliments.
    
The choices I made reflected my self-image.  While in my teens, I attracted a man with the same low self-esteem.  In spite of his violent temper and an extremely rocky dating relationship, I decided to marry him.  I still remember my dad whispering to me before walking me down the aisle, "It's not too late, Sue.  You can change your mind."  My family knew what a terrible mistake I was making.  Within weeks, I knew it, too.
    
The physical abuse lasted for several years.  I survived serious injuries, was covered with bruises much of the time and had to be hospitalized on numerous occasions.  Life became a blur of police sirens, doctors' reports and family court appearances.  Yet I continued to go back to the relationship, hoping that things would somehow improve.
    
After we had our two little girls, there were times when all that got me through the night was having those chubby little arms wrapped around my neck, pudgy cheeks pressed up against mine and precious toddler voices saying, "It's all right, Mommy.  Everything will be okay."  But I knew that it wasn't going to be okay.  I had to make changes - if not for myself, to protect my little girls.
    
Then something gave me the courage to change.  Through work, I was able to attend a series of professional development seminars.  In one, a presenter talked about turning dreams into realities.  That was hard for me - even to dream about a better future.  But something in the message made me listen.
    
She asked us to consider two powerful questions: "If you could be, do, or have anything in the world, and you knew it would be impossible to fail, what would you choose?  And if you could create your ideal life, what would you dare to dream?"  In that moment, my life began to change.  I began to dream.
    
I imagined having the courage to move the children into an apartment of our own and start over.  I pictured a better life for the girls and me.  I dreamed about being an international motivational speaker so that I could inspire people the way the seminar leader had inspired me.  I saw myself writing my story to encourage others.
    
So I went on to create a clear visual picture of my new success.  I envisioned myself wearing a red business suit, carrying a leather briefcase and getting on an airplane.  This was quite a stretch for me, since at the time I couldn't even afford a suit.
    
Yet I knew that if I was going to dream, it was important to fill in the details for my five senses.  So I went to the leather store and modeled a briefcase in front of the mirror.  How would it look and feel?  What does leather smell like?  I tried on some red suits and even found a picture of a woman in a red suit, carrying a briefcase and getting on a plane.  I hung the picture up where I could see it every day.  It helped to keep the dream alive.
    
And soon the changes began.  I moved with the children to a small apartment.  On only $98 a week, we ate a lot of peanut butter and drove an old jalopy.  But for the first time, we felt free and safe.  I worked hard at my sales career, all the time focusing on my "impossible dream."
    
Then one day I answered the phone, and the voice on the other end asked me to speak at the company's upcoming annual conference.  I accepted, and my speech was a success.  This led to a series of promotions, eventually to national sales trainer.  I went on to develop my own speaking company and have traveled to many countries around the world.  My "impossible dream" has become a reality.
    
I believe that all success begins with spreading your W.I.N.G.S. - believing in your worth, trusting your insight, nurturing yourself, having a goal and devising a personal strategy.  And then, even impossible dreams become real.

Ice Cream

This is from an old story, back in the ’30s, in the days when an ice cream sundae cost much less. A 10 year-old boy entered a hotel coffee shop and sat at a table. A waitress put a glass of water in front of him.

“How much is an ice cream sundae?” the little boy asked.

“Fifty cents,” replied the waitress.

The little boy pulled his hand out of his pocket and studied the coins he had. “Well, how much is a plain dish of ice cream?” he inquired.

By now, more people were waiting for a table and the waitress was growing very impatient. “Thirty-five cents,” she brusquely replied.

The little boy again counted his coins. “I’ll have the plain ice cream,” he said.

The waitress brought the ice cream, put the bill on the table and walked away. The boy finished the ice cream, paid the cashier and left. When the waitress came back, she began to cry. As she wiped down the table, there placed neatly beside the empty dish were two nickels and five pennies.

You see, he couldn’t have the sundae because he had to have enough money to leave her a tip.

If it is to be.. It is up to me

There was a kingdom and the kings were elected once in every five years.

No one wanted to become the king there since they had a custom of leaving each king after his period of five years in a dangerous forest nearby. No one survived in that forest so far.

One man volunteered to become a king. He was enjoying his five years as a king and the day came to set him inside the dangerous forest. He happily came forward to go to the forest. All others were confused why this man was so happy to get into the forest. One asked him why he is so happy to die.

The King replayed, "I knew clearly about our custom. So, in the first year, I sent 100 soldiers to kill all the dangerous animals in the forest. In the second year, I sent 500 wood cutters to cut all the trees. In the third years I sent 1000 farmers to turn the forest into a cultivating land. In the fourth year I sent 2000 villagers to build houses there and settle there. In the fifth year I built a palace there. Now, there is a new kingdom is waiting for me. Why should I worry?"..

If it is to be.. It is up to me..

Raising My Sights

By Terri McPherson

My six-year-old granddaughter, Caitlynd, and I stopped at a Tim Horton's donut shop for a blueberry muffin.  As we were going out the door, a young teenage boy was coming in.
    
This young man had no hair on the sides of his head and a tuft of blue spiked hair on top of it.  One of his nostrils was pierced, and attached to the hoop that ran through the hole was a chain that draped across his face and attached to a ring he was wearing in his ear.  He held a skateboard under one arm and a basketball under the other.
    
Caitlynd, who was walking ahead of me, stopped in her tracks when she saw the teen.  I thought he'd scared the dickens out of her, and she'd frozen on the spot.
    
I was wrong.
    
My Grandangel backed up against the door and opened it as wide as it would go.  Now I was face to face with the young man.  I stepped aside and let him pass.  His response was a gracious, "Thank you very much."
    
On our way to the car, I commended Caitlynd for her manners in holding open the door for the young man.  She didn't seem to be troubled by his appearance, but I wanted to make sure.  If a grandmotherly talk about freedom of self-expression and allowing people their differences was in order, I wanted to be ready.
    
As it turned out, the person who needed the talk was me.
    
The only thing Caitlynd noticed about the teen was the fact that his arms were full.  "He woulda had a hard time to open the door."
    
I saw the partially shaved head, the tuft of spiked hair, the piercings and the chain.  She saw a person carrying something under each arm and heading toward a closed door.
    
In the future, I hope to get down on her level and raise my sights.

Just an Old Golden Retriever

By Audrey Thomasson

She was just an old golden retriever.  Her name was Brandy, and for eleven years she was the sole companion of an elderly woman who lived in a bungalow colony in the country.  Neighbors often saw the two of them together in the garden.  The woman would be hunched over picking flowers and there was that old dog, close at her heels or lying in the middle of the grass watching her pull weeds.  When the woman died, some relatives came and collected anything they thought was valuable and put a "For Sale" sign on the front lawn.  Then they locked the dog out and drove away.
    
Some of the neighbors left food out for Brandy, but mostly the dog stayed near the house that she knew and waited for her owner to come back.  A young mother who lived next door noticed the old retriever, but she had never been around animals before and while she thought the dog was friendly enough, she didn't feel it was any of her concern.
    
However, when the dog wandered into her yard and began playing with eighteen-month-old Adam, she wanted to shoo the dirty thing away.  Adam was her only child and the light of her life.  But he was having so much fun feeding Brandy cookies she decided to let her stay.  After that, whenever Adam had cookies Brandy came by to visit.
    
One afternoon, the boy's mother left Adam in the soft grassy yard to play while she answered the phone.  When she returned he was gone.  Just gone.  The mother was frantic. Neighbors came over to help in the search.  Police arrived and looked for three hours before calling in the state police and helicopters to do an extensive aerial search.  But no one could find the child, and as the sun set over the horizon, whispers of abduction, injury or even death crept into conversations.
    
The search had been going on for six hours when a neighbor, who'd just returned home, wondered where Brandy was.  Adam's mother, hysterical with worry, didn't understand why anyone was asking about the old dog at a time like this.
    
When someone suggested she might be with Adam, a trooper recalled hearing a dog barking deep in the woods when they were doing a foot search.  Suddenly, everybody started calling for Brandy.
    
They heard faint barking and followed the sound until they found the toddler, standing up fast asleep, pressed against the trunk of a tree.  That old dog was holding him there with one shoulder as one of her own legs dangled over a thirty-five-foot drop to a stream below.
    
Brandy had followed Adam when he wandered off.  When she saw danger, she'd pushed him out of harm's way and held him safe for all those hours, even as the child struggled to get free.
    
As soon as the rescue team picked up Adam, the old dog collapsed.  A trooper carried Adam back home, while his mother, sobbing with relief, carried Brandy.  She was so grateful to the old golden retriever that Brandy spent the rest of her days with them.  Brandy lived to the ripe old age of seventeen.
    
But this story doesn't end with just one life saved.  In Brandy's honor, Adam's mother, Sara Whalen, founded Pets Alive, a rescue sanctuary in New York that takes in unwanted animals, including those designated to be euthanized because they are old, blind, incontinent or perhaps not cute enough to be adopted.  While she can't save them all, Sara feels comforted that she can help at least some of them.  She knows that if someone had put that old retriever to sleep, she could have easily lost the light of her life: her son.
    
Today, thirty years later, there are more than three hundred animals in her care, including birds, potbellied pigs, old horses retired from the carriage business and unadoptable pets from rescue groups across the country.  The woman who used to think an old, abandoned dog wasn't any of her concern found that every life has value and has become a beacon for thousands of animals in need.

With These Rings

By Sharon M. Palmer

I was a new pastor's wife when my husband took me to a small town in Oklahoma.  We fought until we learned to love each other during the two years we spent there.  I was the new girl in town.  I knew no one and barely knew my husband, Brad.  He was busy with his church, and there I was, stuck.  No money, no job and no friends.  I was uncomfortable in my new role and resented it when others referred to me as "the preacher's wife."  I failed to see what an honor that was.  The parishioners made attempts to befriend me, but I was too busy being lonely and angry, and was bound and determined to let Brad know it.  I pouted and packed, whined and packed, and threw things at him and packed.  "I'm leaving!" I would scream when he came home.  With the fifty cents I had in my pocket and no gas money, I don't know where I thought I was going, but I was adamant.
   
"Don't do me any favors," he would reply, which only caused me to turn on my heels and shout, "I'm staying, and don't try and stop me!"  Who did he think he was?  I wasn't about to let him kick me out.
   
Somewhere between my daily suitcase-packing episodes, I remembered that I had promised to love him for better or for worse.  In desperation, I found ways to entertain myself.  I spent hours picking from the six pecan trees in the front yard.  I quickly realized that even though we had no money, the pecans made great Christmas gifts.  I even found a job.  Then my husband came home one day and announced that he had an interview at a church in Louisiana.  I had just learned to live in Oklahoma!
   
True to form, I pouted and griped on the way to Louisiana.  Then something stopped me in my tracks.  We were on our way through Texas when we ran right into what looked like a giant crystal bowl.  An ice storm had hit the area a few days earlier, and it was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.  And there I was, gnawing on my husband.  Somewhere between Denton and Sulphur, I had taken off my wedding rings and tucked them into the folds of my skirt so that I could apply some hand cream.  The ice we were skidding on distracted me just enough that I forgot to put my rings back on.  Three hours later I looked down and realized that I had lost my rings out on the highway when I had stepped out of the car to take a picture of a horse and buggy driving by.  But which highway?  Everything looks the same in an ice storm, especially when you are in country unfamiliar.
   
"I'll buy you another ring," my husband said.
   
I knew he meant well, but the ring was a family heirloom.  "That ring can't be replaced," I cried.
   
"Honey, we don't even know where to begin looking," he said.  "No, we're NOT going back," he insisted as he turned the car around and headed back to look for the rings.
   
It was hours before we found a location that seemed familiar.  Occasionally some well-meaning person would pull his car over to the side of the road, roll down his window and yell, "Hey, buddy, what'd ya' lose?"  At one point there must have been ten cars stopped on the side of the road, all abandoned by the occupants who had joined in the search.  But with the sun going down, it was obvious that our chances of finding the rings were slim.  I was crushed.
   
"Face it, Honey, they're gone," Brad said.  "I know you're upset.  I promise to try and find a suitable replacement."
   
I knew he was right.  The walk in the cold that day had given me time to think about the day's events.  I played the scene over and over in my mind, and what I saw was not a pretty sight.  I had ranted and raved, nagged and wailed, and acted like a spoiled brat.  I took a good long look at my husband pacing back and forth in the freezing cold.  He had driven three hours back to this desolate area in the middle of a treacherous ice storm without one thought for himself, attempting to find something that was important to me.  The rings might be gone, but there could never be a suitable replacement for my husband.  Suddenly, the rings seemed so unimportant.  I resolved right then and there to stop thinking only of myself.
   
It was at that very moment that I opened the car door and began to step inside.  Something on the floor caught my eye.  My rings!  I grabbed them and waved them in the air.  Brad rushed to my side and put them back on my finger.  "This is where these rings belong," he whispered.  I looked into his eyes, and knew that I had found what I was looking for.  It wasn't my rings that were lost that day - I was the one who had been missing.
   
Life in the pastorate hasn't changed.  The only thing that has changed is me.  We still move around more than I like.  And I still have to start over again every time we do.  But I've learned to appreciate when people call me "the preacher's wife," because etched into my mind is a frozen road in Texas, and a voice that whispers, "This is where these rings belong."

No Small Act of Kindness

By Donna Wick

The day was Thankful Thursday, our "designated day" of service.  It's a weekly tradition that my two little girls and I began years ago. Thursday has become our day to go out in the world and make a positive contribution.  On this particular Thursday, we had no idea exactly what we were going to do, but we knew that something would present itself.
   
Driving along a busy Houston road, praying for guidance in our quest to fulfill our weekly Act of Kindness, the noon hour appropriately triggered hunger pangs in my two little ones.  They wasted no time in letting me know, chanting, "McDonald's, McDonald's, McDonald's" as we drove along.  I relented and began searching earnestly for the nearest McDonald's.  Suddenly I realized that almost every intersection I passed through was occupied by a panhandler.  And then it hit me!  If my two little ones were hungry, then all these panhandlers must be hungry, too.  Perfect!  Our Act of Kindness had presented itself.  We were going to buy lunch for the panhandlers.
   
After finding a McDonald's and ordering two Happy Meals for my girls, I ordered an additional 15 lunches and we set out to deliver them.  It was exhilarating.  We would pull alongside a panhandler, make a contribution, and tell him or her that we hoped things got better.  Then we'd say, "Oh, by the way . . . here's lunch."  And then we would varoom off to the next intersection.
   
It was the best way to give.  There wasn't enough time for us to introduce ourselves or explain what we were going to do, nor was there time for them to say anything back to us.  The Act of Kindness was anonymous and empowering for each of us, and we loved what we saw in the rear view mirror: a surprised and delighted person holding up his lunch bag and just looking at us as we drove off.  It was wonderful!
   
We had come to the end of our "route" and there was a small woman standing there, asking for change.  We handed her our final contribution and lunch bag, and then immediately made a U-turn to head back in the opposite direction for home.  Unfortunately, the light caught us again and we were stopped at the same intersection where this little woman stood.  I was embarrassed and didn't know quite how to behave.  I didn't want her to feel obligated to say or do anything.
   
She made her way to our car, so I put the window down just as she started to speak.  "No one has ever done anything like this for me before," she said with amazement.  I replied, "Well, I'm glad that we were the first."  Feeling uneasy, and wanting to move the conversation along, I asked, "So, when do you think you'll eat your lunch?"
   
She just looked at me with her huge, tired brown eyes and said, "Oh honey, I'm not going to eat this lunch."  I was confused, but before I could say anything, she continued.  "You see, I have a little girl of my own at home and she just loves McDonald's, but I can never buy it for her because I just don't have the money.  But you know what . . . tonight she is going to have McDonald's!"
   
I don't know if the kids noticed the tears in my eyes.  So many times I had questioned whether our Acts of Kindness were too small or insignificant to really effect change.  Yet in that moment, I recognized the truth of Mother Teresa's words: "We cannot do great things - only small things with great love."