Sometimes, no matter how much faith we have, we lose people. But you never forget them. And sometimes, it’s those memories that give us the faith to go on.
Sometimes you meet people who forget you. You forget people you meet.
But sometimes you meet those people you can’t forget. Those are your ‘friends’.
The first day of school our professor introduced himself and challenged us to get to know someone we didn’t already know. I stood up to look around when a gentle hand touched my shoulder.
I turned around to find a wrinkled, little old lady beaming up at me with a smile that lit up her entire being.
She said, ‘Hi handsome. My name is Rose. I’m eighty-seven years old. Can I give you a hug?’
I laughed and enthusiastically responded, ‘Of course you may!’ and she gave me a giant squeeze.
‘Why are you in college at such a young, innocent age?’ I asked.
She jokingly replied, ‘I’m here to meet a rich husband, get married, and have a couple of kids…’
‘No seriously,’ I asked. I was curious what may have motivated her to be taking on this challenge at her age.
‘I always dreamed of having a college education and now I’m getting one!’ she told me.
After class we walked to the student union building and shared a chocolate milkshake.
We became instant friends. Every day for the next three months we would leave class together and talk nonstop. I was always mesmerized listening to this ‘time machine’ as she shared her wisdom and experience with me.
Over the course of the year, Rose became a campus icon and she easily made friends wherever she went. She loved to dress up and she reveled in the attention bestowed upon her from the other students. She was living it up.
At the end of the semester we invited Rose to speak at our football banquet. I’ll never forget what she taught us. She was introduced and stepped up to the podium. As she began to deliver her prepared speech, she dropped her three by five cards on the floor.
Frustrated and a little embarrassed she leaned into the microphone and simply said, ‘I’m sorry I’m so jittery. I gave up beer for Lent and this whiskey is killing me! I’ll never get my speech back in order so let me just tell you what I know.’
As we laughed she cleared her throat and began, ‘! We do not stop playing because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing.
There are only four secrets to staying young, being happy, and achieving success. You have to laugh and find humor every day. You’ve got to have a dream. When you lose your dreams, you die.
We have so many people walking around who are dead and don’t even know it! There is a huge difference between growing older and growing up.
If you are nineteen years old and lie in bed for one full year and don’t do one productive thing, you will turn twenty years old. If I am eighty-seven years old and stay in bed for a year and never do anything I will turn eighty-eight.
Anybody can grow older. That doesn’t take any talent or ability. The idea is to grow up by always finding opportunity in change. Have no regrets.
The elderly usually don’t have regrets for what we did, but rather for things we did not do. The only people who fear death are those with regrets’
She concluded her speech by courageously singing ‘The Rose.’
She challenged each of us to study the l yrics and live them out in our daily lives. At the year’s end Rose finished the college degree she had begun all those years ago.
One week after graduation Rose died peacefully in her sleep.
Over two thousand college students attended her funeral in tribute to the wonderful woman who taught by example that it’s never too late to be all you can possibly be.
REMEMBER, GROWING OLDER IS MANDATORY. GROWING UP IS OPTIONAL. We make a Living by what we get , We make a Life by what we give.
After 21 years of marriage, I discovered a new way of keeping alive the spark of love. A little while ago I had started to go out with another woman. It was really my wife’s idea. ‘I know that you love her,’ she said one day, taking me by surprise. ‘But I love YOU,’ I protested. ‘I know, but you also love her.’
The other woman that my wife wanted me to visit was my mother, who has been a widow for 19 years, but the demands of my work and my three children had made it possible to visit her only occasionally.
That night I called to invite her to go out for dinner and a movie. ‘What’s wrong, are you well?’ she asked. My mother is the type of woman who suspects that a late night call or a surprise invitation is a sign of bad news.
‘I thought that it would be pleasant to pass some time with you,’ I responded. ‘Just the two of us.’ She thought about it for a moment then said ‘I would like that very much.’
That Friday after work, as I drove over to pick her up I was a bit nervous. When I arrived at her house, I noticed that she, too, seemed to be nervous about our date. She waited in the door with her coat on. She had curled her hair and was wearing the dress that she had worn to celebrate her last wedding anniversary. She smiled from a face that was as radiant as an angel’s. ‘I told my friends that I was going to go out with my son, and they were impressed,’ she said, as she got into the car. ‘They can’t wait to hear about our meeting’.
We went to a restaurant that, although not elegant, was very nice and cozy. My other took my arm as if she were the First Lady. After we sat down, I had to read the menu to her. Her eyes could only read large print. Half way through the entree, I lifted my eyes and saw Mom sitting there staring at me. A nostalgic smile was on her lips. ‘It was I who used to have to read the menu when you were small,’ she said. ‘Then it’s time for you to relax and let me return the favor,’ I responded. During the dinner we had an agreeable conversation, nothing extraordinary - but catching up on recent events of each others lives.
We talked so much that we missed the movie. As we arrived at her house later, she said ‘I’ll go out with you again, but only if you let me invite you’. I agreed. ‘How was your dinner date?’ asked my wife when I got home. ‘Very nice. Much more so than I could have imagined,’ I answered.
A few days later my mother died of a massive heart attack. It happened so suddenly that I didn’t have a chance to do anything for her.
Some time later I received an envelope with a copy of a restaurant receipt from the same place mother and I had dined. An attached note said: ‘I paid this bill in advance. I was almost sure that I couldn’t be there but, nevertheless, I paid for two plates - one for you and the other for your wife. You will never know what that night meant to me. I love you.’
At that moment I understood the importance of saying, in time: ‘I LOVE YOU’ and giving our loved ones the time that they deserve.
Nothing in life is more important than God and your family and friends. Give them the time they deserve, because these things cannot be put off ’til some other time’.
Someone once said ‘I’ve learned that, regardless of your relationship with your parents, you’ll miss them when they’re gone from your life. I think this is true with the people you love - your in-laws, grandchildren, sisters, brothers and your friends.
Anyone that means something to you or touched your life - you should spend time with them and let them know how much they mean to you as often as you can. You don’t get a second chance!
Please pass this along to your friends and family. Touch their hearts. It has touched mine. I am glad that you are my friend.
HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY!!!
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I will not die an unlived or unloved life. I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. I choose to inhabit my days, to allow my living to open me, to make me less afraid, more accessible, to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise. I choose to risk my significance; to live so that which comes to me as seed goes to the next as blossom and that which comes to me as blossom, goes on as fruit.
When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the wall.The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it.
Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was 'Information Please' and there was nothing she did not know. Information please could supply anyone”s number and address and the correct time.
My personal experience with the genie-in-a-phone came one day while my Mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy.
I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the Parlor and dragged it to the landing climbing up; I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear.
“Information, please,” I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.
“Information.”
“I hurt my finger,” I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
“Isn”t your mother home?” came the question.
“Nobody”s home but me,” I blubbered.
“Are you bleeding?” the voice asked.
'No,' I replied. “I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts.”
'Can you open the icebox?” she asked.
I said I could.
'Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger,” said the voice.
After that, I called “Information Please” for everything.I asked her for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.
Then, there was the time Pete, our pet canary, died. I called, “Information Please,” and told her the sad story.She listened, and then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked her, “Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring Joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?”
She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, ” Wayne, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in.”
Somehow I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone, “Information Please.”
'Information,' said in the now familiar voice.
'How do I spell fix?” I asked.
All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. “InformationPlease” belonged in that old wooden box back home and I somehow neverthought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall.As I grew into my teens, the
Memories of those childhood conversations never really left me.
Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle I had about a half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown Operator and said, “Information Please.”
Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well… “Information.”
I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, “Could you please tell me how to spell fix?”
There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, “I guess your finger must have healed by now.”
I laughed, “So it”s really you,” I said. “I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time.”
“I wonder,” she said, 'if you know how much your call meant to me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls.”
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
“Please do,' she said. “Just ask for Sally.”
Three months later I was back in Seattle a different voice answered: Information.” I asked for Sally.
“Are you a friend?” she said.
“Yes, a very old friend,” I answered.
“I”m sorry to have to tell you this,” she said. “Sally had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago.”
Before I could hang up she said, “Wait a minute, did you say your name was Wayne?'
“Yes.”I answered…
“Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you.” The note said, “Tell him there are other worlds to sing in… He”ll know what I mean.”
I thanked her and hung up… I knew what Sally meant.
Never underestimate the impression you may make on others.
Whose life have you touched today?
Why not pass this on? I just did…. Lifting you on eagle”s wings.May you find the joy and peace you long for? Life is a journey… NOT a guided tour. So don”t miss the ride and remember to have a great time going around.You don”t get a second shot at it.
This is an old one.. humour me if you’ve already read it
A little boy went into a drug store, reached for a soda carton and pulled it over to the telephone. He climbed onto the carton so that he could reach the buttons on the phone and proceeded to punch in seven digits (phone numbers).
The store-owner observed and listened to the conversation:
Boy: ‘Lady, Can you give me the job of cutting your lawn? Woman: (at the other end of the phone line): ‘I already have someone to cut my lawn.’
Boy: ‘Lady, I will cut your lawn for half the price of the person who cuts your lawn now.’ Woman: I’m very satisfied with the person who is presently cutting my lawn.
Boy: (with more perseverance): ‘Lady, I’ll even sweep your curb and your sidewalk, so on Sunday you will have the prettiest lawn in all of Palm beach , Florida .’ Woman: No, thank you.
With a smile on his face, the little boy replaced the receiver. The store-owner, who was listening to all this, walked over to the boy.
Store Owner: ‘Son… I like your attitude; I like that positive spirit and would like to offer you a job.’ Boy: ‘No thanks,
Store Owner: But you were really pleading for one.
Boy: No Sir, I was just checking my performance at the job I already have. I am the one who is working for that lady, I was talking to!’
This is what we call ‘Self Appraisal’ - Highly Recommended…..
Charles Plumb was a US Navy jet pilot in Vietnam. After 75 combat missions, his plane was destroyed by a surface-to-air missile. Plumb ejected and parachuted into enemy hands. He was captured and spent 6 years in a communist Vietnamese prison. He survived the ordeal and now lectures on lessons learned from that experience!
One day, when Plumb and his wife were sitting in a restaurant, a man at another table came up and said, “You’re Plumb! You flew jet fighters in Vietnam from the aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk. You were shot down!”
“How in the world did you know that?” asked Plumb.
“I packed your parachute,” the man replied. Plumb gasped in surprise and gratitude. The man pumped his hand and said, “I guess it worked !” Plumb assured him, “It sure did. If your chute hadn’t worked, I wouldn’t be here today.”
Plumb couldn’t sleep that night, thinking about that man. Plumb says, “I kept wondering what he had looked like in a Navy uniform: a white hat; a bib in the back; and bell-bottom trousers. I wonder how many times I might have seen him and not even said ‘Good morning, how are you?’ or anything because, you see, I was a fighter pilot and he was just a sailor.” Plumb thought of the many hours the sailor had spent at a long wooden table in the bowels of the ship, carefully weaving the shrouds and folding the silks of each chute, holding in his hands each time the fate of someone he didn’t know.
Now, Plumb asks his audience, “Who’s packing your parachute?” Everyone has someone who provides what they need to make it through the day. He also points out that he needed many kinds of parachutes when his plane was shot down over enemy territory - he needed his physical parachute, his mental parachute, his emotional parachute, and his spiritual parachute. He called on all these supports before reaching safety.
Sometimes in the daily challenges that life gives us, we miss what is really important. We may fail to say hello, please, or thank you, congratulate someone on something wonderful that has happened to them, give a compliment, or just do something nice for no reason. As you go through this week, this month, this year, recognize people who pack your parachutes.
I am sending you this as my way of thanking you for your part in packing my parachute. And I hope you will send it on to those who have helped pack yours!
Sometimes, we wonder why friends keep forwarding jokes to us without writing a word. Maybe this could explain it: When you are very busy, but still want to keep in touch, guess what you do — you forward jokes. And to let you know that you are still remembered, you are still important, you are still loved, you are still cared for, guess what you get? A forwarded joke.
So my friend, next time when you get a joke, don’t think that you’ve been sent just another forwarded joke, but that you’ve been thought of today and your friend on the other end of your computer wanted to send you a smile, just helping you pack your parachute.
There was a young woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and had been given three months to live. So as she was getting her things “in order,” she contacted her pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes. She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in.
Everything was in order and the pastor was preparing to leave when the young woman suddenly remembered something very important to her.”There’s one more thing,” she said excitedly.
“What’ that?” came the pastor’s reply.
“This is very important,” the young woman continued. “I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand.”
The pastor stood looking at the young woman, not knowing quite what to say.
That surprises you, doesn’t it?” the young woman asked. “Well, to be honest, I’m puzzled by the request,” said the pastor.
The young woman explained.. “My grandmother once told me this story, and
from there on out, I have always done so. I have also, always tried to pass along its message to those I love and those who are in need of encouragement.
In all my years of attending church socials and potluck dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, ‘Keep your fork.’ It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming…like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie. Something wonderful, and with substance! So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder “What’s with the fork?” Then I want you to tell them: “Keep your fork… the best is yet to come.”
The pastor’s eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the young woman good-bye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that the young woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She had a better grasp of what heaven would be like than many people twice her age, with twice as much experience and knowledge.
She KNEW that something better was coming.
At the funeral people were walking by the young woman’s casket and they saw the pretty dress she was wearing and the fork placed in her right hand.
Over and over, the pastor heard the question “What’s with the fork?”
And over and over he smiled.
During his message, the pastor told the people of the conversation he had with the young woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her. The pastor told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either.
He was right. So the next time you reach down for your fork, let it remind you ever so gently, that the best is yet to come. Friends are a very rare jewel, indeed. They make you smile and encourage you to succeed. They lend an ear, they share a word of praise, and they always want to open their hearts to us. Show your friends how much you care. Remember to always be there for them, even when you need them more. For you never know when it may be their time to “Keep your fork.
Cherish the time you have, and the memories you share… being friends with someone is not an opportunity but a sweet responsibility.
This will a take few minutes to read, but it is sooooo worth reading!!!!!!
As she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of school she told the children an untruth. Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same.
However, that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard.
Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he did not play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. In addition, Teddy could be unpleasant.
It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X’s and then putting a big “F” at the top of his papers.
At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child’s past records and she put Teddy’s off until last. However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.
Teddy’s first grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners… he is a joy to be around.”
His second grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is an excellent student, well liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle.”
His third grade teacher wrote, “His mother’s death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best, but his father doesn’t show much interest and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren’t taken.”
Teddy’s fourth grade teacher wrote, “Teddy is withdrawn and doesn’t show much interest in school. He doesn’t have many friends and he sometimes sleeps in class.”
By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed o herself.
She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Teddy’s. His present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a grocery bag. Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing, and a bottle that was one-quarter full of perfume.
But she stifled the children’s laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist.
Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say, “Mrs.Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to.” After the children left, she cried for at least an hour.
On that very day, she quit teaching reading, writing and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children. Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy. As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. By the end of the year Teddy had become one of the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that she would love all the children the same, Teddy became one of her teacher’s pets.”
A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.
Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.
Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he’d stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honours. He assured Mrs. Thompson that she was still the best and favourite teacher he had ever had in his whole life.
Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor’s degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favourite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer….
The letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard MD.
The story does not end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Teddy said he had met this girl and was going to be married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit at the wedding in the place that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom.
Of course, Mrs. Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. Moreover, she made sure she was wearing the perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas together.
They hugged each other, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs. Thompson’s ear, “Thank you Mrs. Thompson for believing in me. Thank you so much for making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference.”
Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said, “Teddy, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference. I didn’t know how to teach until I met you.”
Warm someone’s heart today . . . pass this along. I love this story so very much, I cry every time I read it. Just try to make a difference in someone’s life today? Tomorrow? Just “do it”.
