Wednesday, 8 November 2017

The Dream

He gently opened his eyes and the warm sun beat upon his face. He lay among the soft caress of the grass and a gentle wind embraced him. His father sat underneath a tree a few feet way beside the babbling brook.

        "You are awake," his father smiled.

        "I fell asleep dad."

        "You did my son."

        "I had a dream dad."

        His father rose and sat beside him. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

        "It was so real dad. I dreamt of missiles falling from the sky and little kids, even younger than I getting killed and maimed. The world was in a bad state. Millions were poor dad, not even with enough to eat. There were homeless people and destitute. There were huge storms and hurricanes and all types of disasters happening. People were fighting all of the time – over land, possessions, oil and money. Rainforests were dying dad and animals of all types were in danger and the earth was actually heating up! And I dreamt of growing up in this world and I was having happy times and sad times. And I lived a life dad. I did! I had a wife and kids and it was crazy fast you know. Everything went so quickly. And I felt so much. I was scared, full of joy, there was fear and hope. And so many times I felt helpless. And a lot of the time I felt so lonely. Worst of all dad, I didn't know where you were. I kinda knew you were there somewhere and I kept calling out for you. In fact sometimes I gave up hope and told myself that you didn't exist at all. But deep down I had a feeling you were somewhere. As I grew older I stopped searching for you out there and started looking within. Which was strange really but I kinda felt you were a part of me dad just as I was a part of you. It was full on dad and then I just woke up!"

        His father looked at him with love in his wise eyes. "That’s some dream son!"

        "How long was I asleep dad?"

        "Mmmmmm perhaps 5 minutes... not much more."

        "Wow! All of that in 5 minutes?"

        The son looked knowingly at his dad for awhile.

        "Dad that was my first dream."

        "I know son... and your last... if you so choose."


        "Yes my son?"

        "Did you know I was dreaming?"

        "Why yes, of course."

        The son reflected on this for a moment.

        "So dad, during the bad parts of the dream did you know I was suffering?"

        "My son, you may have appeared to be suffering in the dream but were always perfectly safe with me here."

        "You could have woken me?"

        "I could, but I didn't. You would have woken with a start. It would have been a little frightening for you that way. You gently came out of the dream yourself. You choose to enter the dream state. It is best if you choose to exit."

        The son stretched out on the grass.


        "Yes my son."

        "I love you."

        "I know, my child. We are love."

        - Diarmuid Cronin

Tuesday, 31 October 2017

Thanks for your time

It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man. College, girls, career, and life itself got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear across the country in pursuit of his dreams. There, in the rush of his busy life, Jack had little time to think about the past and often no time to spend with his wife and son. He was working on his future, and nothing could stop him.
        Over the phone, his mother told him, "Mr. Belser died last night. The funeral is Wednesday."
        Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days.
        "Jack, did you hear me?"
        "Oh sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It's been so long since I thought of him. I'm sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago," Jack said.
        "Well, he didn't forget you. Every time I saw him he'd ask how you were doing. He'd reminisce about the many days you spent over 'his side of the fence' as he put it," Mom told him.
        "I loved that old house he lived in," Jack said.
        "You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man's influence in your life," she said.
        "He's the one who taught me carpentry," he said. "I wouldn't be in this business if it weren't for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were important... Mom, I'll be there for the funeral," Jack said.
        As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his hometown. Mr. Belser's funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away.
        The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to see the old house next door one more time.
        Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing over into another dimension, a leap through space and time.
        The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories. Every picture, every piece of furniture... Jack stopped suddenly.
        "What's wrong, Jack?" his Mom asked.
        "The box is gone," he said.
        "What box?" Mom asked.
        "There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he'd ever tell me was 'the thing I value most,'" Jack said.
        It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it, except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it.
        "Now I'll never know what was so valuable to him," Jack said. "I better get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom."
        It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox. "Signature required on a package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within the next three days," the note read.
        Early the next day Jack retrieved the package. The small box was old and looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention.
        "Mr. Harold Belser" it read.
        Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package. There inside was the gold box and an envelope. Jack's hands shook as he read the note inside.
        "Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett. It's the thing I valued most in my life." A small key was taped to the letter. His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch.
        Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover. Inside he found these words engraved:
        "Jack, Thanks for your time! -Harold Belser."
        "The thing he valued time."
        Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next two days. "Why?" Janet, his assistant asked.
        "I need some time to spend with my son," he said. "Oh, by the way, Janet... thanks for your time!"

Sunday, 29 October 2017

Tasting Life

Before the young man began his studies, he wanted assurance from the Master.

        "Can you teach me the goal of human life?"

        "I cannot," replied the Master.

        "Or at least its meaning?"

        "I cannot."

        "Can you indicate to me the nature of death and of life beyond the grave?"

        "I cannot."

        The young man walked away in scorn. The disciples were dismayed that their Master had been shown up in a poor light.

        Said the Master soothingly, "Of what is it to comprehend life's nature and life's meaning if you have never tasted it? I'd rather you ate your pudding than speculated on it."

        - Anthony De Mello

        Related Quote:

        "Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves... Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given to you because you will not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer."

Saturday, 28 October 2017

Enjoy the journey called Life

Can u judge who is the better person out of these 3 ?

Mr A - He had friendship with bad politicians, consults astrologers, two wives, chain smoker, drinks eight to 10 times a day.

Mr B - He was kicked out of office twice, sleeps till noon, used opium in college & drinks whiskey every evening.

Mr C - He is a decorated war hero, a vegetarian, doesn't smoke, doesn't drink  and never cheated on his wife and was a painter

You would say Mr.C


Mr. A was Franklin Roosevelt! ( 32nd President of the USA)

Mr. B was Winston Churchill!! (Former British Prime Minister)


Strange but true..
Its risky to judge anyone by his habits !
Character is a complex phenomenon.

So every person in ur life is important, don't judge them, accept them.

..The same Boiling Water that hardens the egg, Will Soften the Potato!
It depends upon Individual's reaction To stressful circumstances!

Enjoy the journey called Life......

Friday, 20 October 2017


Through the cold winter wasteland he trudged, leaning into the harsh wind which spitefully tried to force him back. He was covered from head to toe in layers of thick clothing, layers of protection against the harsh environment. On he fought, searching, searching. He was working so hard. This must be the way.

        In the distance he saw what looked like steam rising out of the ground. It rose a few feet and then was quickly whipped away by the biting wind. He altered his course and turned towards the steam, gaining some blessed relief as he turned his chapped face out of the gale. As he got closer, he thought he could make out voices. Their tone was unfamiliar to him - musical, relaxed and warm - their melody enticed him closer. Finally he got close enough to peer through the mist.

        There before him was a remarkable sight. In the midst of the frozen wasteland, cut into the ground was a large pool. Several people were in the pool, they seemed to be floating easily without any effort. As they saw him approach, a woman called out to him.

        "Come in here. It is lovely and warm. You can just lie back and relax," said the woman.

        "I can't. There are no steps." The man replied.

        "Just jump in. It really is lovely in here. Come on. There's plenty of room for another." Another of the floaters joined in the persuasion.

        "But what if I don't like it, how will I get out? The sides are too high to reach up to."

        "Believe me, you won't want to get out. Come on. It is so good in here."

        He stood for a moment, paralyzed with indecision. It looked so much like the answer, but how could it be this easy? Just jump in? Lie back and relax? It couldn't be that simple. It must be a trick. He could not trust them. There was no way out if he changed his mind. He blocked out their warm invitations and once more filled his mind with grim determination.

        On he trudged. Hours passed and his shadow grew long. Then once again in the distance he saw another cloud of rising steam. Entering the mist, a similar sight greeted him once more.

        "Come in here. You don't have to be cold any more," said one of the bathers in a gentle voice. All the faces in the pool turned to look at him. Warm smiles reached out to him but his eyes could not perceive them.

        "How do I get in? I can't see any steps. You are a long way down." He asked once again.

        "Just jump in. It is very deep. You will be quite safe."

        "But what if I want to get out? What if I get tired and cannot stay afloat any longer?"

        "This is not like normal water, we are kept afloat without any effort. I promise you, you really will not want to get out."

        "But my clothes will get wet and their weight will drag me down."

        "You can remove all those layers. You will not need their protection in here. It is always beautifully warm."

        But he could not bring himself to do that. Those layers were his protection, accumulated over the years to keep out the bitter cold. How could he now discard them, just like that? How could he allow himself to be so exposed?

        On he trudged. Darkness came and the temperature dropped still further. Snow began to fall and the wind drove it into his face. Walking blind he carried on.

        Then suddenly he felt some warmth in the air and the ground disappeared beneath him. With a scream he fell and his fall was broken with a splash. Panic overcame him and he thrashed around desperately until his hands touched a wall and he clawed at the smooth surface, loudly cursing the futility of it.

        Then suddenly he heard a soft voice beside him. '"Shhhh. It's OK. It's OK," said the voice in beautiful feminine tones. "Just relax. You will be OK." Then he felt her hands moving over his body, searching then loosening his winter clothing. Layer after layer was gently removed, her voice continuing to sooth his panic until eventually he could feel the wonderful warmth of the water directly against his skin. "It's OK," she said once more as she held him close in the dark. For the first time since he could remember, he fully relaxed and quickly drifted off into a much needed sleep in her arms.

        He awoke to a wonderful new dawn. He gazed into the beautiful eyes of his rescuer and felt the wonderful warmth of the water around him. Then he heard footsteps above. A weary man dressed head to foot in winter furs peered over the edge of the pool.

        "Come in here!" He quickly shouted to the man. "It is so wonderful in here!"

        "But what if I don't like it? How will I get back out?" The man asked.

        "Believe me. You really won't want to get out," he assured the man.

        - Peter Hughes

Sunday, 15 October 2017

Wooden Bowls

A frail old man lived with his son, his daughter-in-law, and his four-year-old grandson. His eyes were blurry, his hands trembled, and his step faltered.

        The family would eat together nightly at the dinner table. But the elderly grandfather's shaky hands and failing sight made eating rather difficult. Peas rolled off his spoon, drooping to the floor. When he grasped his glass of milk, it often spilled clumsily at the tablecloth.

        With this happening almost every night, the son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess.

        "We must do something about grandfather," said the son.

        "I've had enough of his milk spilling, noisy eating and food on the floor," the daughter-in-law agreed.

        So the couple set a small table at the corner.

        There, grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed their dinner at the dinner table. Since grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in wooden bowls. Sometimes when the family glanced in grandfather's direction, he had a tear in his eye as he ate alone. Still, the only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled food. The four-year-old watched it all in silence.

        One evening, before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps on the floor. He asked the child sweetly: "What are you making?" Just as sweetly, the boy replied, "Oh, I'm making a little bowl for you and mama to eat your food from when I grow up." The four-year-old smiled and went back to work.

        These words so struck the parents that they were speechless. Then tears streamed down their cheeks. Though no words were spoken, both knew what must be done. That evening, the husband took grandfather's hand and gently led him back to the family table.

        For the remainder of his days, grandfather ate every meal with the family. And for some reason, neither husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk was spilled or the table cloth was soiled.

Friday, 13 October 2017

Two Horses

Just up the road from my home is a field, with two horses in it. From a distance, each horse looks like any other horse.

        But if you get a closer look you will notice something quite interesting...

        One of the horses is blind.

        His owner has chosen not to have him put down, but has made him a safe and comfortable barn to live in.

        This alone is pretty amazing.

        But if you stand nearby and listen, you will hear the sound of a bell. It is coming from a smaller horse in the field.

        Attached to the horse's halter is a small, copper-colored bell. It lets the blind friend know where the other horse is, so he can follow.

        As you stand and watch these two friends you'll see that the horse with the bell is always checking on the blind horse, and that the blind horse will listen for the bell and then slowly walk to where the other horse is, trusting he will not be led astray.

        When the horse with the bell returns to the shelter of the barn each evening, he will stop occasionally to look back, making sure that the blind friend isn't too far behind to hear the bell.

        Like the owners of these two horses, God does not throw us away just because we are not perfect. Or because we have problems or challenges.

        He watches over us and even brings others into our lives to help us when we are in need.

        Sometimes we are the blind horse, being guided by the little ringing bell of those who God places in our lives.

        And at other times we are the guide horse, helping others to find their way.

Thursday, 12 October 2017

The Dew Drop

As the sun rose, a dew drop became aware of its surroundings. There it sat on a leaf, catching the sunlight and throwing it back out. Proud of its simple beauty, it was very content. Around it were other dew drops, some on the same leaf and some on other leaves round about. The dew drop was sure that it was the best, the most special dew drop of them all.

        Ah, it was good to be a dew drop.

        The wind rose and the plant began to shake, tipping the leaf. Terror gripped the dew drop as gravity pulled it towards the edge of the leaf, towards the unknown. Why? Why was this happening? Things were comfortable. Things were safe. Why did they have to change? Why? Why?

        The dew drop reached the edge of the leaf. It was terrified, certain that it would be smashed into a thousand pieces below, sure that this was the end. The day had only just begun and the end had come so quickly. It seemed so unfair. It seemed so meaningless. It tried desperately to do whatever it could to cling to the leaf, but it was no use.

        Finally, it let go, surrendering to the pull of gravity. Down, down it fell. Below there seemed to be a mirror. A reflection of itself seemed to be coming up to meet the dew drop. Closer and closer they came together until finally...

        And then the fear transformed into deep joy as the tiny dew drop merged with the vastness that was the pond. Now the dew drop was no more, but it was not destroyed.

        It had become one with the whole.

        - Peter Hughes

Tuesday, 10 October 2017

The Triple-Filter Test

In ancient Greece, Socrates was reputed to hold knowledge in high esteem. One day an acquaintance met the great philosopher and said, "Do you know what I just heard about your friend?"

        "Hold on a minute," Socrates replied. "Before you talk to me about my friend, it might be good idea to take a moment and filter what you’re going to say. That’s why I call it the triple filter test. The first filter is Truth. Have you made absolutely sure that what you are about to tell me is true?"

        "Well, no," the man said, "actually I just heard about it and…"

        "All right," said Socrates. "So you don’t really know if it’s true or not. Now, let’s try the second filter, the filter of Goodness. Is what you are about to tell me about my friend something good?"

        "Umm, no, on the contrary…"

        "So," Socrates continued, "you want to tell me something bad about my friend, but you’re not certain it’s true. You may still pass the test though, because there’s one filter left—the filter of Usefulness. Is what you want to tell me about my friend going to be useful to me?"

        "No, not really."

        "Well," concluded Socrates, "if what you want to tell me is neither true, nor good, nor even useful, why tell it to me at all?"

Monday, 4 September 2017

Things Change

For most people, graduation is an exciting day - the culmination of years of hard work. My graduation day... was not.

        I remember that weekend two years ago. Family and friends had flown in from across the country to watch our class walk across that stage. But like everyone else in my graduating class, I had watched the economy turn from bad to worse my senior year. We graduates had degrees, but very limited prospects. Numerous applications had not panned out and I knew that the next day, when my lease ended, I would no longer have a place to call home.

        The weeks ahead weren't easy. I gathered up everything I couldn't carry and put it into storage. Then, because I knew my small university town couldn't offer me any opportunities, I packed up my car and drove to Southern California to find work. But what I thought would take a week dragged into two, and then four, and 100 job applications later, I found myself in the exact same spot as I was before. And the due date to begin paying back my student loans was creeping ever closer.

        You know that feeling when you wake up and you are just consumed with dread? Dread about something you can't control - that sense of impending failure that lingers over you as you hope that everything that happened to you thus far was just a bad dream? That feeling became a constant in my life.

        Days felt like weeks, weeks like months, and those many months felt like an unending eternity of destitution. And the most frustrating part was no matter how much I tried, I just couldn't seem to make any progress.

        So what did I do to maintain my sanity? I wrote. Something about putting words on a page made everything seem a little clearer - a little brighter. Something about writing gave me hope. And if you want something badly enough... sometimes a little hope is all you need!

        I channeled my frustration into a children's book. Beyond the River was the story of an unlikely hero featuring a little fish who simply refused to give up on his dream.

        And then one day, without any sort of writing degree or contacts in the writing world - just a lot of hard work and perseverance - I was offered a publishing contract for my first book! After that, things slowly began to fall into place. I was offered a second book deal. Then, a few months later, I got an interview with The Walt Disney Company and was hired shortly after.

        The moral of this story is... don't give up. Even if things look bleak now, don't give up. Two years ago I was huddled in my car drinking cold soup right out of the can. Things change.

        If you work hard, give it time, and don't give up, things will always get better. Oftentimes our dreams lie in wait just a little further upstream... all we need is the courage to push beyond the river.

        - Alex W. Miller

 - Sent from Inspirational Short Stories (android app),

Thursday, 24 August 2017

Conquering the world

There once lived a powerful king who undertook an expedition to conquer foreign lands. His wise counselor asked him, "Great king, to what purpose do you set out on this endeavor?" "To become master of Asia", the king replied. "And then what?" asked the counselor. "I shall invade Arabia", said the king. "And after that?" "I shall conquer Europe and Africa; and finally, when the whole world is under me, I shall rest and live at ease."

 To this the wise counselor retorted, "But what keeps you from resting and living at ease here and now, if that is all you want? You could settle down this very day without the trouble and risks."

Accidental Angel

When I was in school, I participated in an undergraduate internship with a hospital chaplain. This largely consisted of me visiting with specific hospital patients and then discussing the interaction with the chaplain. I had no specific training in this, and introducing myself to strangers was not one of my natural talents.

        On one particular visit, I cautiously entered a darkened room to find an elderly man lying in the bed. There was no one else in the room, and I initially thought he was sleeping. When I moved closer to the bed, I realized that he was very much awake, but also very confused and anxious. He desperately wanted to communicate something, but I couldn’t understand what he was saying. He seemed weak and frail, and I couldn’t tell if he was in pain, or just scared. I knew nothing about this man’s life or history, and I felt totally helpless. He obviously didn’t want me to leave, but I felt so lost and uncomfortable that I had to leave the room after only a couple of minutes.

        The next time I was at the hospital, I was assigned to make follow up visits with the same list of patients. I expected my time with the confused man to be just as short as the last time...if he was even still alive. It seemed pointless to frustrate myself trying to interact with someone so disoriented.

        As I arrived at the room, the first thing I noticed was that the lights were on. His daughter was there visiting with him. He was sitting up in the bed and much more alert. I introduced myself to the daughter and explained that I had come by before. Addressing the patient, I then suggested that I was certain he didn’t remember me at all.

        He corrected me immediately, saying “I remember you. You were the angel that gave me hope in my darkest hour!” I would have thought his memory was delirious, but he then accurately recounted enough details of our first meeting to remove any doubt of his clarity. I was so amazed that, once again, I didn’t know how to respond. We talked a little more, I told him I was glad he was feeling so much better, and we said goodbye.

        In the brief moment of my initial interaction with this inconsolable patient, I had no idea what to say or what to do. I knew of nothing I could offer him. I did absolutely nothing to help this man... except show up. I may never be able to explain it, but somehow he found in me something he needed at a critical point in his life, just because I was there.

        I have thought about this encounter often over the past 25 years. It has shaped the way I see life, the way I see myself, and the way I see others. It has influenced not only my career path, but also the decisions I make on a daily basis. It makes me want to offer whatever kindness I can to others, and I try to recognize and appreciate the kindness that others share with me. Obviously, we can’t know the impact our actions, or even just our presence, will have on life.

        I don’t know who he was. I don’t know his name, where he came from, or what happened to him after that. It took years of hindsight for me to recognize the gift he had given me, so I didn’t even know to thank him at the time.

        So a stranger in the form of a frail old man changed the rest of my life with a single comment. Who was the angel to whom?

        - Scott Shaunfield

Saturday, 19 August 2017

A Special Teacher

Years ago a John Hopkins University professor gave a group of graduate students this assignment:
        Go to the slums. Take 200 boys, between the ages of 12 and 16, and investigate their background and
        environment. Then predict their chances for the future. The students, after consulting social statistics, talking
        to the boys, and compiling much data and information, concluded that 90 percent of the boys would spend
        some time in jail.
        Twenty-five years later, another group of graduate students was given the job of testing that prediction. They
        went back to the same area. Some of the boys - by then men - were still there, a few had died, some had
        moved away, but they got in touch with 180 of the original 200. They found that only four of the group had

        ever been sent to jail.
        Why was it that these men, who had lived in a breeding place of crime, had such a surprisingly good record?
        The researchers were continually told by the boys who were now men: "Well, there was a teacher..." They
        pressed further, and found that in 75 percent of the cases it was the same female teacher.
        The researchers went to this teacher, now living in a retirement home. How had she managed this
        remarkable influence over that group of boys? Could she give any reason why these boys should have
        remembered her?
        "No," she said, "no, I really can't think of any reason that they would remember me." And then, thinking back
        over the years, she reflected, more to herself than her questioners: "I loved those boys..."

How much do you make an Hour ?

With a timid voice and idolizing eyes, the little boy greeted his father as he returned from work, "Daddy, how
        much do you make an hour?" Greatly surprised, but giving his boy a glaring look, the father said: "Look, son,
        not even your mother knows that. Don't bother me now, I'm tired." "But Daddy, just tell me please!? How
        much do you make an hour?" the boy insisted.
        The father, finally giving up, replied: "Twenty dollars per hour." "Okay, Daddy. Could you loan me ten
        dollars?" the boy asked. Showing restlessness and positively disturbed, the father yelled: "So that was the
        reason you asked how much I earn, right?? Go to sleep and don't bother me anymore!"
        It was already dark and the father was thinking about what he had said, and was feeling guilty. Maybe he

        thought, his son wanted to buy something. Finally, trying to ease his mind, the father went back to his son's
        "Are you asleep son?" asled the father. "No, Daddy. Why?" replied the boy partially asleep. "Here's the
        money you asked for earlier," the father said. "Thanks, Daddy!" rejoiced the son, while putting his hand
        under his pillow and removing some money. "Now I have enough! Now I have twenty dollars!" the boy said
        to his father, who was gazing at his son, confused at what his son just said. "Daddy could you sell me one
        hour of your time?"

 - Sent from Inspirational Short Stories (android app),

Sunday, 30 July 2017

Puppies for sale

A store owner was tacking a sign above his door that read "Puppies For Sale." Signs like that have a way of
        attracting small children and sure enough, a little boy appeared by the store owner's sign. "How much are
        you going to sell the puppies for?" he asked. The store owner replied, "Anywhere from $30-$50."
        The little boy reached in his pocket and pulled out some change. "I have $2.37," he said. "May I please look
        at them?" The store owner smiled and whistled, out of the kennel came Lady, who ran down the aisle of his
        store followed by five teeny, tiny balls of fur. One puppy was lagging considerably behind.
        Immediately the little boy singled out the lagging, limping puppy and said, "What's wrong with that little dog?"
        The store owner explained that the veterinarian had examined the little puppy and had discovered it didn't
        have a hip socket. It would always limp. It would always be lame. The little boy became excited. "That is the
        little puppy that I want to buy." The store owner said, "No, you don't want to buy that little dog. If you really

        want him, I'll just give him to you."
        The little boy got quite upset. He looked into the store owner's eyes, pointing his finger, and said, "I don't
        want you to give him to me. That dog is worth every bit as much as all the other dogs and I'll pay full price. In
        fact, I'll give you $2.37 now, and 50 cents a month until I have him paid for."
        The store owner countered, "You really don't want to buy this little dog. He is never going to be able to run
        and jump and play with you like the other puppies."
        To this, the little boy reached down and rolled up his pant leg to reveal a badly twisted, crippled left leg
        supported by a big metal brace. He looked up at the store owner and softly replied, "Well, I don't run so good
        myself, and the little puppy will need someone who understands!"

 - Sent from Inspirational Short Stories (android app),

Saturday, 22 July 2017

How rich are we?

One day a father and his rich family took his son on a trip to the country with the firm purpose to show him
        how poor people can be. They spent a day and a night on the farm of a very poor family. When they got
        back from their trip, the father asked his son, "How was the trip?" "Very good Dad!" "Did you see how poor
        people can be?" the father asked. "Yeah!" exclaimed the son. "And what did you learn?" asked the father.
        The son answered, "I saw that we have a dog at home, and they have four. We have a pool that reaches to
        the middle of the garden; they have a creek that has no end. We have imported lamps in the garden; they
        have the stars. Our patio reaches to the front yard; they have a whole horizon." When the little boy was
        finished, his father was speechless. His son added, "Thanks, Dad, for showing me how 'poor' we are!"
        Isn't it true that it all depends on the way you look at things? If you have love, friends, family, health, good
        humor and a positive attitude towards life -- you've got everything! You can't buy any of these things. You
        may have all the material possessions you can imagine, provisions for the future, etc.; but if you are poor of
        spirit, you have nothing!
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Friday, 21 July 2017

Shake it Off And Step Up

A parable is told of a farmer who owned an old mule. The mule fell into the farmer's well. The farmer heard
        the mule braying. After carefully checking the situation, the farmer felt sorry for the mule, but decided that
        neither the mule nor the well was worth saving. Instead, he called his neighbors and friends together and
        told them what had happened. The farmer asked them to help haul dirt to bury the old mule in the well and
        put him out of his misery.
        At first, the old mule was hysterically braying, very upset! But as the farmer and his neighbors continued
        shoveling the dirt into the well, the dirt would hit his back, and a thought came to the donkey. It suddenly
        dawned on him that every time a shovel load of dirt landed on his back: he should shake it off and step up!

        This is what the old mule did, shovel after shovel. "Shake it off and step up... shake it off and step up...
        shake it off and step up!" he repeated to encourage himself.
        No matter how painful the dirt, or how distressing the situation seemed, the old mule fought "panic" and just
        kept right on shaking it off and stepping up! You guessed it! It wasn't long before the old mule, battered and
        exhausted, stepped triumphantly right over the wall of that well! What seemed like it would bury him, actually
        end up blessing him. All because of the manner in which he handled his adversity.

 - Sent from Inspirational Short Stories (android app),

Thursday, 20 July 2017

The Fence

There once was a little boy who had a bad temper. His father gave him a bag of nails and told him that every
        time he lost his temper, he must hammer a nail into the fence. The first day the boy had driven 37 nails into
        the fence. Over the next few weeks as he learned to control his anger, the number of nails hammered daily,
        gradually dwindled down. He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to hammer those nails into the
        Finally the day came when the boy didn't lose his temper at all. He told his father about it and the father
        suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his temper. The days
        passed and the young boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were gone.
        The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. He said "You have done well, my son, but look
        at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar
        just like this one."
        You can put a knife in a man and draw it out. It won't matter how many times you say I'm sorry, the wound is
        still there.

This is Good

An old story is told of a king in Africa who had a close friend with whom he grew up. The friend had a habit
        of looking at every situation that ever occurred in his life (positive or negative) and remarking, "This is good!"
        One day the king and his friend were out on a hunting expedition. The friend would load and prepare the
        guns for the king. The friend had apparently done something wrong in preparing one of the guns. After
        taking the gun from his friend, the king fired it, and his thumb was blown off. Examining the situation the
        friend remarked as usual, "This is good!" To which the king replied, "No, this is NOT good!" and immediately
        sent his friend to jail.
        About a year later, the king was hunting in an area that he should have known to avoid. Cannibals captured
        him and took him to their village. They tied his hands, stacked some wood, set up a stake, and bound him to
        the stake. As they came close to set fire to the wood, they noticed that the king was missing a thumb. Being
        superstitious cannibals, they never ate anyone that was less than whole. So the cannibals untied the king,
        and sent him on his way.
        As he returned home, he was reminded of the incident that had blown off his thumb and felt sadness for his
        treatment of his friend. The king went immediately to the jail to speak with his friend. "You were right," he
        said, "it was good that my thumb was blown off." And he proceeded to tell the friend all that had just
        happened. "And so I am very sorry for sending you to jail for so long. It was bad for me to do this."
        "No," his friend replied, "This is good!" "What do you mean,'This is good'? said the king.
        “How could it be good that I sent my friend to jail for a year?" questioned the king.
        "If I had NOT been in jail, I would have been with you." said his friend.

Friday, 16 June 2017

Hospital Windows

Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for
        an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window.
        The other man had to spend all of his time flat on his back.
        The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their
        involvement in the military service, and where they had been on vacation.
        And every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by
        describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window. The man in the other bed began
        to live for those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and
        color of the world outside the hospital window.
        The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children
        sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm through flowers of every color of the rainbow.
        Grand old trees graced the landscape, and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.
        As the man by the window described all this in excellent detail, the man on the other side of the room would
        close his eyes and imagine the beautiful scene.
        One warm afternoon, the man by the window described a parade passing by below. Although the other man
        couldn't hear the band - he could see it in his mind as the gentleman by the window described it.
        Weeks went by. One morning, a nurse arrived to bring water for their baths and found the lifeless body of
        the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened, and called the hospital
        attendants to take the body away.
        As soon as it seemed appropriate in a few days, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the
        window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him
        alone. Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the world outside.
        Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it for himself.
        He moved slowly to turn and look out the window beside the bed. The window faced
        a blank wall. The man asked the nurse what could have caused his deceased
        roommate to describe such wonderful things outside this window. The nurse
        answered that the man was blind, and could not even see the wall. She replied,
        "Maybe he just wanted to encourage you."

Monday, 1 May 2017

My Name Is Money

Let Me Introduce Myself ,
My Name Is *MONEY!!!...*

 I Have a Simple Look,
My Physique is also Weak,
But I am Capable of Rearranging the World Order.

I Am also *"Capable"* of Changing the *'Behaviour & Even Human Nature'*
Because the Humans Idolize Me.  Many Person's
๐Ÿ‘‰Change Their Personality,
๐Ÿ‘‰Betray their Friends,
๐Ÿ‘‰Sell their Bodies,
๐Ÿ‘‰In fact Even Abandon Their Religion, For My Sake!

I Don't Understand The Difference Between The Righteous &  Depraved,
But Men Use Me as a standard for Status,
Deciding Whether a Person is
๐Ÿ‘‰Rich or Poor &
๐Ÿ‘‰ Honorable or lowborn.

I am Not Satan, But People Often commit Trangressions Because Of Me.

I'm Also Not a Third Person,
But Many husband's & Wives are Separated Because of Me.
Many Children &  Parents are at Loggerheads Because of Me.

It is also Obvious that I Am Not God,
But Mankind Worship Me like a God,
In fact Often Times the Servants of God are honouring Me More than God,
Whereas You have been Advised, Don't Be Slaves to Money.

I'm Supposed to Serve Mankind, but Mankind​ Instead Wants to be My Slaves!?

I have Never Sacrificed Myself for Anyone,
But Many People are Willing to Die for Me.

I Need to Remind,
I Can Only Be An Instrument of Payment For Your Prescription Drugs,
But I Cannot Extend Your Life.

If One Day You Are Being Called by God,
I Will Not BeAble To accompany You
Let Alone to be the Redeemer of your Sins...,
You have to Face it Yourself with Your Creator &
Then Accept His Judgment.

At that Time,
The Almighty Will certainly Deal with You &  Ask You Concerning Me.

A Last Information From ME:

*I Will Not Be THERE IN HEAVEN !!!*
*Don't Look For Me There ...*

Saturday, 29 April 2017

Get Up

Bringing a giraffe into the world is a tall order. A baby giraffe falls 10 feet from its mother's womb and usually
        lands on its back. Within seconds it rolls over and tucks its legs under its body. From this position it
        considers the world for the first time and shakes off the last vestiges of the birthing fluid from its eyes and
        ears. Then the mother giraffe rudely introduces its offspring to the reality of life.
        In this book, "A View from the Zoo", Gary Richmond describes how a newborn giraffe learns its first lesson.
        The mother giraffe lowers her head long enough to take a quick look. Then she
        positions herself directly over her calf. She waits for about a minute, and then she
        does the most unreasonable thing. She swings her long, pendulous leg outward
        and kicks her baby, so that the baby is sent sprawling head over heels.
        When the baby doesn't get up, the violent process is repeated over and over
        again. The struggle to get up is huge. As the baby calf grows tired, the mother
        kicks it again to stimulate its efforts. At last, the baby giraffe stands for the first
        time on its wobbly legs.
        Then the mother giraffe does the most remarkable thing. She kicks it off its feet again. Why? She wants it to
        remember how it got up. In the wild, baby giraffes must be able to get up as quickly as possible to stay with
        the herd. There is safety by staying with the herd. Lions, hyenas, leopards, and wild hunting dogs all enjoy
        preying on young giraffes, and they'd get the baby, if the mother didn't teach her calf to get up quickly and
        stay with the herd.
        The late Irving Stone understood this too. He spent a lifetime studying greatness, writing biographies of such
        men as Michelangelo, Vincent van Gogh, Sigmund Freud, and Charles Darwin.
        Stone was once asked if he had found a thread that runs through the lives of all these exceptional people.
        He said, "I write about people who sometime in their life had a dream of something that should be
        accomplished, then they go to work.
        "They are beaten over the head, knocked down, vilified, and for years they get nowhere. But every time
        they're knocked down they stand up. You cannot destroy these people. And at the end of their lives they've
        accomplished some modest part of what they set out to do."

Tuesday, 11 April 2017

Boy Giving Blood

There was a little girl named Liza who was suffering from a disease and needed blood from her five-year-old
        brother, who had miraculously survived the same disease and had developed the antibodies needed to
        combat the illness.
        The doctor explained the situation to her little brother, and asked the boy if he would be willing to give his
        blood to his sister. I saw him hesitate for only a moment before taking a deep breath and saying,
        "Yes, I'll do it if it will save my sister Liza."
        As the transfusion took place, he lay in the bed next to his sister and smiled, as we all did, seeing the color
        return to her cheeks.
        Then his face grew pale and his smile faded. He looked up at the doctor and asked with a trembling voice,
        "Will I start to die right away?" Being so young, the boy had misunderstood the doctor. He thought he was
        going to give his sister all of his blood, then die.

Sunday, 12 March 2017

The story of the butterfly

A man found a cocoon of a butterfly.
        One day a small opening appeared.
        He sat and watched the butterfly for several hours
        as it struggled to squeeze its body through the tiny hole.
        Then it stopped, as if it couldn't go further.
        So the man decided to help the butterfly.
        He took a pair of scissors and
        snipped off the remaining bits of cocoon.
        The butterfly emerged easily, but
        it had a swollen body and shriveled wings.
        The man continued to watch it,
        expecting that any minute the wings would enlarge
        and expand enough to support the body,
        Neither happened!
        In fact the butterfly spent the rest of its life
        crawling around.
        It was never able to fly.
        What the man in his kindness
        and haste did not understand:
        The restricting cocoon and the struggle
        required by the butterfly to get through the opening
        was a way of forcing the fluid from the body
        into the wings so that it would be ready
        for flight once that was achieved.
        Sometimes struggles are exactly
        what we need in our lives.
        Going through life with no obstacles would cripple us.
        We will not be as strong as we could have been
        and we would never fly.

Thursday, 9 March 2017

Listening - at Christmas and always

A few years after I left my secondary school in Manchester, I was invited to help out with the school's Christmas Fair and I decided to have a go at being Father Christmas. I had recently grown my first full beard and thought that I would enter into the role by rubbing flour into my growth. Though I say it myself, I looked rather splendid and certainly I attracted lots of custom.

I was enjoying myself enormously, bringing a sense of magic to so many young children, but I was mystified by one young boy who paid for a second visit and then astonishingly for a third. The presents on offer were really pretty pitiful, so I asked him why he was coming to see me so often. He answered simply: "I just love talking to you".

It was then that I realised that, in many households, parents do not encourage their children to talk and really listen to them. This was a lesson that I have taken with me throughout my life. So, at home, at work, socially, always encourage family, friends, colleagues to talk about themselves and their feelings - and really listen.

Author: Roger Darlington

Wednesday, 1 March 2017

Hindi inspirational video value of you

Our first Hindi inspirational video.

Tuesday, 14 February 2017

Some beautiful answers and way of thinking of Turkish poet Jalaluddin Rumi

Some beautiful answers and way of thinking of Turkish poet Jalaluddin Rumi, that I cannot resist sharing..

What Is Poison ? ? ?
He Replied With A Beautiful Answer - AnyThing Which Is More Than Our Necessity Is Poison. It May Be Power, Wealth, Hunger, Ego, Greed, Laziness, Love, Ambition, Hate Or AnyThing.

What Is Fear ? ? ?
Non Acceptance Of Uncertainty.
If We Accept That Uncertainty, It Becomes Adventure.

What Is Envy ?
Non Acceptance Of Good In Others, If We Accept That Good, It Becomes Inspiration.

What Is Anger ? ? ?
Non Acceptance Of Things Which Are Beyond Our Control.
If We Accept, It Becomes Tolerance.

What Is Hatred ? ? ?
Non Acceptance Of Person As He Is. If We Accept Person Unconditionally, It Becomes Love. ๐Ÿ˜Š ๐Ÿ˜Š

Sunday, 5 February 2017

The wise teacher and the Jar

There was once a very wise teacher, whose words of wisdom students
would come from far and wide to hear. One day as usual, many students
began to gather in the teaching room. They came in and sat down very
quietly, looking to the front with keen anticipation, ready to hear
what the teacher had to say.

Eventually the teacher came in and sat down in front of the students.
The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. On one side of the
teacher was a large glass jar. On the other side was a pile of dark
grey rocks. Without saying a word, the teacher began to pick up the
rocks one by one and place them very carefully in the glass jar
(Plonk. Plonk.) When all the rocks were in the jar, the teacher turned
to the students and asked, 'Is the jar full?' 'Yes,' said the students.
'Yes, teacher, the jar is full'.

Without saying a word, the teacher began to drop small round pink
pebbles carefully into the large glass jar so that they fell down
between the rocks. (Clickety click. Clickety click.) When all the
pebbles were in the jar, the teacher turned to the students and asked,
'Is the jar now full?' The students looked at one another and then some
of them started nodding and saying, 'Yes. Yes, teacher, the jar is now
full. Yes'.

Without saying a word, the teacher took some fine silver sand and let
it trickle with a gentle sighing sound into the large glass jar (whoosh)
where it settled around the pink pebbles and the dark grey rocks.
When all the sand was in the jar, the teacher turned to the students
and asked, 'Is the jar now full?'

The students were not so confident this time, but the sand had clearly
filled all the space in the jar so a few still nodded and said, 'Yes,
teacher, the jar is now full. Now it's full'.

Without saving a word, the teacher took a jug of water and poured it
carefully, without splashing a drop, into the large glass jar. (Gloog.

When the water reached the brim, the teacher turned to the students and
asked, 'Is the jar now full?' Most of the students were silent, but
two or three ventured to answer, 'Yes, teacher, the jar is now full.
Now it is'.

Without saying a word, the teacher took a handful of salt and sprinkled
it slowly over the top of the water with a very quiet whishing sound.
(Whish.) When all the salt had dissolved into the water, the teacher
turned to the students and asked once more, 'Is the jar now full?' The
students were totally silent. Eventually one brave student said, 'Yes,
teacher. The jar is now full'. 'Yes,' said the teacher 'The jar is now

The teacher then said: 'A story always has many meanings and you will
each have understood many things from this demonstration. Discuss
quietly amongst yourselves what meanings the story has for you. How
many different messages can you find in it and take from it?'

The students looked at the wise teacher and at the beautiful glass jar
filled with grey rocks, pink pebbles, silver sand, water and salt. Then
they quietly discussed with one another the meanings the story had for
them. After a few minutes, the wise teacher raised one hand and the
room fell silent. The teacher said: 'Remember that there is never just
one interpretation of anything. You have all taken away many meanings
and messages from the story, and each meaning is as important and as
valid as any other'.

And without saying another word, the teacher got up and left the room.

And another version of the same story ...

A professor stood before his philosophy class and
had some items in front of him. When the class began,
wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty jar and proceeded to fill it with golf
balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full.
They agreed that it was.
So the professor then picked up a box of small
pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar
lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas
between the golf balls. He then asked the students
again if the jar was full.
They agreed it was.

The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured
it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up
everything else. He asked once more if the jar was
The students responded with a unanimous "Yes."
The professor then produced two cans of beer from
under the table and poured the entire contents into
the jar, effectively filling the empty space between
the sand.
The students laughed.

"Now", said the professor, as the laughter subsided, "I
want you to recognize that this jar represents your
life. The golf balls are the important things - your
family, your children, your health, your friends, your
favorite passions - things that, if everything else was
lost and only they remained, your life would still be
full. The pebbles are the other things that matter
like your job, your house, your car.

The sand is
everything else - the small stuff. If you put the sand
into the jar first" he continued, "there is no room
for the pebbles or the golf balls.
The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and
energy on the small stuff, you will never have room
for the things that are important to you. Pay
attention to the things that are critical to your
happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get
medical checkups. Take your partner out to dinner.
There will always be time to clean the house, and fix
the rubbish. Take care of the golf balls first, the
things that really matter. Set your priorities.
The rest is just sand".

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what
the beer represented.
The professor smiled. "I'm glad you asked. It just
goes to show you that, no matter how full your life may
seem, there's always room for a couple of beers".