The Wise Sage

The Wise Sage

There once was a wise sage who wandered the countryside. One day, as he passed near a village, he was approached by a woman who told him of a sick child nearby. She beseeched him to help this child.

        So the sage came to the village, and a crowd gathered around him, for such a man was a rare sight. One woman brought the sick child to him, and he said a prayer over her.

        "Do you really think your prayer will help her, when medicine has failed?" yelled a man from the crowd.

        "You know nothing of such things! You are a stupid fool!" said the sage to the man.

        The man became very angry with these words and his face grew hot and red. He was about to say something, or perhaps strike out, when the sage walked over to him and said: "If one word has such power as to make you so angry and hot, may not another have the power to heal?"

        And thus, the sage healed two people that day.

        "Language does have the power to change reality. Therefore, treat your words as the mighty instruments they are - to heal, to bring into being, to nurture, to cherish, to bless, to forgive." - Daphne Rose Kingma

The beautiful flower in the broken pot

The Beautiful Flower In The Broken Pot

Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to out patients at the clinic.

        One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man. "Why, he's hardly taller than my eight-year-old," I thought as I stared at the stooped, shriveled body. But the appalling thing was his face, lopsided from swelling, red and raw.

        Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, "Good evening. I've come to see if you've a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there's no bus 'til morning."

        He told me he'd been hunting for a room since noon but with no success, no one seemed to have a room. "I guess it's my face... I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says with a few more treatments..."

        For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me: "I could sleep in this rocking chair on the porch. My bus leaves early in the morning."

        I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch. I went inside and finished getting supper. When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us. "No thank you. I have plenty." And he held up a brown paper bag.

        When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with him a few minutes. It didn't take a long time to see that this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body. He told me he fished for a living to support his daughter, her five children, and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury.

        He didn't tell it by way of complaint; in fact, every other sentence was preface with a thanks to God for a blessing. He was grateful that no pain accompanied his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving him the strength to keep going.

        At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children's room for him. When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and the little man was out on the porch.

        He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus, haltingly, as if asking a great favor, he said, Could I please come back and stay the next time I have a treatment? I won't put you out a bit. I can sleep fine in a chair." He paused a moment and then added, "Your children made me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children don't seem to mind." I told him he was welcome to come again.

        And on his next trip he arrived a little after seven in the morning.

        As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they'd be nice and fresh. I knew his bus left at 4:00 a.m. and I wondered what time he had to get up in order to do this for us.

        In the years he came to stay overnight with us there was never a time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden.

        Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special delivery; fish and oysters packed in a box of fresh young spinach or kale, every leaf carefully washed. Knowing that he must walk three miles to mail these, and knowing how little money he had made the gifts doubly preciou s.

        When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first morning.

        "Did you keep that awful looking man last night? I turned him away! You can lose roomers by putting up such people!"

        Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice. But oh! If only they could have known him, perhaps their illnesses would have been easier to bear.

        I know our family always will be grateful to have known him; from him we learned what it was to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.

        Recently I was visiting a friend, who has a greenhouse, as she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all, a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket. I thought to myself, "If this were my plant, I'd put it in the loveliest container I had!"

        My friend changed my mind. "I ran short of pots," she explained, and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail. It's just for a little while, till I can put it out in the garden."

        She must have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was imagining just such a scene in heaven. "Here's an especially beautiful one," God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman. "He won't mind starting in this small body."

        All this happened long ago - and now, in God's garden, how tall this lovely soul must stand.
   

- Sent from Inspirational Short Stories

The painter and the child

The Painter and The Child

Centuries ago a great artist was engaged to paint a mural for the cathedral in a Sicilian town. The subject was the life of Christ. For many years the artist labored diligently, and finally the painting was finished except for the two most important figures: the Christ Child and Judas Iscariot. He searched far and wide for suitable models.

        One day while walking in the city he came upon some children playing in the street. Among them was a 12-year-old boy whose face stirred the painter's heart. The artist took the child home with him, and day after day the boy sat patiently until the face of the Christ Child was finished. But the painter still had found no model for the portrait of Judas.

        The story of the unfinished masterpiece spread afar, and many men, fancying themselves of wicked countenance, offered to pose for Judas. But in vain the old painter looked for Judas, as he envisioned him-a man warped by life, enfeebled by surrender to greed and lust.

        Then one afternoon as he sat in a tavern, a gaunt and tattered figure staggered across the threshold. 'Wine, wine,' he begged. The startled painter looked into a face that seemed to bear the marks of every sin of mankind. "Greatly excited, the old painter said, 'Come with me, and I will give you wine.'

        For many days the painter worked feverishly to complete his masterpiece. As the work went on, a change came over the model. A strange tension replaced the stuporous languor, and his bloodshot eyes were fixed with horror on the painted likeness of himself.

        One day, perceiving his subject's agitation, the painter paused in his work. "My son," he said, "what troubles you so?"

        The man buried his face in his hands, sobbing. After a long moment he lifted pleading eyes to the old painter's face. "Do you not then remember me? Years ago I was your model for the Christ Child.'"

        - Hugh B. Brown
   

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You are my Life

You Are My Life

There was a boy in India who was sent by his parents to a boarding school. Before being sent away this boy was the brightest student in his class. He was at the top in every competition. He was a champion.

        But the boy changed after leaving home and attending the boarding school. His grades started dropping. He hated being in a group. He was lonely all the time. And there were especially dark times when he felt like committing suicide. All of this because he felt worthless and that no one loved him.

        His parents started worrying about the boy. But even they did not know what was wrong with him. So his dad decided to travel to the boarding school and talk with him.

        They sat on the bank of the lake near the school. The father started asking him casual questions about his classes, teachers and sports. After some time his dad said, 'Do you know son, why I am here today?"

        The boy answered back, "to check my grades?"

        "No, no" his dad replied, "I am here to tell you that you are the most important person for me. I want to see you happy. I don't care about grades. I care about you. I care about your happiness. YOU ARE MY LIFE."

        These words caused the boy's eyes to fill with tears. He hugged his dad. They didn't say anything to each other for a long time.

        Now the boy had everything he wanted. He knew there was someone on this earth who cared for him deeply. He meant the world to someone. And today this young man is in college at the top of his class and no one has ever seen him sad!

        Thanks a lot dad. YOU ARE MY LIFE.

        - Viraj Bhandare

        "Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around." - Leo Buscaglia
   

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Who is There?

Someone knocked at the door of the Beloved and a voice from within inquired: "Who is there?" He answered, "It is I." And the voice said, "This house will not hold me and thee." So the door remained closed.

        Then the lover sped away into the wilderness and fasted and prayed. After a year he returned and knocked again at the door and the voice again demanded: "Who is there?" And the lover said, "It is thou."

        The door was opened.

        - Jalal ad-Din Rumi

Last Respects

One day not too long ago the employees of a large company in St. Louis, Missouri returned from their lunch break and were greeted with a sign on the front door. The sign said: "Yesterday the person who has been hindering your growth in this company passed away. We invite you to join the funeral in the room that has been prepared in the gym."

        At first everyone was sad to hear that one of their colleagues had died, but after a while they started getting curious about who this person might be.

        The excitement grew as the employees arrived at the gym to pay their last respects. Everyone wondered: "Who is this person who was hindering my progress? Well, at least he's no longer here!"

        One by one the employees got closer to the coffin and when they looked inside it they suddenly became speechless. They stood over the coffin, shocked and in silence, as if someone had touched the deepest part of their soul.

        There was a mirror inside the coffin: everyone who looked inside it could see himself. There was also a sign next to the mirror that said: "There is only one person who is capable to set limits to your growth: it is YOU.

        You are the only person who can revolutionize your life. You are the only person who can influence your happiness, your realization and your success. You are the only person who can help yourself.

        Your life does not change when your boss changes, when your friends change, when your parents change, when your partner changes, when your company changes. Your life changes when YOU change, when you go beyond your limiting beliefs, when you realize that you are the only one responsible for your life.

        "The most important relationship you can have, is the one you have with yourself."
   

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Good People

An old man sat outside the walls of a great city. When travelers approached, they would ask the old man, "What kind of people live in this city?" The old man would answer, "What kind of people live in the place where you came from?" If the travelers answered, "Only bad people live in the place where we came from," the old man would reply, "Continue on; you will find only bad people here."

        But if the travelers answered, "Good people live in the place where we came from," then the old man would say, "Enter, for here too, you will find only good people."
        - A Yiddish Folk Tale
   

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A very special meal

Once there was a very poor and devoted woman who always prayed to the Glory of God, asking very little, if anything for herself. But one thought, one desire continued to recur and finally she asked: petitioning the Lord, that if it were possible she would love to prepare a special meal and have God share at her table. And God, in His Love for this goodly woman, said He would indeed come the next day and share a meal.

        Filled with ecstasy, the woman went out the following morning with her meager purse and purchased such delicacies that she felt would please the Lord.

        Returning home, she prepared a banquet and waited patiently for her most honored guest. Soon there was a knock on the door, and when she opened it, there stood an old beggar asking for something to eat. Being a woman of God, she could not turn the beggar away, so she invited him in to partake of her table. The beggar felt as if he was in a dream - such a feast set before him. He finished all the food, thanked his hostess and left.

        The woman was only slightly disheartened, she gathered up her purse, her coat, and hurried back to town to get more food for her special guest. Her funds were less now and so the food was not quite so elaborate. Nonetheless, she lovingly prepared another meal and sat to await the arrival of the Almighty.

        A few hours went by and there was a loud knock on the door. This time it was an old gypsy woman with no teeth, who was deaf, who spoke quite loudly and was, rather rudely, insisting that any true believer in the Lord would not deny her something to eat.

        Though the woman had no more money with which to buy more supplies, she invited the woman in and offered her a seat at the table. The gypsy ate everything, did not even thank the woman and left without closing the door.

        By now it was beginning to get dark both inside and out. The woman's faith was strong, so that, though somewhat distraught, she did not give up, but rather, looked around her humble house to see if there was anything she could sell in order to buy more food to set before the Lord.

        She hurried to town with a little silver cup that had been in her family for several generations, but she was willing to part with it for the great honor that God was going to bestow on her - the sharing of a meal.

        Late in the night she rushed home to prepare yet a third meal. She waited and waited until, once more, there was a knock on the door. Holding her breath, she slowly opened the door to find yet another poor man in the guise of a wandering monk, in search of a meal.

        Again, she offered hospitality, with as much grace as she could muster in her disappointment. This man also ate all that was set on the table and left after blessing the woman for her kindness. So discouraged and dismayed was she that all she could do was nod slightly, in acknowledgment of the thanks.

        Now it was too late, with no way to buy any more food and no more money with which to buy it. She got down on her knees, weeping such heart-broken tears. She asked God what she had done wrong. Why had God not come to share at the table as He had promised?

        And God, in all His Divine Compassion and Mercy, lifted the woman off her knees, and holding her close to His Heart, said, "My child, I enjoyed your hospitality so much that I came three times!"

        - Mirabai Chrin
   

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All The Way Shay!

At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves learning-disabled children, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question: ‘When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does is done with perfection. Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do. Where is the natural order of things in my son?’

        The audience was stilled by the query.

        The father continued. ‘I believe that when a child like Shay, physically and mentally handicapped comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child.’

        Then he told the following story:

        Shay and his father had walked past a park where some boys were playing baseball. Shay asked, ‘Do you think they’ll let me play?’ Shay’s father knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but the father also understood that if his son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.

        Shay’s father approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said, ‘We’re losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we’ll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning.’

        Shay struggled over to the team’s bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt . His father watched with a small tear in his eye and warmth in his heart. The boys saw the father’s joy at his son being accepted. In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay’s team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as his father waved to him from the stands. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay’s team scored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.

        At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game? Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn’t even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.

        However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay’s life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact. The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay. As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher.

        The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game.

        Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman’s head, out of reach of all team mates. Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, ‘Shay, run to first! Run to first!’ Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base. He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.

        Everyone yelled, ‘Run to second, run to second!’ Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base. By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball. He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher’s intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman’s head. Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home.

        All were screaming, ‘Shay, Shay, Shay, all the way Shay!’

        Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, ‘Run to third, Shay, run to third!’

        As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, ‘Shay, run home! Run home!’ Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team.

        ‘That day’, said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, ‘the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world’.

        Young Shay would never forget what it felt like to be a hero that day.

        Neither would the other boys.

        "The decency of any society can be measured by how it treats its most vulnerable citizens."
   

Keepers

I grew up in the '50s with very practical parents. A mother, God love her,who washed aluminum foil after she cooked in it, then reused it. She was the original recycle queen, before they had a name for it.

        My father was happier getting old shoes fixed than buying new ones. Their marriage was good, their dreams focused. Their best friends lived barely a wave away. I can see them now, Dad in trousers, tee shirt and a hat and Mom in a house dress, lawn mower in one hand, dishtowel in the other.

        It was the time for fixing things. A curtain rod, the kitchen radio, screen door, the oven door, the hem in a dress. Things we keep. It was a way of life, and sometimes it made me crazy. All that re-fixing, eating, renewing, I wanted just once to be wasteful. Waste meant affluence. Throwing things away meant you knew there'd always be more.

        But then my mother died, and on that clear summer's night, in the warmth of the hospital room, I was struck with the pain of learning that sometimes there isn't any more. Sometimes, what we care about most gets all used up and goes away...never to return. So, while we have it... it's best we love it... and care for it... and fix it when it's broken... and heal it when it's sick.

        This is true for marriage... and old cars... and children with bad report cards... and dogs with bad hips... and aging parents... and grandparents. We keep them because they are worth it, because we are worth it.

The Young Merman

Once upon a time there was a young merman who lived in a beautiful kingdom deep in the ocean. Ever since he had been born he had always been surrounded by magnificent coral reefs, exotic sea creatures and the breath-taking architecture of the mer-people. Yet he never seemed happy, as he always saw the worst in everything and was critical of those around him. Of course, this made him very unpopular with the other mermen and mermaids, and he often found himself alone, thinking about how awful everything and everyone was.

        He did, however, have one friend; the eldest and wisest merman in the kingdom. This old merman had known the young merman’s parents for a very long time, and he knew that the boy had never had any friends because of his negative attitude. The wise merman felt sorry for the boy, and so, when he could, he would take some time to talk to the boy and try to help him.

        One morning the boy and the wise merman were taking a gentle swim through the kingdom. The wise merman was admiring what a beautiful morning it was turning out to be, but the boy could only notice that the water was colder than he liked it and that the dolphins were being too playful and noisy.

        “But what about the coral?” suggested the old merman. “Aren’t the colours glorious today?”

        “I guess,” the boy shrugged. “If you happen to like orange, red and pink.”

        The old merman looked at the boy for a moment, before the boy finished, “Which I don’t.”

        The old merman sighed, wondering if he would ever be able to think of something to make the boy happy. He wrapped the end of his long, white beard around his finger and then unwrapped it again.

        “Well,” he said, “I should be on my way. I have a class to teach”.

        “What are teaching today?” asked the boy.

        “Today I’ll be teaching about God.”

        “God?”

        “Yes, God. Have you never heard of God?”

        “No. How would I? I’ve never been to any of your lessons.”

        “Hmm.” The old merman stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Well, that is a shame. Cheerio then.”

        As the old merman began to leave the boy stopped him.

        “Hey! Aren’t you going to tell me what it is?”

        “What what is?”

        “God!”

        “Oh, I see. Well, you can find God everywhere really…”

        “Everywhere? But that’s impossible…. Isn’t it?”

        “No, it’s very possible.”

        “Well, what does it look like then?”

        “It looks like you, and me, and the dolphins and the coral….”

        The boy frowned at the old merman. “So God isn’t really anything at all?”

        The wise, old merman smiled at the boy for a brief moment and then turned away to leave.

        “You tell me!” he said as he swam away. “Go and find it and then tell me if it isn’t really anything at all!”

        ~

        The young merman swam around the kingdom aimlessly for a while, feeling cross about the nonsense the old merman had been speaking.

        “What rubbish,” thought the boy. “God looks like everything? God can’t be very special then!”

        Frowning, he looked around him, at the buildings, the mer-people and the shimmering fish. Then he remembered the old merman’s words.

        “Fine,” he thought. “I’ll look for it, and then I’ll tell him what I think!”

        The boy swam straight up to a dolphin, folded his arms across his chest and stared at it.

        “So you’re God, are you?”

        The dolphin looked at the boy and grinned. The boy didn’t grin back.

        “God has a chunk missing from its fin and has bits of fish caught in its teeth, does it?! How stupid!”

        The boy swam off, leaving behind the dolphin who had started to laugh.

        The boy was in such a bad mood whilst he was swimming that he swam right into a beautiful mermaid with long, golden hair. She looked cross at first, but her face softened and she smiled at the boy.

        “You must be in a rush to get somewhere,” she said gently.

        “Not really,” the boy replied.

        “Well, just try to be careful then, you wouldn’t want to hurt someone.”

        Another frown appeared on the boys face and he swam on.

        “Well, she can’t be God, that’s for sure. You wouldn’t want to hurt someone… Who does she think she is?”

        The boy swam up to a high cliff which overlooked the entire kingdom. He slumped down onto a rock, feeling very hard-done-by. As he looked down he saw a tiny, brightly coloured fish feeding off of the algae which grew on the rock.

        “You can’t be God either,” said the boy glumly. “You’re far too small.”

        ~

        As the evening closed in and the lights of the kingdom began to sparkle in the dark water, the boy sighed. He had been looking for God all day, and all that he had found was a stupid dolphin, a rude mermaid and a small, insignificant fish. The young merman was just about to call it a day and swim home, when he spotted his old friend swimming slowly towards him.

        “What are you doing all the way up here?” asked the wise merman. “You’re a long way from the town.”

        “Well I was doing what you said and…” the boy replied venomously, but the old merman raised his hand to silence the boy.

        “So you’ve been up here all day? Too angry and self absorbed to notice when God is right in front of you?”

        The boy opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it again, suddenly feeling foolish.

        “Look,” said the old merman forcefully. And he pointed towards the kingdom; towards the lights spilling from the buildings, and the glittering schools of fish weaving gracefully in and out of the tall towers and low coral houses; towards the beautiful mermaids and mermen rushing to and fro throughout the kingdom and the enormous shadows of whales on the outskirts of the underwater city. From high up on the cliff every individual movement seemed like a cog in the one big movement of the whole kingdom. Each life and action seemed to fit perfectly with everything else.

        The boy sat watching the kingdom, which seemed like one united pulse of colour, movement and breath. He had never seen it this way before.

        “Do you see God now?” asked the old merman gently.

        “Yes,” said the boy, in awe. “I… I never noticed it before. It’s all perfect, isn’t it? Why didn’t I see it before?”

        “When you stop thinking about yourself and how you wish the world would be, you start to see how the world really is. And it’s better than anything that you wished for, isn’t it? Because it doesn’t revolve around you and your ideas; you’re just part of the beautiful flow of it all. Doesn’t that feel good to know?”

        Just then the boy saw the tiny, coloured fish which he had seen earlier that day. It was casually swimming over the rocks, experiencing every moment as it arrived and not expecting anything at all. The boy suddenly realised how much like the tiny fish he’d like to be.

        He laughed. “Yes, it feels wonderful!”

        - Jenni Piech

A 'YES' Face

During Thomas Jefferson's presidency he and a group of travelers were crossing a river that had overflowed its banks. Each man crossed on horseback fighting for his life. A lone traveler watched the group traverse the treacherous river and then asked President Jefferson to take him across. The president agreed without hesitation, the man climbed on, and the two made it safely to the other side of the river where somebody asked him: "Why did you select the President to ask this favor?" The man was shocked, admitting he had no idea it was the President of the United States who had carried him safely across. "All I know," he said, "is that on some of your faces was written the answer 'No' and on some of them was the answer 'Yes.' His was a 'Yes' face."

        - Charles Swindoll

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Growing Good Corn

There once was a farmer who grew award-winning corn. Each year he entered his corn in the state fair where it won a blue ribbon.

        One year a newspaper reporter interviewed him and learned something interesting about how he grew it. The reporter discovered that the farmer shared his seed corn with his neighbors.

        "How can you afford to share your best seed corn with your neighbors when they are entering corn in competition with yours each year?" the reporter asked.

        "Why sir," said the farmer, "didn't you know? The wind picks up pollen from the ripening corn and swirls it from field to field. If my neighbors grow inferior corn, cross-pollination will steadily degrade the quality of my corn. If I am to grow good corn, I must help my neighbors grow good corn."

        He is very much aware of the connectedness of life. His corn cannot improve unless his neighbor's corn also improves.

        So it is with our lives. Those who choose to live in peace must help their neighbors to live in peace. Those who choose to live well must help others to live well, for the value of a life is measured by the lives it touches. And those who choose to be happy must help others to find happiness, for the welfare of each is bound up with the welfare of all.

        The lesson for each of us is this: if we are to grow good corn, we must help our neighbors grow good corn.

        "It is possible to give away and become richer! It is also possible to hold on too tightly and lose everything. Yes, the liberal man shall be rich! By watering others, he waters himself."

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."

        "Dad?"

        "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.

        "Dad?"

        "Yes my son."

        "I love you."

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

        - Diarmuid Cronin

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 most...was...my 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!"

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."

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

right?

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

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

Mr C Was ADOLF HITLER!!!

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......

Pools

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

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.
   

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.

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

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?"
   

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), https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.inspirational.stories.personality.development

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
    

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..."

    

 - Sent from Inspirational Short Stories (android app), https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.inspirational.stories.personality.development

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
        room.
        "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),https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.inspirational.stories.personality.development

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), https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.inspirational.stories.personality.development

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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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), https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.inspirational.stories.personality.development

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
        fence.
        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.