Two Kinds of Legacy

When you die, your possessions will be distributed according to a will in which you allocated property to specific people. Objects left in a will are called a legacy.
But "legacy" also has a much deeper meaning.
In Jewish tradition, people write "ethical wills" in which they pass on to the next generation, especially their children, the gift of wisdom and good wishes. This legacy is far more profound and permanent than bequests of property.
An ethical will is often a personal letter to the most important people in our lives. It conveys our values, convictions and hopes. An ethical will is also an autobiography - not of events and dates, but of the insights and intuitions that define who we are and tell the world what we stand for and what we think is important.
These documents provide a priceless and prized source of loving advice and can become treasured family heirlooms. Because they are about ethics, they also can become a moral compass that helps loved ones navigate their way to worthy and happy lives.
Yet no matter how highly cherished these letters can be for those who receive them, the process of writing them can change your perspective and cause you to readjust your own priorities.
What would you put in your ethical will? When you can, begin writing down everything you might want to pass on to the people you love. But know this: Once you start, it will be hard to stop as you'll experience a surge of thoughts that will engulf you with all the subconscious beliefs that make you who you are and what you will be.
According to Socrates, the touchstone of wisdom is to first know thyself. Try it, and you'll see why.
Michael Josephson
Speaker and Radio Commentator

The Daffodil Principle

Several times my daughter had telephoned to say, "Mother, you must come and see the daffodils before they are over." I wanted to go, but it was a two-hour drive from Laguna to Lake Arrowhead. Going and coming took most of a day - and I honestly did not have a free day until the following week.
"I will come next Tuesday," I promised, a little reluctantly, on her third call. Next Tuesday dawned cold and rainy. Still, I had promised, and so I drove the length of Route 91, continued on I-215, and finally turned onto Route 18 and began to drive up the mountain highway. The tops of the mountains were sheathed in clouds, and I had gone only a few miles when the road was completely covered with a wet, gray blanket of fog. I slowed to a crawl, my heart pounding. The road becomes narrow and winding toward the top of the mountain.
As I executed the hazardous turns at a snail's pace, I was praying to reach the turnoff at Blue Jay that would signify I had arrived. When I finally walked into Carolyn's house and hugged and greeted my grandchildren I said, "Forget the daffodils, Carolyn! The road is invisible in the clouds and fog, and there is nothing in the world except you and these darling children that I want to see bad enough to drive another inch!"
My daughter smiled calmly, "We drive in this all the time, Mother."
"Well, you won't get me back on the road until it clears - and then I'm heading for home!" I assured her.
"I was hoping you'd take me over to the garage to pick up my car. The mechanic just called, and they've finished repairing the engine," she answered.
"How far will we have to drive?" I asked cautiously.
"Just a few blocks,"Carolyn said cheerfully.
So we buckled up the children and went out to my car. "I'll drive," Carolyn offered. "I'm used to this." We got into the car, and she began driving.
In a few minutes I was aware that we were back on the Rim-of-the-World Road heading over the top of the mountain. "Where are we going?" I exclaimed, distressed to be back on the mountain road in the fog. "This isn't the way to the garage!"
"We're going to my garage the long way," Carolyn smiled, "by way of the daffodils."
"Carolyn, I said sternly, trying to sound as if I was still the mother and in charge of the situation, "please turn around. There is nothing in the world that I want to see enough to drive on this road in this weather."
"It's all right, Mother," She replied with a knowing grin. "I know what I'm doing. I promise, you will never forgive yourself if you miss this experience."
And so my sweet, darling daughter who had never given me a minute of difficulty in her whole life was suddenly in charge - and she was kidnapping me! I couldn't believe it. Like it or not, I was on the way to see some ridiculous daffodils - driving through the thick, gray silence of the mist-wrapped mountaintop at what I thought was risk to life and limb.
I muttered all the way. After about twenty minutes we turned onto a small gravel road that branched down into an oak-filled hollow on the side of the mountain. The fog had lifted a little, but the sky was lowering, gray and heavy with clouds.
We parked in a small parking lot adjoining a little stone church. From our vantage point at the top of the mountain we could see beyond us, in the mist, the crests of the San Bernardino range like the dark, humped backs of a herd of elephants. Far below us the fog-shrouded valleys, hills, and flatlands stretched away to the desert.
On the far side of the church I saw a pine-needle-covered path, with towering evergreens and manzanita bushes and an inconspicuous, lettered sign "Daffodil Garden."
We each took a child's hand, and I followed Carolyn down the path as it wound through the trees. The mountain sloped away from the side of the path in irregular dips, folds, and valleys, like a deeply creased skirt.
Live oaks, mountain laurel, shrubs, and bushes clustered in the folds, and in the gray, drizzling air, the green foliage looked dark and monochromatic. I shivered. Then we turned a corner of the path, and I looked up and gasped. Before me lay the most glorious sight, unexpectedly and completely splendid. It looked as though someone had taken a great vat of gold and poured it down over the mountain peak and slopes where it had run into every crevice and over every rise. Even in the mist-filled air, the mountainside was radiant, clothed in massive drifts and waterfalls of daffodils. The flowers were planted in majestic, swirling patterns, great ribbons and swaths of deep orange, white, lemon yellow, salmon pink, saffron, and butter yellow.
Each different-colored variety (I learned later that there were more than thirty-five varieties of daffodils in the vast display) was planted as a group so that it swirled and flowed like its own river with its own unique hue.
In the center of this incredible and dazzling display of gold, a great cascade of purple grape hyacinth flowed down like a waterfall of blossoms framed in its own rock-lined basin, weaving through the brilliant daffodils. A charming path wound throughout the garden. There were several resting stations, paved with stone and furnished with Victorian wooden benches and great tubs of coral and carmine tulips. As though this were not magnificent enough, Mother Nature had to add her own grace note - above the daffodils, a bevy of western bluebirds flitted and darted, flashing their brilliance. These charming little birds are the color of sapphires with breasts of magenta red. As they dance in the air, their colors are truly like jewels above the blowing, glowing daffodils. The effect was spectacular.
It did not matter that the sun was not shining. The brilliance of the daffodils was like the glow of the brightest sunlit day. Words, wonderful as they are, simply cannot describe the incredible beauty of that flower-bedecked mountain top.
Five acres of flowers! (This too I discovered later when some of my questions were answered.) "But who has done this?" I asked Carolyn. I was overflowing with gratitude that she brought me - even against my will. This was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
"Who?" I asked again, almost speechless with wonder, "And how, and why, and when?"
"It's just one woman," Carolyn answered. "She lives on the property. That's her home." Carolyn pointed to a well-kept A-frame house that looked small and modest in the midst of all that glory.
We walked up to the house, my mind buzzing with questions. On the patio we saw a poster. "Answers to the Questions I Know You Are Asking" was the headline. The first answer was a simple one. "50,000 bulbs," it read. The second answer was, "One at a time, by one woman, two hands, two feet, and very little brain." The third answer was, "Began in 1958."
There it was. The Daffodil Principle.
For me that moment was a life-changing experience. I thought of this woman whom I had never met, who, more than thirty-five years before, had begun - one bulb at a time - to bring her vision of beauty and joy to an obscure mountain top. One bulb at a time.
There was no other way to do it. One bulb at a time. No shortcuts - simply loving the slow process of planting. Loving the work as it unfolded.
Loving an achievement that grew so slowly and that bloomed for only three weeks of each year. Still, just planting one bulb at a time, year after year, had changed the world.
This unknown woman had forever changed the world in which she lived. She had created something of ineffable magnificence, beauty, and inspiration.
The principle her daffodil garden taught is one of the greatest principle of celebration: learning to move toward our goals and desires one step at a time - often just one baby-step at a time - learning to love the doing, learning to use the accumulation of time.
When we multiply tiny pieces of time with small increments of daily effort, we too will find we can accomplish magnificent things. We can change the world.
"Carolyn," I said that morning on the top of the mountain as we left the haven of daffodils, our minds and hearts still bathed and bemused by the splendors we had seen, "it's as though that remarkable woman has needle-pointed the earth! Decorated it. Just think of it, she planted every single bulb for more than thirty years. One bulb at a time! And that's the only way this garden could be created. Every individual bulb had to be planted. There was no way of short-circuiting that process. Five acres of blooms. That magnificent cascade of hyacinth! All, just one bulb at a time."
The thought of it filled my mind. I was suddenly overwhelmed with the implications of what I had seen. "It makes me sad in a way," I admitted to Carolyn. "What might I have accomplished if I had thought of a wonderful goal thirty-five years ago and had worked away at it 'one bulb at a time' through all those years. Just think what I might have been able to achieve!"
My wise daughter put the car into gear and summed up the message of the day in her direct way. "Start tomorrow," she said with the same knowing smile she had worn for most of the morning. Oh, profound wisdom!
It is pointless to think of the lost hours of yesterdays. The way to make learning a lesson a celebration instead of a cause for regret is to only ask, "How can I put this to use tomorrow?"
Jaroldeen Asplund Edwards

Don't Let Life Get In The Way Of Your Life

The memories are so very clear. We had just put the final touches; the last giant cubes of marble and concrete were setting in. It didn't matter that they were really big rocks and chunks of dirt and mud on the walls. What a magnificent structure! No Indians, no Cavalry, no Kings Men and no Attila the Hun could storm these walls. My friends and I had built this magnificent fort to withstand any assault from our imaginary enemies. It never occurred to us that this fortress, this pillar of strength could crumble at any moment. It had taken us days to build but they were wonderful days. The sun was blistering hot. July days in southern Ohio would get that way. The Great Miami River sparkled in the distance as we slaved and struggled to build this edifice to engineering. Of course we didn't know that's what we were building but that's what my memory of those days has etched in my dreams. We had built something that nobody else had ever built and we'd defend it to the last man; or 8 year old boy. Life was so exciting back then and this fort represented all that was good. And then the rains came. Two days of torrential rain and the river kept rising and the insurmountable, the un-breachable fort was gone, carried away in the deluge. Dreams were destroyed that week in 1953 but they would appear again. We just didn't realize it at the time. It didn't cross our minds that we were actually learning one of the basics of an adventuresome life. Nothing lasts forever
It's interesting how memories and dreams sustain us as we grow older. Life often becomes what we want it to be based on those dreams of long ago. Sadly, we too often forget to live those dreams and we forget that anything is possible in a dream.
I've always been a bit of a dreamer so those memories of long ago have stayed with me as if they happened yesterday. That doesn't mean it hasn't rained on my forts just a few times. Those memories have helped me rebuild many forts and continue to do so today. Forts though get bigger, stronger and harder to rebuild as we get older but they don't disappear. They just take more work. I've learned over these many years that those rebuilt forts have led to the greatest lessons I've ever experienced. These are the lessons that make life worthwhile, more challenging and satisfying than almost all of the other lessons combined. I like to describe them as just one of many rebirths.
My youngest daughter had just gotten married a few weeks prior to me visiting the Dr. in May of 1998. This wasn't a comfortable visit but it was one where I pretty much knew what the outcome would be. As a runner and avid weight lifter I knew right away the signs of a hernia and thus my visit to the Dr. Little did I know that this visit would change my life and it would never be the same.
Over the next couple of weeks I was told that my kidneys were down to about 25% functioning and I soon required emergency surgery on my hernia. I was forced to delay the original hernia surgery due to the kidney issue. The prognosis I was given set the stage for life altering events that would take me in a direction I had never dreamed. The lessons I would learn would change me in ways that were unimaginable before that day. I would never be the same.My fort was being destroyed by torrents of bad news. My internal fortress was washed away, seemingly to never be found again.
Thus was my introduction to one of the most life altering moments in my fifty plus years and the beginning of a journey that continues even today. It's strange how these forts we build in our lives can crumble overnight. We think we can withstand anything and then the unexpected storm happens and the walls come tumbling down. What we do at that point creates the defining moments in our lives. Who we are and what we are made of screams out at us to make a statement and be heard. Whether we do or not attests to our makeup and sets the stage for making those dreams come true or letting them wash away with the turmoil.
For me it wasn't traumatic or even frightening. It was more like a slap across the face when I wasn't quite ready. Have you ever had a slap like that? A slap that hits you square in the face when you least expect it. It usually happens when we aren't looking with the painfully delivered message that life was changing forever. I had kidney disease and I actually lost my breath. My fort had failed to keep out the enemy. My walls crumbled and the invaders were close at hand. I was facing hand to hand combat and I didn't even have a weapon; or did I?
That was June of 1998 and I had just come through a pretty stressful few months. I lost my mother, mother-in-law and brother-in-law all between the first week in October, 1997 and Christmas. My youngest daughter had just gotten married in May, 1998 and I had just completed one of the most lucrative consulting assignments I'd had since starting my business in 1992. To say my life was turned upside down was an understatement. I almost didn't know what to deal with first, my grief over losing my loved ones, my joy over my daughter's marriage, my elation that my business had finally taken off or the crash of a life altering illness. It was a lot to deal with but as I look back, I realize that this 8 month period of time would define my life from that point forward. I now know why we say, everything happens for a reason. I now truly understand my purpose in life. Kidney disease pushed me over the hump and forced me to see more clearly what I needed to do and that i t was not as difficult or confusing as I had always made it. What I finally found was the direction I'd searched for most of my life and that direction was forward. All the trials and tribulations, all the struggles and setbacks, all the losses and seeming failures in life as well as the victories and happy times were simply a part of life. My fort could be rebuilt just like that one many years earlier. Why hadn't I seen it before?
We all have our forts destroyed at some time in our lives. Many of those forts aren't all that big or strong and some, like mine don't fall so easily but when they do, we need a plan to rebuild. We need to think clearly and rationally and believe in our hearts that it was just a structure. It had a foundation and walls and rooms that were pieces of a life well lived but it didn't have to have a roof. It didn't have to have a ceiling that stopped us. When we realize this, we're on our way to success. So how do we rebuild those forts? We keep our wits and think things through.
We slow down and analyze the problem. Overreaction can be the death of any good plan.
We act. We do something. Procrastination never accomplishes anything.
We logically move forward, one step at a time.
We believe that this is the beginning of a new chapter in life and it may very well be the best one.
I read one time where it's never too late to become what we might have been. Don't let your life get in the way of your life. It's just not all that complicated.
Jim Dineen

The Pages Long Forgotten

Mike stepped into the used bookstore, smelled the age of old pages and smiled.
Here was a wealth of old stories, history waiting to be read, and a host of other joys. On a back shelf, he found what he was looking for, two tiers crammed with the forgotten. They'd served their use to those who once held them dear, but now gathered dust in the darkest corner of the store.
There were Italian, American, French and Greek. They contained secrets from around the world. There were collections of chicken, beef, pastries, bread, and desserts. They waited, hidden in a little explored part of the store, and hoped someone discovered their treasures.
Mike knew what to do. He picked one up, held the spine in his hand and let the book fall open. They always opened to the most used pages, the recipes loved by lost generations. The page in front of him was for a recipe called, "Beef-filled cornbread". The picture showed a delicious layer of meat and cheese, layered with cornbread and covered with a hot sauce. The pages were stained with splatters of tomato sauce. It was obviously a favorite of the previous owners. He'd try this one.
Those used the most are the best.
He found several other books, each with its own marked pages, carried them to the counter and made his purchase.
"I hope you found something you like." The cashier said.
"Oh yes. Very much! I'm sure these are exactly to my taste."
He paid for his purchase, left the store and carried them in a bag on his way to work.
In the locker room, he placed his books on the top shelf and changed into his scrubs. The recipes would wait. He had a duty.
Freshly dressed, he walked his floor. "Hello, Mrs. Smith!" He smiled at the elderly lady sitting in the sun-room reading a book. In her day, she must have been a beautiful woman. She still was, for a woman in her eighties. "How was your day?"
"Horrible!" she growled. He sat beside her, held her hand and looked into her eyes. "My grandson didn't visit me," she continued. "He promised me he'd be here today." She adjusted her shawl and tried to hide the tears about to spill from her wizened eyes.
"Maybe tomorrow." he replied. "You know how busy these young people are." He noted the tear in the corner of her eye and changed subject. "Mrs. Smith, didn't you tell me you lived during the great depression?"
A smile came to her face. "Oh, yes. What a time that was. There was no work, ya know. But we survived."
"How did you get by?"
"Well, we all worked together. Everyone worked together. We helped each other." She frowned. "It's not like today, where people are too busy to worry about anyone but themselves. In those days, we worked together. If you didn't, you starved."
"It must have been a hard time, Mrs. Smith. I don't know how you did it."
"I didn't." she grinned. "We did. We did it together, the neighbors and my family."
He left her smiling and hoped her grandson paid a visit the next day.
He moved down the hall and stepped into Mr. Walker's room. "Hey, Walk! How's things?" He used the name Walk, as all the others in the center called him. It made Walk feel comfortable.
Mr. Walker looked up from a puzzle he leaned over. "Could be better, Mike. This damn puzzle has me stumped. These eyes aren't what they used to be."
"I know, Walk. Just take your time. There's no rush."
"There is too." Walk chuckled. "I need to finish it before I die."
"Not too soon I hope." Mike said.
"Soon enough. Be glad not to have to work on this darn thing anymore anyway. Say! Have I told you about the guy who walks into a bar with a giraffe under his arm?"
Mike chuckled. Walk loved a good joke. "I don't believe you have."
Walk's face broke out in a smile. "You see, this guy walks into a bar with a giraffe under his arm. He has a few beers. The giraffe falls asleep on the floor. The bartender looks down, sees the giraffe and asks, 'What's that lying on the floor?'
"The guy says, 'That's not a lion! That's a giraffe.'"
Walk broke into a laugh that turned into a coughing spell. Mike slapped him on the back. "Come on, Walk. Cough it up."
Walk got himself under control. "Thought I wasn't going to finish this damn puzzle after all."
"You're OK now. I got your back."
I know about covering someone's back." Walk sat straight his seat. "I was in WWII ya know."
"I heard that. Did you have a hard time?" Mike asked.
"Mike, you have no idea. It was the winter of '41, or was it '42. I can't remember now. Snow was up to here." Walk pointed to his thigh. "We were on the front. The enemy was close ."
Thirty minutes later, Mike said, "WOW! That's a story, Walk." He paused. "Walk, I knew you were in the war, but I don't think I ever thanked you. I want to say, 'Thank you.' You made us safe."
"Ah, stop it. It was nothing." Walk turned to his puzzle, too embarrassed to continue their talk. He and others knew what they did, but don't want to take credit. It's an unspoken rule between the veterans. They did what they had to.
Mike continued on his rounds, held hands, shared hugs and listened.
Here they were, like the cookbooks, sitting in dark corners, ignored. Mike knew what to do. He held them, let their hearts fall open, and found the pages stained with use.
They are the most valued. They are the pages long forgotten.
Michael T. Smith

Daring to Take Risks

The first time anything new and creative is proposed, it gets labeled. And the label put on these novel things is likely to be "risky." Can't you just hear it?
"Let me get this straight, Orville. You and Wilbur are building a machine that will do what? Heavier-than-air flying machines are the riskiest hoax anybody ever palmed off on two gullible boys like you Wrights. Get a real job!"
Or maybe it was somebody's harebrained idea of talking pictures, black and white children attending the same school, or people walking on the moon. More than one person was berated simply for giving voice to such "silly" ideas.
It turns out that some of the people who dared to propose such outlandish possibilities are now regarded as geniuses - revolutionaries - heroes. And it was only because they dared to question others and to question themselves. They challenged the limitations others were willing to take for granted.
There is something in your profession or business, your family or church that could be done better. A situation could be more productive. A relationship could be healthier. An objective could be clarified. Some lofty ideal to which all in the group give lip service could actually be implemented. But I warn you up front: Like restoring a car or house, it will take twice as long as you thought, cost far more than you anticipated, and strain every important relationship in your life!
Only you can decide if it will be worth it to undertake something so ambitious and costly. There will be false starts. There will be embarrassing mistakes along the way. But the potential outcome could be as important to your personal situation as the achievements of the Wright brothers, Rosa Parks, and Neil Armstrong were to their time and place.
The problem with our world is not that there are no more frontiers to challenge and conquer. It's that there are too few explorers. There are too few people willing to ask the obvious questions and challenge the traditional wisdom. In a word, too few of us want to take the risks that could make us look stupid.
If you are fortunate enough to have a dream in your heart, be willing to make mistakes in pursuit of it. Be a risk-taker. You just might change the world.
Rubel Shelly
Rubel Shelly is a Preacher and Professor of Religion and Philosophy located in Rochester Hills, Michigan. In addition to church and academic responsibilities, he has worked actively with such community projects as Habitat for Humanity, American Red Cross, From Nashville With Love, Metro (Nashville) Public Schools, Faith Family Medical Clinic, and Operation Andrew Ministries.

Nice True Story- the boy who never gave up!!

This is a beautiful and touching story of love and perseverance. Well
worth the read.

At the prodding of my friends I am writing this story. My name is
Mildred Honor and I am a former elementary school music teacher from Des
Moines , Iowa . I have always supplemented my income by teaching piano
lessons - something I have done for over 30 years.

During those years I found that children have many levels of musical
ability,and even though I have never had the pleasure of having a
prodigy, I have taught some very talented students. However, I have also
had my share of what I call 'musically challenged' pupils - one such
pupil being Robby..

Robby was 11 years old when his mother (a single mom) dropped him off
for his first piano lesson. I prefer that students (especially boys)
begin at an earlier age, which I  explained to Robby. But Robby said
that it had always been his mother's  dream to hear him play the piano,
so I took him as a student.

Well, Robby began his piano lessons and from the beginning I thought it
was a hopeless endeavour. As much as Robby tried, he lacked the sense of
tone and basic rhythm needed to excel. But he dutifully reviewed his
scales and some elementary piano pieces that I require all mystudents to
learn.
Over the months he tried and tried while I listened and cringed and
tried to encourage him. At the end of each weekly lesson he would always
say 'My mom's going to hear me play someday'. But to me, it seemed
hopeless, he just did not have any inborn  ability.

I only knew his mother from a distance as she dropped Robby off or
waited in her aged car to pick him up. She always waved and smiled, but
never dropped in.

 

Then one day Robby stopped coming for his lessons.. I thought about
calling him, but assumed that because of his lack of ability he had
decided to pursue something else. I was also glad that he had stopped
coming - he was a bad avertisement for my teaching!

Several weeks later I mailed a flyer recital to the students' homes.To
my surprise, Robby (who had received a flyer) asked me if he could be in
the recital. I told him that the recital was for current pupils and that
because he had dropped out, he really did not qualify. He told me that
his mother had been sick and unable to take him to his piano lessons,
but that he had been practicing. 'Please Miss Honor, I've just got to
play' he insisted. I don't know what led me to allow him to play in the
recital - perhaps it was his insistence or maybe something inside of me
saying that it would be all right.

The night of the recital came and the high school  gymnasium was packed
with parents, relatives and friends. I put Robby last in the program,
just before I was to come up and thank all the students and play a
finishing piece. I thought that any damage he might do would come at the
end of the program and I could always salvage his poor performance
through my 'curtain closer'.

Well, the recital went off without a hitch, the students had been
practicing and it showed. Then Robby came up on the stage. His clothes
were wrinkled and his hair looked as though he had run an egg beater
through it.
'Why wasn't he dressed up like the other students?'  I thought 'Why
didn't his mother at least make him comb his hair for this special
night?' Robby pulled out the piano bench, and I was surprised when he
announced that he had chosen to play Mozart's Concerto No. 21 in C
Major. I was not prepared for what I heard next. His fingers were light
on the keys, they even danced nimbly on the ivories. He went from
pianissimo to fortissimo, from allegro to virtuoso; his suspended chords
that Mozart demands were magnificent!
Never had I heard Mozart played so well by anyone his age.

After six and a half minutes he ended in a grand crescendo, and everyone
was on their feet in wild applause! Overcome and in tears, I ran up on
stage and put my arms around Robby in joy. 'I have never heard you play
like that Robby, how did you do it?' Through the microphone Robby
explained: 'Well, Miss Honor .... remember I told you  that my mom was
sick? Well, she actually had cancer and passed away this morning. And
well ..... she was born deaf, so tonight was the first time she had ever
heard me play, and I wanted to make it special.'

 

There wasn't a dry eye in the house that evening. As the people from
Social Services led Robby from the stage to be placed in to foster care,
I noticed that even their eyes were red and puffy. I thought to myself
then how much richer my life had been for taking Robby as my pupil. No,
I have never had a prodigy, but that night I became a prodigy ...... of
Robby. He was the teacher and I was the pupil, for he had taught me the
meaning of perseverance and love and believing in yourself, and may be
even taking a chance on someone and you didn't know why.

Robby was killed years later in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P
Murray Federal Building in Oklahoma City in April,  1995.

Lessons Learned From Merlin Written December 23, 2003

For the last hour, I've been scuffling about my kitchen in my oversized UGG slippers (it's not a hazard as long as I don't try the stairs), whipping up a sugar cookie recipe that requires a full pound of Crisco, and wondering how in the world I'm going to write this year's Christmas novella.
For those of you who've been the recipient of said novella for the last - uh - 18 years or so, I'm well aware that last year's Armitage family Christmas letter was conspicuously missing. I just can't possibly let you down again, heaven forbid, but HOW do I explain this year's proceedings?
I'm going to start with an event that occurred today. It's not meant to be morbid and it IS directly connected to one of the more memorable events of my year, so kindly bear with me.
Today, Merlin came home to me by way of a UPS truck. If you haven't heard already, my beloved, forever shedding Great Pyrenees partner in crime these last 11 years passed on to another form of life on December 8th. He died because half of his heart had given out, proving my suspicions from his puppyhood that he, like the Whoville Grinch, had a heart that was simply several sizes too big.
After I kissed his nose for the last time, I arranged to have his ashes delivered to me, which was supposed to take a day or two at most. Instead, they called me yesterday (14 days later) to tell me they'd accidentally tried to deliver him to another family and that he was still on the UPS truck, on his way to me this time. Today, true to form, a sweating UPS truck driver sprinted to my door with Merlin solidly lodged under his arm.
As I carried Merlin (in his new state) upstairs, I couldn't help but chuckle. Nothing in the entire world caused greater gnashing-of-teeth for Merlin than the UPS truck and its attached men in brown. It was the only single thing that taunted him into trampling down fences and sprinting for blocks down rush-hour traffic streets. and here's how he ended up, lodged in the bowels of the evil incarnate monster itself (AND during the holiday season to boot) in herkyjerky, stop-and-go fashion for two full weeks.
That, my friend, is Karma. Take it from Merlin: If you're chasing after anything in life with some level of misdirected anger, that very thing will likely get the better of you in the end.
That being said, I'll give Merlin credit for helping me maintain misdirected anger over the last 11 years - even this last year. Merlin was a high-spirited, conniving creature who liked to skitter around on his tippy-toes and create instant wainscotting in every home by sliding drooly, dirty tennis balls along the wall. But he'd also follow me from room to room when he knew I was upset until I'd finally flump down and throw my arms around him. He loved me unconditionally with great warmth and a giving soul that knew no other way to be. And that was a lesson I did, indeed, learn from Merlin.
This last year didn't start well. As the New Year began, I found myself struggling with a business I didn't really like, and paying rent I didn't really want to pay anymore. So, 'round about March, Merlin and I had a talk and decided to stop with the misdirected anger and start creating a better story.
And so we did. As I say in all the stuff I write, "If you don't like the situation you're in, recognize you created it and fix it." It was time to take my own medicine. Mer and I drove all around the town of Laguna in my little convertible until we found our new home. With the move made in March to a lovely place just a block from the beach, I then tackled the not liking-my-business issue with grim determination. Fact is, if you're not doing what you love to do every day, you're cheating yourself. I knew there were too many good and exciting people out there to work with and as I focused on THIS fact, those very people started coming in the door.
It wasn't until July that I got up the nerve to e-mail the one person I wanted to work with most - my most favorite past client. This client and I have tried and failed at working together twice before, and hitting that initial "SEND" button this time around wasn't easy. Ten minutes later, however, we were on our way to working together again and now we're back on track and working quite harmoniously. I delight in what I do every day for this man's company. It's not easy and it's got its tenuous, warbly-chin, pounding headache moments. But, I delight in it. Pure and simple as that. It's supposed to be that simple, I believe.
On a connected note - I've also "happened" upon a couple solid web programming teams, both of which are quite capable of handling all my client urgencies. What I find most amazing about these web teams is that I was very solidly prepared to NOT like working with them after all the experiences I'd had through the years with not-so-great programming teams. But, again, it's all about focusing on what I want to expand, not on what I don't want to expand. Fortunately, somewhere along the way, I also realized that chasing programmers down rush-hour streets while barking my fool head off was only going to succeed in getting ME killed - yet another lesson I learned from Merlin, who always and eventually gave up the chase with a shrug.
On the opposite end of the work spectrum, I somehow ended up in an outrigger canoe club on the wild ocean this summer. How a landlocked Denver girl ever found her way to jumping in and out of a Hawaiian-style 6-man canoe is something I still can't quite fathom myself, much less explain to anyone else. My friend, Deb, a fellow spin-class victim, made me promise to try it and, after my first grudging day, I was hooked. Line and sinker, I might add.
What I thought would be something kind of friendly and social and interactive. like a bowling league on Monday nights. turned out to be a highly competitive 7-month season that entailed a minimum of 15-hours of weekly practice and full days of racing just about every weekend. I was the "stroker" - the Seat #1 gal - for my novice team and we happily and surprisingly won more than we lost. In August, we were imported into the "big girls' boats" - the gals who'd been paddling for years. In our last race of the season, we paddled 31 miles to Catalina Island in about 4 hours.
Aside from this odd sport opening up a host of uncommon injuries and new battle scars, the sport also opened up a whole new community of fun, athletic people to me - people from all walks of life who never would have crossed my path otherwise. This, coupled with my ever-lasting and loving friends in Denver and around the continent, my burgeoning group of wonderful friends from spin class, and my growing community of buddies and neighbors in this small town of Laguna Beach has made for a most enjoyable and busy year. I can't say I remember enjoying myself so much - ever.
So, here I sit on Christmas Eve's Eve with Merlin perched on my lap. (This must be nirvana for Merlin - he is, at last, a lap dog.) And his lessons are here in my head:
. If you chase after something in anger, it will find a way to bite you back.
. Be sure to follow your closest friends from room to room when you know they're upset.
. Give generously of your warmth and soul. You've got more where that came from.
. Be the first to press the "SEND" button when you haven't talked to someone in a while.
. If you're trying to chase something off because it seems like a threat to you, it might be better to stop, shrug and give it up.
. Delight in your days. It's supposed to be that simple.
. And lastly, never lose sight of your family and friends. They're the home you want to return to, even if the only way to get there is by UPS truck.
Diane Armitage

White Envelopes

It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so.

It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas. Oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it, overspending , the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma, the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else.

Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way. Our son, Kevin, who was 12 that year was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended, and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church.

These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in the spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes. As the match began I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat. Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish one of them could have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them." Mike loved kids, all kids, and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse.

That's when the idea of his present came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting good s store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition, one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on. The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents. As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesn't end there.< /font>

You see we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more.

Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope. Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us.

Nancy W. Gavin

This story is a true story and inspired four siblings from Atlanta, GA to start The White Envelope Project, a nonprofit organization dedicated to promoting this tradition and charitable giving. The White Envelope Project founders are regularly in touch with the family in the article and are thrilled to have their support. The Gavin family and now thousands of others continue to celebrate the "white envelope" tradition each year. For more information about The White Envelope Project or to honor a loved one through a "white envelope" gift this year, please visit their website:www.WhiteEnvelopeProject.org

** True Story of Rudolph**

A man named Robert L. May, depressed and brokenhearted,
stared out his drafty apartment window into the chilling
December night.

His 4-year-old daughter Barbara sat on his lap quietly
sobbing.

Bobs wife, Evelyn, was dying of cancer.

Little Barbara couldn't understand why her mommy
could never come home. Barbara looked up into her
dad's eyes and asked, "Why isn't Mommy just like
everybody else's Mommy?"

Bob's jaw tightened and his eyes welled with tears.

Her question brought waves of grief, but also of anger.
It had been the story of Bob's life. Life always had to
be different for Bob.

Small when he was a kid, Bob was often bullied by
other boys.

He was too little at the time to compete in sports.
He was often called names he'd rather not remember.
From childhood, Bob was different and never seemed
to fit in.

Bob did complete college, married his loving wife and
was grateful to get his job as a copywriter at Montgomery
Ward during the Great Depression. Then he was blessed
with his little girl. But it was all short-lived. Evelyn's bout
with cancer stripped them of all their savings and now Bob
and his daughter were forced to live in a two-room
apartment in the Chicago slums. Evelyn died just days
before Christmas in 1938.

Bob struggled to give hope to his child, for whom he
couldn't even afford to buy a Christmas gift. But if he
couldn't buy a gift, he was determined a make one - a
storybook!

Bob had created an animal character in his own mind
and told the animal's story to little Barbara to give her
comfort and hope.

Again and again, Bob told the story, embellishing it
more with each telling.

Who was the character? What was the story all about?

The story Bob May created was his own autobiography
in fable form. The character he created was a misfit
outcast like he was.

The name of the character? A little reindeer named
Rudolph, with a big shiny nose.

Bob finished the book just in time to give it to his little
girl on Christmas Day.

But the story doesn't end there.

The general manager of Montgomery Ward caught
wind of the little storybook and offered Bob May a
nominal fee to purchase the rights to print the book.
Wards went on to print, "Rudolph the Red-Nosed
Reindeer" and distribute it to children visiting Santa
Claus in their stores.

By 1946, Wards had printed and distributed more than
six million copies of Rudolph.

That same year, a major publisher wanted to purchase
the rights from Wards to print an updated version of
the book.

In an unprecedented gesture of kindness, the CEO of
Wards returned all rights back to Bob May.

The book became a best seller.

Many toy and marketing deals followed and Bob May,
now remarried with a growing family, became wealthy
from the story he created to comfort his grieving daughter.

But the story doesn't end there either.

Bob's brother-in-law, Johnny Marks, made a song
adaptation to Rudolph.

Though the song was turned down by such popular
vocalists as Bing Crosby and Dinah Shore , it was
recorded by the singing cowboy, Gene Autry.

"Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" was released in
1949 and became a phenomenal success, selling more
records than any other Christmas song, with the
exception of "White Christmas."

The gift of love that Bob May created for his daughter
so long ago kept on returning back to bless him again
and again. And Bob May learned the lesson, just like
his dear friend Rudolph, that being different isn't so
bad. In fact, being different can be a blessing.

* MERRY CHRISTMAS 2010*

God Bless You All,

Darlene

It Must Be Raining

The images flash across my television screen as I sit there in the comfort of my home.

"It's that time of year again," I thought to myself.

Then realizing how foolish that was to say, I sat up in my chair and watched closer.

The news reporter was telling the story of one of many food banks in our area that were serving those in need of the basics for the holidays.

This particular place had both food and clothing. Food for the body and warm second hand coats for children.

"It's that time of year again," replayed in my mind.

I meant that throughout the holidays we see such reports over and over, unlike the other 11 months when the same people are hungry, in need of clothing, basic services and a little help with life.

Maybe I said it because I was becoming numb to it all, like watching the same commercials a hundred times.

I was about to feel the real impact of it all.

I was sitting at the counter having breakfast at a local diner the next day.

It's a small "quaint" place. Local people, husband and wife cook and serve.

A man walked in and sat next to me. There is little elbow-room as it is and he was a big fellow.

On top of the milk dispenser is a small television placed there for both the customers enjoyment and the owners when things get slow.

It just so happened that the news was on and once again that same report on the food bank.This time it included more information and a few interviews of some of the people who participated.

There was a little girl looking through the coats. The reporter asked her if she found something that fit.

She turned toward the camera and smiled. She flipped her soft brown hair up over the collar as she pulled and tugged at the front to make sure it would zipper properly.

"I like this store. Mommy said I could have any coat I wanted, but I'm getting this one for my friend. Her daddy won't come here. Mommy says he's too proud. Whatever that means. All I know is Mandy needs a coat."

Out of the corner of my eye I could see the man next to me lower his head. Without looking up he fumbled for a napkin and began to wipe his eyes.

"Incredibly sad, isn't it?" I said.

He didn't respond.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yes," he said quietly.

"Hey, don't feel bad, I've shed many tearsthrough the holidays for those who don't have nearly as much as I and I am in no way financially set for life," I told him.

"I'm a writer. I live on my dreams," I added.

He turned toward me. I could still see the dampness of tear filled eyes. He raised his hand to his chest and pointing at himself he said..."I'm Mandy's father. That's the first I've seen that. The little girl goes to school with my daughter."

Oh, my god! My chest tightened, my hands shook and I shared in his tears.

"It must be raining," he joked.

We spoke for a few more minutes about how he felt and what he needed to do. Turns out he's unemployed for more than a year now and doing odd jobs to pay bills.

We said our goodbyes and I approached the register.

I whispered that I wanted his check.

"He only gets coffee," she said.

"Well, here.This is for my meal, his coffee and tell him this is for Mandy. He'll understand."

Many years ago I spoke at my friend's church in Atlanta, The Ark of Salvation. A woman came up to me and said God told her to give me everything she had in her wallet.I was shaken by the thought and began to refuse it.Things were better for me back then. I couldn't justify what she offered.

God spoke to me as I listened to her explain.

"It isn't very much, but Godsaid that it would multiply. Please take it."

I did.I shared the story with Nathaniel Bronner, the pastor of the church and he smiled assuring me I did the right thing.

It was $57. I always carry it with me until this very day.I give it away and replace it. It has indeed multiplied many times.

God is an amazing God Who has never failed to replace that $57 each and every time I use it.

I turned to walk away and another man sitting at the counter grabbed my arm and said..."I overheard your conversation with that man. I'll help him, too."

He then wiped his eyes and said, "He's right. It must be raining."

Bob Perks

Resolving To Finish Strong

Resolving To Finish Strong By John C. Maxwell

I once heard that 91 million Americans make New Year's Resolutions, but that 70 million Americans break those commitments within a week! Going to a health club seems to confirm the stats. During the first week of January, gyms are packed. All of the treadmills are in use, people are lining up for a turn on the exercise equipment, and it's hard even to find a parking space. Yet, by about the third week of January, you can park in the space nearest the front door and exercise on any machine that suits your preference. What happens between January 1st and January 21st? People demonstrate their unwillingness to finish.

Character, discipline, sacrifice, tenacity-these qualities aren't stylish, but they are sure-fire ingredients for any leader who wishes to finish strong. As we enter the final month of the calendar year, I encourage you to make the most of the remaining weeks in 2010. Live and lead in December so that you'll end this year on a high note and cruise into the New Year with positive momentum.

CHARACTER

Emotions are unreliable allies. One moment they propel us forward, while the next minute they impede our progress. People guided primarily by emotion must feel good before doing right. They make popular choices, choosing whichever route is most convenient. They are concerned about protecting their rights instead of taking care of responsibilities, and they are easily discouraged by adversity.

Emotion might drive us to make a decision, but character, or discipline, is what keeps us going when the journey gets hard. A person with character makes decisions on principle, not on the basis of what is popular. He or she honors commitments instead of catering to convenience. High-character, disciplined individuals work steadily regardless of circumstance, creating their own momentum by dint of a steady work ethic.

SACRIFICE

Being a finisher requires recurring instalments of sacrifice, not a one-time payment. Sacrifice is a leader's constant companion. As influencers, we must give up to go up, ever exchanging our rights for greater responsibility.

I believe most people expect to pay a price to achieve their goals. Yet, many people seem to have a vague concept of sacrifice, viewing it as something distant or far-off. Consequently, when their goals demand a significant investment, people are bewildered and resist giving up anything. If you desire to finish strong, you will need to sacrifice earlier than expected and to give up more than is comfortable.

TENACITY

Pierre and Marie Curie had made 487 experiments to try to separate radium from pitchblende. All had failed. "It can't be done; it can't be done," Pierre Curie lamented. "Maybe in a hundred years it can be done, but never in our lifetime." Madame Curie replied, "If it takes a hundred years it will be a pity, but I dare not do less than work for it so long as I have life." Madame Curie's tenacity goaded the scientists into making another attempt and opened the door to new scientific discovery.

Tenacity means quitting only when the job is done, not when you're tired. Much of life is spent labouring in the trenches. To reach the finish line, you must wade through tedious details, take care of thankless tasks, and tie up thousands of loose ends. Most people tire along the way, settle for second-best, and stop before reaching their goals. However, a select few push on, refusing to stop until they've taken hold of their dreams.

John C. Maxwell

Thank-you!!

A lot of people don't Say Thank-you enough!! I don't mean to a person, but yo everything that has come into your life. It maybe a Friend, clothing on your back, the roof over your head, someone giving you advice, your health, your next meal, your transportation, ways of of communication. Since Today is Thanksgiving..lets all be thankful. Not just for today, but everyday for the rest of our lives!!

Two words that can change your life!!

Today, be grateful. Be grateful for you favorite music , for movies that you feel good, for your phone that connects you with people, for your computer, and for the electricity that lights up you life. Be grateful for air travel that flies you everywhere. Be grateful for the roads and the traffic lights that keep the traffic in order. Be grateful to those who built our bridges. Be grateful for your loved ones, for your child, for you pet, for you eyes that enable you to read this. Be grateful for your imagination. Be grateful that you can think. Be grateful that you can speak. Be grateful that you can laugh and smile. Be grateful that you can breathe. Be grateful that you are alive! Be grateful that you are You!
Be grateful that there are two words that can change your life, and say then over and aver again.
Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
- the Secret

"I Wish You Enough!"

(c) 2001 Bob Perks
I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright.
I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more.
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive.
I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
I wish you enough "Hello's" to get you through the final "Goodbye."

"I hope your box is empty!"

It was on the sixteenth day of the 12th month celebrating his 75th birthday when he decided it was time.

Having been happily married, raising three boys, and continuing with great success, the family business handed down from generations before him, this now frail man had to make a decision.

His health had not been good over the past few years and the stress of keeping the business on course was beginning to wear on him.

The challenge was in deciding which one of his sons would take his place.

Each boy had the experience. Each one was capable of helping it grow in the future.

But each had different personal values.

As they gathered together to celebrate Father's birthday, he quietly pulled them aside from the rest of the family to announce his retirement.

"Father, I can't imagine a day without you as the head of the business," one said.

"We are sure to falter without you, but you deserve some rest," another said.

"You are this company," the last chimed in.

Then there was an uneasy silence. Surely the question playing on their minds was "who would take his place?"

The old man turned and walked toward the corner of the room where there were three boxes.

"Come, each of you take one of these boxes. They are of equal size. By the first day of the new year when we return here to celebrate, I want each of you to bring your box filled

with what you believe to be the most valuable assets of this business. Based on your choices, I will decide who will take over as the chairman," father said.

There was much grumbling, confusion and discussion as father left the room.

During the next 15 days the families and employees could sense a strong competitive spirit between the boys. One carried the box nearly everywhere he went. Another ran from department to department asking for records and inventories. The third simply

left the box at his desk.

It was January 1st and the family had once again gathered to celebrate. Right after dinner father called the boys aside.

"Well, it is time. Please share with me what you have placed in your box," father said.

The first son, eager to outdo the others, jumped to his feet and began sharing.

From the box he pulled the business ledger, saying "This father, is the true measure of our success. There is no greater representation than the bottom line."

"Simple and direct," father said.

Pointing to the second son, he asked for him to share.

"Where is your box?" father asked.

"It is outside on the back of truck. The box you gave me was much too small. I have ten of our employees out there ready to bring in each of the items I have gathered."

Father walked to the window and from that distance could see his son had gathered many of his own personal possessions; a boat hitched to the back, collections of rare art, antiques and what appeared to be two uniformed guards standing next to a large box.

"What is in the box?" fathered asked.

"My wife's jewels," the son replied. "Shall I order them to bring them in?"

"No! I have seen enough," father said.

With a deep sigh and tone of sadness, he said to the last son, "What valuables do you have to share?"

The son rose to his feet and handed his father the box.

The old man looked inside and with great shock and surprise looked up at his son.

"It's empty!" father said. "Are you telling me that you have found nothing of value in the family business?"

"To the contrary," he said. "What I found most valuable I could not place in a box, on the back of a thousand trucks, or scribbled on the bottom line of a ledger."

Father's face lit up as he returned to his chair.

"How does one measure the value of commitment, quality, honesty, and trustworthiness? What size box would hold the loyalty of our employees and customers? Would the charities we supported through the years fit into the largest trucks in our fleet? How big of an auditorium would I need to gather the families of our coworkers who have benefited from our generous pay and health plan? Where would I place the local companies we have committed to deal with so that the community we live in stays strong?

Finally, father, the most valuable possessions I personally hold are the love of you and mother, family values, your wisdom, compassion and love of God. Look again inside that box. They are not there. The result of all of that is here standing before you."

It was clear what decision was made that day.

There will come a time when each of us will be asked by our Father to share what we value most.

I hope your box is empty.

Bob Perks

We are Blessed!

We may not always feel this way, but we are blessed! We are blessed with things that may take for granted from time to time, such as love, friendship, an abundance of food, a home, and, most of all, a God above who watches over us and loves us.

I cannot find a truer word,
nor better, to address you!
No song, nor poem I have written,
is sweeter than, "God bless you."

God bless you! Thus I've wished you
all that Christians joy possesses,
for there can truly be no joy
unless, indeed, God Blesses.

God bless you! So I Breathe a charm
lest grief's dark night oppress you,
for how can sorrow bring you harm,
if it's God's way to bless you.

And so thought all your earthly days
may shadows touch you never,
but if they should. God's blessing
will keep you safe forever.
-AUTHOR UNKNOWN

Today I Will Make A Difference

Today I will make a difference. I will begin by controlling my thoughts. A person is the product of his thoughts. I want to be happy and hopeful. Therefore, I will have thoughts that are happy and hopeful. I refuse to be victimized by my circumstances. I will not let petty inconveniences such as stoplights, long lines, and traffic jams be my masters. I will avoid negativism and gossip. Optimism will be my companion, and victory will be my hallmark. Today I will make a difference.

I will be grateful for the twenty-four hours that are before me. Time is a precious commodity. I refuse to allow what little time I have to be contaminated by self-pity, anxiety, or boredom. I will face this day with the joy of a child and the courage of a giant. I will drink each minute as though it is my last. When tomorrow comes, today will be gone forever. While it is here, I will use it for loving and giving. Today I will make a difference.

I will not let past failures haunt me. Even though my life is scarred with mistakes, I refuse to rummage through my trash heap of failures. I will admit them. I will correct them. I will press on. Victoriously. No failure is fatal. It's OK to stumble...I will get up. It's OK to fail...I will rise again. Today I will make a difference.

I will spend time with those I love. My spouse, my children, my family. A man can own the world but be poor for the lack of love. A man can own nothing and yet be wealthy in relationships. Today I will spend at least five minutes with the significant people in my world. Five quality minutes of talking or hugging or thanking or listening. Five undiluted minutes with my mate, children, and friends.

Today I will make a difference.

Max Lucado
From "On The Anvil"

One Giant Leap

It was a Monday night in October 2008 when I felt a strange pain inside my chest. My body was telling me something and I needed to listen. For five years, I had been a top dog at a major coaching company. I had a prestigious title, got a ton of recognition, coached incredible people, and was making good money even as the U.S. economy was sliding down the tubes without touching the sides. The problem was that I no longer felt aligned with the company energetically. Okay, I am being nice. The truth was that the company had dismal direction from its owners and it was extremely painful to work there. This was a pathetic, sad, fear-based environment, and I felt like I had zero integrity staying. All the prestige, recognition, and money may have satisfied my ego, but they meant nothing to my body and soul. That's why I felt like I was manifesting a cancerous tumor. Though this was the first time my body had reacted so intensely, in my heart I knew I was in a dead-end situation for a few years. Even so, I stayed. I stayed call after call, hour after hour, day after day, week after week, month after month, and year after year even though it didn't feel good at all. Why did I stay so long in a situation that felt so bad? Why did I stay when I could not change it and saw that it would only get a lot worse? Quite simply, I stayed out of fear. At that time, I did not have a solid backup plan in place. I had recently started my own coaching business "on the side," but it was barely producing any income. As I dreamed more often of being the master of my destiny, my excitement level would rise, but then doubt would kick in to discourage me. "I must be crazy even to consider jumping ship in a bad economy!" Back and forth I went for months wrestling over the decision, with my ties to money and security winning out over my desire and my self-respect taking a nose dive. I'd take small steps forward, and then halt in my tracks wondering, "How is this going to work?" I had no idea back then how to answer that question. Still, the moment I felt the awful feeling in my body, I knew what I had to do. My fear was being overridden by my biology. I completed all my coaching calls for the week, then called my employer and respectfully quit. I decided my life was too valuable to do that job anymore. I remember thinking that if I lost every dime I had on pursuing my passion and building my own business it would not matter. With that, I took a giant leap of faith into an uncharted abyss. And I have to tell you, it was the most amazing thing I ever did! The feeling was exhilarating. The pain in my body vanished. Looking back, I realized that by quitting I was simply practicing what I preach. I took the advice I had been giving to my clients and did it. The organization did not feel good and feeling good has got to be a top priority in life and in business. Since I couldn't change the way that company was going to feel, I had to get out. More importantly, I wanted, no needed, to stretch my wings and see what I could accomplish using the skills and insights I'd been honing in a way that would be a win-win-win-doing what I loved every day, creating financial freedom for myself, and being insanely happy making a difference for other people. After a well-deserved vacation, I went ahead and created a vision of what I wanted and how I could make the difference that I felt I was here to make. In my heart and gut I knew there was so much more for me to do in life. I had a crazy amount of energy, passion, and love inside me that was ready to explode like a nuclear bomb. I knew my life's purpose was to be of service and that coaching was the vehicle. Fortunately that much had become clear to me at my old J-O-B. Next, I took action-and lots of it. I immediately improved my website. I created products that could be sold online. I developed alliances and set up joint ventures. I built up my email database. I offered free coaching calls to get new clients. Truthfully, I worked my butt off for several months in a row. Also, I worked on myself. I exercised intensively, stepped up my nutrition, and worked daily to strengthen my self-confidence. I knew my success was contingent upon both what I was doing and who I was being as a person. I evaluated my past choices to see where my life had turned in a wrong direction, discovering in the process that every job I'd taken in the past was a "safe" one that guaranteed me the lifestyle I wanted, even though the price had been selling my passion short. Today I feel fortunate that the energy of my former job was so draining that I was forced out of the situation. If the dynamic had been better I probably would not be on the path I am on now. By the time I took my giant leap, I was ready to take control of my life and begin making a huge contribution. I was ready to create a situation in which I would not know the difference between work and play. I was also done making other people wealthy while I put my own dreams on hold. I was no longer concerned about what people might think or say about my choices. I was ready to find real happiness, end toleration, and live life at the highest level possible. I was ready to live the life I wanted and deserved. For me, passion is a lifestyle. My life is about having balance and earning as much as possible in as little time as possible so I have time to take of myself and to focus on the most important relationships in my life. Nothing makes me happier than creativity. My days include shooting videos for my blog, writing books, and developing content for my next teleseminar. The rest of the time, I am sitting on the beach "working" on my tan while devising the master plan for my business. Listen, I don't claim to know too much, but I do know one thing: none of us are getting out of this game alive. We are going to die one day. So we really need to ask, when are we going to really live? Why do we stay in situations we don't love? In my case, I stayed because of fear. But as soon as I made the decision to leap, as soon as I just said, "This is the move I am making," that fear melted away. I took one giant leap. and the net appeared. Rich German- Monetize Your Passion

Having My Baby!!

My kids have grown up so fast!! I was watching Glee and when this song was played..It reminded me of my Husband how proud he was each time I was carrying his baby... This song gave me flash back with the man I love. I hope this song bring you joy as it did to me!! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sjlud1P4iUg