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
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Monday, April 4, 2011
Conquering the Stairs
Have you ever let fear conquer you? Well today, you're going to read about an amazing dog who helped me overcome mine.
Caspian was a new addition to my household. He had shown up in the front yard of my 100 year old Virginia farmhouse one early morning. He was skin and bones, covered with ticks, fleas and sores, and had been shot - his skinny body riddled with buckshot. I took one look at this pathetic animal and told him he was home.
It took weeks of vet treatments, baths and many bowls of food, but he finally began to look like a dog that was going to make it. His bones began to disappear, his coat took on a shine, and he became my constant shadow to show his appreciation for me saving his life. He was always with me - except when I went upstairs to my office.
My home had a wide expanse of wooden stairs that led to the 2nd floor. Caspian was terrified of them. It didn't matter what I did to build his confidence, or what wonderful tidbit of food I tempted him with, he refused to climb those stairs. He would just cower at the bottom stair and shake all over whenever I got him near them. Yet when I went up to my office, he was overcome with despair at being separated from me and laid at the bottom whimpering and whining.
I had no idea what had created this fear, and I had even less of an idea of how to conquer it. After two weeks of daily attempts, I finally gave up. If he didn't want to climb the stairs - so be it. But my only defense from his pitiful whining was to turn the music up any time I needed to be in my office. When I would leave my office and come downstairs, Caspian would erupt with frantic joy to be reunited once again.
About a month into this pattern, I was awakened one morning by a noise. I lay in bed trying to identify what it was.
Click, click, click. Silence. Click, click, click. Silence.
It kept on for close to fifteen minutes before my curiosity finally overwhelmed my desire to stay under the warm covers. I threw aside my quilt, grabbed a robe and went out to investigate. When I identified the source of the noise, I just stood there with my mouth wide open.
I watched as Caspian carefully climbed the stairs. Click, click, click. He got to the top, turned around, and then started back down. Click, click, click.
When he got to the bottom, he turned and gazed at me as if to say, It's really no big deal. I can do this!
And then he did it again, and again, and again. at least 25 more times - after already having done it for 15 minutes before I finally came to investigate.
I watched his confidence grow with each ascent and descent of the "dreaded stairs." His tongue hung out in joy and at the end his tail was wagging is triumph over his fears. He knew he would never again have to be separated from me because of the stairs.
I already loved him, but that day I gained an incredible respect for his courage and resilience. I was also challenged about what I was willing to do to overcome my fears. Was I willing to stare my fears in the face and then take the steps to overcome that fear? Was I willing to feel the fear, and then do it anyway? Was I willing to attack my fears, for as long as it took to overcome them? I made a lot of decisions that day that have given me a much richer life - and I have Caspian to thank for it!
So now I pose the same questions to you: Are you willing to stare your fears in the face and then take the steps to overcome them? Are you willing to feel the fear, and then do it anyway? Are you willing to attack your fears for as long as it takes to overcome them?
Every time you are faced with a fear, try to remember a courageous dog that was able to conquer his fears with love and determination - and then follow his lead. All of us are afraid of something in our lives. There is no shame in being afraid. The key to victory, however, is to face your fear head on and do whatever it takes to overcome it. You can let your fears stop you from achieving all you want in life, or. you can follow Caspian's lead and conquer the stairs!
Ginny Dye
Caspian was a new addition to my household. He had shown up in the front yard of my 100 year old Virginia farmhouse one early morning. He was skin and bones, covered with ticks, fleas and sores, and had been shot - his skinny body riddled with buckshot. I took one look at this pathetic animal and told him he was home.
It took weeks of vet treatments, baths and many bowls of food, but he finally began to look like a dog that was going to make it. His bones began to disappear, his coat took on a shine, and he became my constant shadow to show his appreciation for me saving his life. He was always with me - except when I went upstairs to my office.
My home had a wide expanse of wooden stairs that led to the 2nd floor. Caspian was terrified of them. It didn't matter what I did to build his confidence, or what wonderful tidbit of food I tempted him with, he refused to climb those stairs. He would just cower at the bottom stair and shake all over whenever I got him near them. Yet when I went up to my office, he was overcome with despair at being separated from me and laid at the bottom whimpering and whining.
I had no idea what had created this fear, and I had even less of an idea of how to conquer it. After two weeks of daily attempts, I finally gave up. If he didn't want to climb the stairs - so be it. But my only defense from his pitiful whining was to turn the music up any time I needed to be in my office. When I would leave my office and come downstairs, Caspian would erupt with frantic joy to be reunited once again.
About a month into this pattern, I was awakened one morning by a noise. I lay in bed trying to identify what it was.
Click, click, click. Silence. Click, click, click. Silence.
It kept on for close to fifteen minutes before my curiosity finally overwhelmed my desire to stay under the warm covers. I threw aside my quilt, grabbed a robe and went out to investigate. When I identified the source of the noise, I just stood there with my mouth wide open.
I watched as Caspian carefully climbed the stairs. Click, click, click. He got to the top, turned around, and then started back down. Click, click, click.
When he got to the bottom, he turned and gazed at me as if to say, It's really no big deal. I can do this!
And then he did it again, and again, and again. at least 25 more times - after already having done it for 15 minutes before I finally came to investigate.
I watched his confidence grow with each ascent and descent of the "dreaded stairs." His tongue hung out in joy and at the end his tail was wagging is triumph over his fears. He knew he would never again have to be separated from me because of the stairs.
I already loved him, but that day I gained an incredible respect for his courage and resilience. I was also challenged about what I was willing to do to overcome my fears. Was I willing to stare my fears in the face and then take the steps to overcome that fear? Was I willing to feel the fear, and then do it anyway? Was I willing to attack my fears, for as long as it took to overcome them? I made a lot of decisions that day that have given me a much richer life - and I have Caspian to thank for it!
So now I pose the same questions to you: Are you willing to stare your fears in the face and then take the steps to overcome them? Are you willing to feel the fear, and then do it anyway? Are you willing to attack your fears for as long as it takes to overcome them?
Every time you are faced with a fear, try to remember a courageous dog that was able to conquer his fears with love and determination - and then follow his lead. All of us are afraid of something in our lives. There is no shame in being afraid. The key to victory, however, is to face your fear head on and do whatever it takes to overcome it. You can let your fears stop you from achieving all you want in life, or. you can follow Caspian's lead and conquer the stairs!
Ginny Dye
Saturday, March 26, 2011
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
Saturday, March 12, 2011
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
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
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
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
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
Sunday, February 13, 2011
She Never Left My Side
"PUUUSH...PUUUSH," I called out to my friend, but it appeared that there was no use in trying anymore. My car was stuck in the mud and I was on a double date. Being a 16 year old boy, I wanted to make a good impression on my pretty and intelligent date. However, hearing the motor rev with the car still stuck in the mud did not earn "brownie points" for my friend or me in the eyes of our dates.
We continued to push and push, but there was no getting my car "unstuck" from the mud. Sharon, my date, was revving the car's engine while Jeff and I were pushing and pushing. Finally, I said, "Enough!" Embarrassed, I approached Sharon as she sat behind the wheel of my mother's red station wagon. Before I could speak I noticed the gear on the car: IT WAS SET ON "NEUTRAL!"
I set the gear to "drive," instructed Sharon to wait until I gave her the signal to press down on the accelerator, and then went back to help Jeff push the car out of the mud.
That was our first date. Even though it resulted in my getting mud on my slacks, Sharon caused me to have love in my heart. I was "stung" by the Love Bug.
Sharon and I dated seriously throughout high school. I went away to college as Sharon was finishing her senior year in high school. Our love, which was blooming, was only matched in size by our long-distance telephone bills.
The next year, Sharon joined me at the University of Texas. We were so happy. We thought we were at the top of the world. We thought our lives were set. That was true until that eventful evening when in a split second our lives changed forever.
On February 18, 1981, we were studying at the library of the University. It was late and Sharon told me that she had to return to her dormitory to go to sleep. We slid into my car and headed toward her dorm, but, unfortunately, my gas gauge was registering "empty." I pulled into a nearby convenience store, borrowed $2 from Sharon, and walked into the store to pay for the gas.
Things do not always work out as one plans them. Unfortunately, the store was in the midst of a robbery, and one of the thieves forced me into the cooler. He followed me, pushed me to the floor, and calmly shot me in the back of the head -- execution style!
The story does not end there. Yes, the criminal thought I was dead; thus eliminating any witness to the crime. However, when the thieves left the store, I still had a faint pulse.
Very few people believed I would remain alive much longer. That is why the police transferred my case to the Homicide division. That is also why the neurosurgeon when he was awakened at his home to see me at the hospital came quickly but returned home as he believed an operation would be futile.
However, when the doctor returned to the hospital in the morning, he was shocked to see that I was still alive. He told my parents that an operation was necessary, but he added that he would be surprised if I survived the surgery.
I fooled all of the medical experts and survived the surgery. However, the surgeon warned my parents that even though I was still breathing I would probably never be able to communicate with anyone or understand anyone who was attempting to communicate with me. Basically, the surgeon stated, I would be "a vegetable."
Hearing those words, my father told Sharon, "Get on with your life."
Sharon quickly replied, "Mike is my life."
Even though we were not yet married, Sharon believed in the vows, "in sickness and in health." She dropped out of college for one semester to be with me at the Rehabilitation Hospital in Houston where I was eventually transferred. Sharon was spending her time with her "drooling boyfriend in the hospital" while other college freshmen were spending their time at parties.
Eventually, Sharon returned to Austin to continue her college education. Once again we had enormous phone bills.
My goal was to also return to Austin, to the University of Texas, to be with Sharon. Eighteen months after no one thought I would survive, I accomplished that goal. One of the primary reasons was ... Sharon; my love, who refused to give up or give in.
Four years after returning to college I graduated. For me, that meant I could finally propose to Sharon, my light at the end of the dark tunnel. She was the one who would always encourage me to look forward and not to focus on the past.
On a beautiful day in May, Sharon and I exchanged vows and were married. We were meant to be together. We had dated for nine long and eventful years, but I realized at the wedding that it was worth everything. Sharon was truly my soulmate.
We have been married for many years and we have a beautiful daughter, Shawn. We have experienced so much -- some bad, but more, much more, good.
This is not merely a "love letter" to my wife. Rather, it is the story of a girl's overcoming everyone's "rational" thoughts to stay behind with her critically injured boyfriend. To me that shows what kind of woman Sharon is--a beauty both inside and out. Further, it shows the lesson of never giving up on one's dreams. I give Sharon all the credit for my recovery--not me. I don't know where I would be without her--definitely not where I am today.
Sharon, I love you so very much.
Michael Segal, (c)2003 all rights reserved
We continued to push and push, but there was no getting my car "unstuck" from the mud. Sharon, my date, was revving the car's engine while Jeff and I were pushing and pushing. Finally, I said, "Enough!" Embarrassed, I approached Sharon as she sat behind the wheel of my mother's red station wagon. Before I could speak I noticed the gear on the car: IT WAS SET ON "NEUTRAL!"
I set the gear to "drive," instructed Sharon to wait until I gave her the signal to press down on the accelerator, and then went back to help Jeff push the car out of the mud.
That was our first date. Even though it resulted in my getting mud on my slacks, Sharon caused me to have love in my heart. I was "stung" by the Love Bug.
Sharon and I dated seriously throughout high school. I went away to college as Sharon was finishing her senior year in high school. Our love, which was blooming, was only matched in size by our long-distance telephone bills.
The next year, Sharon joined me at the University of Texas. We were so happy. We thought we were at the top of the world. We thought our lives were set. That was true until that eventful evening when in a split second our lives changed forever.
On February 18, 1981, we were studying at the library of the University. It was late and Sharon told me that she had to return to her dormitory to go to sleep. We slid into my car and headed toward her dorm, but, unfortunately, my gas gauge was registering "empty." I pulled into a nearby convenience store, borrowed $2 from Sharon, and walked into the store to pay for the gas.
Things do not always work out as one plans them. Unfortunately, the store was in the midst of a robbery, and one of the thieves forced me into the cooler. He followed me, pushed me to the floor, and calmly shot me in the back of the head -- execution style!
The story does not end there. Yes, the criminal thought I was dead; thus eliminating any witness to the crime. However, when the thieves left the store, I still had a faint pulse.
Very few people believed I would remain alive much longer. That is why the police transferred my case to the Homicide division. That is also why the neurosurgeon when he was awakened at his home to see me at the hospital came quickly but returned home as he believed an operation would be futile.
However, when the doctor returned to the hospital in the morning, he was shocked to see that I was still alive. He told my parents that an operation was necessary, but he added that he would be surprised if I survived the surgery.
I fooled all of the medical experts and survived the surgery. However, the surgeon warned my parents that even though I was still breathing I would probably never be able to communicate with anyone or understand anyone who was attempting to communicate with me. Basically, the surgeon stated, I would be "a vegetable."
Hearing those words, my father told Sharon, "Get on with your life."
Sharon quickly replied, "Mike is my life."
Even though we were not yet married, Sharon believed in the vows, "in sickness and in health." She dropped out of college for one semester to be with me at the Rehabilitation Hospital in Houston where I was eventually transferred. Sharon was spending her time with her "drooling boyfriend in the hospital" while other college freshmen were spending their time at parties.
Eventually, Sharon returned to Austin to continue her college education. Once again we had enormous phone bills.
My goal was to also return to Austin, to the University of Texas, to be with Sharon. Eighteen months after no one thought I would survive, I accomplished that goal. One of the primary reasons was ... Sharon; my love, who refused to give up or give in.
Four years after returning to college I graduated. For me, that meant I could finally propose to Sharon, my light at the end of the dark tunnel. She was the one who would always encourage me to look forward and not to focus on the past.
On a beautiful day in May, Sharon and I exchanged vows and were married. We were meant to be together. We had dated for nine long and eventful years, but I realized at the wedding that it was worth everything. Sharon was truly my soulmate.
We have been married for many years and we have a beautiful daughter, Shawn. We have experienced so much -- some bad, but more, much more, good.
This is not merely a "love letter" to my wife. Rather, it is the story of a girl's overcoming everyone's "rational" thoughts to stay behind with her critically injured boyfriend. To me that shows what kind of woman Sharon is--a beauty both inside and out. Further, it shows the lesson of never giving up on one's dreams. I give Sharon all the credit for my recovery--not me. I don't know where I would be without her--definitely not where I am today.
Sharon, I love you so very much.
Michael Segal, (c)2003 all rights reserved
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Courtesy Is Kindness in Action
As a society we have become almost obsessed with identifying and asserting our rights - to think, say, and do what we want. That's not surprising, given the history of our country and the prominent role the Constitution and Bill of Rights have played in shaping our culture.
We have a right to be unkind, thoughtless, and disrespectful - but it isn't right. Ralph Waldo Emerson pointed out, "Life is short but there is always time for courtesy."
The idea is to act in ways that make the people we are dealing with feel valued. Courtesy is kindness in action.
It starts with good manners - saying please, thank you, and excuse me. But real courtesy involves more thoughtful ways of showing respect. Courtesy is a form of kindness. It matters how we address people and how we greet them, as well as how we eat, talk, and cough in their presence.
Courtesy involves remembering important occasions, buying thoughtful gifts, and sending personal thank-you notes.
Making people feel important is part of courtesy, so it's important to remember that whether or not people remember what we say or do, they do remember how we made them feel.
Make eye contact, truly listen, and show genuine interest in the lives of others by asking them questions and remembering their answers. A good start is to keep in mind H. Jackson Brown's insight: "Everyone you meet is afraid of something, loves something, and has lost something."
Always be kinder than necessary because you can never be too kind.
Michael Josephson
We have a right to be unkind, thoughtless, and disrespectful - but it isn't right. Ralph Waldo Emerson pointed out, "Life is short but there is always time for courtesy."
The idea is to act in ways that make the people we are dealing with feel valued. Courtesy is kindness in action.
It starts with good manners - saying please, thank you, and excuse me. But real courtesy involves more thoughtful ways of showing respect. Courtesy is a form of kindness. It matters how we address people and how we greet them, as well as how we eat, talk, and cough in their presence.
Courtesy involves remembering important occasions, buying thoughtful gifts, and sending personal thank-you notes.
Making people feel important is part of courtesy, so it's important to remember that whether or not people remember what we say or do, they do remember how we made them feel.
Make eye contact, truly listen, and show genuine interest in the lives of others by asking them questions and remembering their answers. A good start is to keep in mind H. Jackson Brown's insight: "Everyone you meet is afraid of something, loves something, and has lost something."
Always be kinder than necessary because you can never be too kind.
Michael Josephson
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Nice True Story- the boy who never gave up!!
This is a beautiful and touching story of love and perseverance. Well
worth the read.
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!
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.
Friday, December 24, 2010
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
Saturday, December 18, 2010
** 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
Friday, December 17, 2010
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
Saturday, December 4, 2010
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
Friday, December 3, 2010
200 Feet At A TimeI
I have the great pleasure of working with young people. They are so full of promise and potential as they stand at the threshold of their adult lives.
Sometimes, though, I'll see a young person struggle with the belief that before they set out for their dream they must first know the precise plan to follow and its exact outcome.
Part of the work I do is to help such a person understand that not knowing is OK; it's not even necessary. And I help them realize that their unique gift is always right there with them; though they might have a little trouble recognizing it. Because sometimes it looks very different than what they were expecting.
That was certainly the case for me...
"You! A model??... You're kidding, right?"
As if it was yesterday, I can still remember the stunned look on her face as I gathered up my courage and admitted my dream to a close high school friend.
But I wasn't kidding. Not only would I become a model, but I had every intention of becoming the world's next supermodel (though I decided that moment probably wasn't the best time to share this particular detail with my friend).
In fairness to her, I should say that most people would have been hard pressed to share my vision. I was by anyone's account less than, shall we say, "glamorous".
Actually I was about as far away from glamorous as one could get. Yes, I was taller than everyone I knew, including the boys in my school. But I was also rail thin, freckle-faced, with frizzy hair and braces. Oh, and did I mention awkward and painfully shy?
No matter. I knew I was going to 'make it'; it was only a question of time. How I would make it was something else entirely. The truth was, I had no idea how I would get from my small town school to the covers of the world's top fashion magazines.
But therein lies the true power of pursuing your dream. It begins with seeing your destination clearly and starting to move towards it, even if you can't say for sure how you will reach it.
Bob Proctor has compared this to driving in a car on a dark night and I agree. All you can ever see is 200 feet at a time by the glow of the headlights, but that's enough to advance you the next 200 feet, and so on all the way to your destination.
Sometimes you may take a fork in the road and discover that your destination changes as a result, and that's OK too. In fact if my name is not a household word today, that's because my own destination changed along the way.
Don't misunderstand-I fully expected to be the world's next supermodel and I did all I knew how towards that end. But early on I realized one crucial fact-I'm not particularly photogenic. And when it comes to supermodels, being very photogenic is pretty much 'Square One'.
The 'light of my headlights' had brought me to the awareness that I would not be an international cover girl. This was a blow to both my ego and my plans. But because I had begun the 'drive', I was about to discover something about myself I hadn't realized beforehand.
My 'fork in the road' presented itself to me a while later in San Francisco, where I was attempting to get a modeling job, or 'booking'-any booking-in print work. I would have been happy to appear in a flyer for the local car wash, but no client seemed to want me.
Then one day Calvin Klein himself came to town to put on a gala fashion show at the San Francisco Opera House. He brought with him several models from New York, but he was holding a casting to select a few local models as well.
Any girl in San Francisco who called herself a model was there, including the most successful and in demand print models I was trying so hard to emulate.
I remember my interview with Calvin Klein. He was smiling and gracious. He asked me to try something on and walk for him, and I did. Then, I watched as his smile grew wider and he booked me on the spot!
And then came the evening of the show. Everything changed for me on that runway. I felt totally natural, at ease and inspired there. I could sense that I had found my 'true place'.
Afterwards people came backstage and asked me where I'd learned to walk like that. I answered, "I don't know!" and it was true. I didn't know because I'd never done it before!
All this time I'd been trying with all my might to be a cover girl when it was now clear to me that runway was my gift. But I never would have known that had I not believed in my original dream and started moving towards it as best I could, '200 feet at a time'.
Soon afterwards I moved to Europe where, unlike San Francisco, 'high fashion' was the look and the runway market was very strong. I went first to Milan and then to Paris, where I still live today.
Ultimately I became an international high fashion runway model, working with top designers such as Armani, Dior, Yves Saint Laurent, Versace, and many others. I enjoyed a fantastic career spanning more than a decade.
I traveled to over 50 countries and have done shows before royalty and heads of state. I met some of the world's most interesting and fascinating people; some of them rich and famous, some completely unknown but rich in other ways.
And I got the education of a lifetime.
None of this would have happened if I had been 'stuck' on just one possible outcome and continued to try and become a top international cover girl at all costs. As Ken Keesey Jr. says "To be upset about what we don't have is to waste what we do have."
Each of us has what I call a 'Unique Package'; that singular combination of our unique inner and outer selves. And through that package comes our gifts.
Discovering what our gifts are and then expressing and sharing them is what we're all here for. There are no 'better' sets of gifts and talents. They are all needed. We are all needed.
Or as the French say, "Il faut de tout pour faire un monde," which translated means, "It takes everyone to make a world."
The dream you have inside is not there by accident. There's a reason it's calling to you.
I firmly believe that if you'll step onto the path of your dream, always giving your best, the Universe will step up and meet you more than half way.
And even if your destination changes, as did mine, I can promise you this: You will definitely have more, do more and above all be more, for having made the journey.
Kim Luret
Thursday, November 25, 2010
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!!
Monday, November 8, 2010
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
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
Saturday, October 30, 2010
"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 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."
Friday, October 29, 2010
"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
Thursday, October 7, 2010
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
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
Friday, September 24, 2010
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"
Sunday, September 5, 2010
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 |
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