"Kindness is an inner desire that makes us want to do good things even if we do not get anything in return. It is the joy of our life to do them. When we do good things from this inner desire, there is kindness in everything we think, say, want and do."
--Emmanuel Swedenborg
"How far you go in life depends on your being tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving and tolerant of the weak and strong. Because someday in life you will have been all of these."
--George Washington Carver
Click Here to see Susan Boyle's Story from "Britain's Got Talent"
Click Here for the "Two Wolves Poem"
Click Here for my friend Erin's "Inspirational Story"
Click Here for my friend Stephanie's "Inspirational Story"
Click Here for my friend John's "Inspirational Story"
Click Here for Dawn's "Turkey Soup" tribute to our Military
Updated August 30th, 2010
Just Five More Minutes
by: Author Unknown, Source Unknown
While at the park one day, a woman sat down next to a man on a bench near a playground.
“That’s my son over there,” she said, pointing to a little boy in a red sweater who was gliding down the slide.
“He’s a fine looking boy” the man said. “That’s my daughter on the bike in the white dress.”
Then, looking at his watch, he called to his daughter. “What do you say we go, Melissa?”
Melissa pleaded, “Just five more minutes, Dad. Please? Just five more minutes.”
The man nodded and Melissa continued to ride her bike to her heart’s content. Minutes passed and the father stood and called again to his daughter. “Time to go now?”
Again Melissa pleaded, “Five more minutes, Dad. Just five more minutes.”
The man smiled and said, “OK.”
“My, you certainly are a patient father,” the woman responded.
The man smiled and then said, “Her older brother Tommy was killed by a drunk driver last year while he was riding his bike near here. I never spent much time with Tommy and now I’d give anything for just five more minutes with him. I’ve vowed not to make the same mistake with Melissa.
She thinks she has five more minutes to ride her bike. The truth is, I get Five more minutes to watch her play.”
Life is all about making priorities, what are your priorities?
Give someone you love 5 more minutes of your time today!
August 23rd, 2010
Time and Life
Written by Inspirational Poems
Imagine for a moment that there is a bank that credits your account each morning with
$86,400.
It carries over no balance from day to day.
Every evening deletes whatever part of the balance you failed to use
during the day. What would you do? Draw out ALL OF IT, of course!!
Each of us has such a bank. Its name is TIME.
Every morning, it credits you with 86,400 seconds.
Every night it writes off, as lost, whatever of this you have failed to
invest to good purpose.
It carries over no balance. It allows no overdraft.
Each day it opens a new account for you.
Each night it burns the remains of the day.
If you fail to use the day's deposits, the loss is yours.
There is no going back. There is no drawing against the "tomorrow."
You must live in the present on today's deposits. Invest it so as to get
from it the utmost in health, happiness, and success!
The clock is running. Make the most of today.
To realize the value of ONE YEAR, ask a student who failed a grade.
To realize the value of ONE MONTH, ask a mother who gave birth to a
premature baby.
To realize the value of ONE WEEK, ask the editor of a weekly newspaper.
To realize the value of ONE HOUR, ask the lovers who are waiting to
meet.
To realize the value of ONE MINUTE, ask a person who missed the train.
To realize the value of ONE SECOND, ask a person who just avoided an
accident.
To realize the value of ONE MILLISECOND, ask the person who won a silver
medal in the Olympics.
Treasure every moment that you have! And treasure it more because you
shared it with someone special, special enough to spend your time.
And remember that time waits for no one.
Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery.
Today is a gift. That's why it's called the present!!!
August 9th, 2010
A great Hallmark card written by Dorothy R. Colgan
Our lives have taken us
In so many different directions since we became friends,
And yet our friendship has remained a lasting bond
That keeps us from drifting too far apart.
We’ve been there for each other
In good times and bad,
With support and sympathy,
Laughter and love.
As I think about our friendship,
I realize it is one of the things
I cherish most about my life
And today I just wanted
To be sure you knew it, too.
August 1st, 2010
The pickle jar as far back as I can remember sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents' bedroom..
When he got ready for bed, Dad would empty
his pockets and toss his coins into the jar.
As a small boy, I was always fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were dropped into the jar.
They landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty. Then the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar was filled.
I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar to admire the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom window. When the jar was filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and roll the coins before taking them to the bank.
Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production.
Stacked neatly in a small cardboard box, the coins were placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck.
Each and every time, as we drove to the bank, Dad would look at me hopefully. 'Those coins are going to keep you out of the textile mill, son. You're going to do better than me. This old mill town's not going to hold you back.'
Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled coins across the counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would grin proudly. 'These are for my son's college fund. He'll never work at the mill all his life like me.'
We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping for an ice cream cone. I always got chocolate. Dad always got vanilla. When the clerk at the ice cream parlour handed Dad his change, he would show me the few coins nestled in his palm. 'When we get home, we'll start filling the jar again.' He always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar. As they rattled around
with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at each other. 'You'll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters,' he said. 'But you'll get there; I'll see to that.'
No matter how rough things got at home, Dad continued to doggedly drop his coins into the jar. Even the summer when Dad got laid off from the mill,and Mama had to serve dried beans several times a week, not a single dime was taken from the jar.
To the contrary, as Dad looked across the table at me, pouring catsup over my beans to make them more palatable, he became more determined than ever to make a way out for me 'When you finish college, Son,' he told me, his eyes glistening, 'You'll never have to eat beans again - unless you want to.'
The years passed, and I finished college and took a job in another town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone in their bedroom, and noticed that the pickle jar was gone. It had served its purpose and had been removed.
A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser where the jar had always stood. My dad was a man of few words: he never lectured me on the values of determination, perseverance, and faith. The pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more eloquently than the most flowery of words could have done. When I married, I told my wife Susan about the
significant part the lowly pickle jar had played in my life as a boy. In my mind, it defined, more than anything else, how much my dad had loved me..
The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born, we spent the holiday with my parents. After dinner, Mom and Dad sat next to each other on the sofa, taking turns cuddling their first grandchild... Jessica began to whimper
softly, and Susan took her from Dad's arms. 'She probably needs to be changed,' she said, carrying the baby into my parents' bedroom to diaper her. When Susan came back into the living room, there was a strange mist in her eyes.
She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand and leading me into the room... 'Look,' she said softly, her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser. To my amazement, there, as if it had never been removed, stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already covered with coins. I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my pocket, and pulled out a fistful of coins. With a gamut of emotions choking me, I dropped the coins into the jar. I
looked up and saw that Dad, carrying Jessica, had slipped quietly into the room. Our eyes locked, and I knew he was feeling the same emotions I felt. Neither one of us could
speak.
This truly touched my heart. Sometimes we are so busy adding up our troubles that we forget to count our blessings.Never underestimate the power of your actions.
With one small gesture you can change a person's life, for better or for worse..
God puts us all in each other's lives to impact one another in some way. Look for GOOD in others.
The best and most beautiful things cannot be seen or touched - they must be felt with the heart ~ Helen Keller
- Happy moments, praise God.
- Difficult moments, seek God.
- Quiet moments, worship God.
- Painful moments, trust God.
- Every moment, thank God.
July 26th, 2010
Dear Addiction
© Zeb Edington
I’m writing this to you
Telling you were thru
I can’t take you anymore
Don’t know what I liked you for
All you did was wear me out
Now I know what your all about
You came to me with promise and joy
Now look at all the things you destroy
Families, lives, bank accounts you see
You ruined it all with one little tease
Look at the way you make me feel
Then you take it all and want me to steal
Why can’t you just go and hide
Somewhere far away where I’ll never find
Everyone at home don’t understand
How you rip me apart , then lend me a hand
I keep coming back thinking inside
Maybe this time I’ll make you my bride
Then I sit and wonder why
Why do you really want me to die
Thousands and thousands come to you
Hoping and praying you’ll help them thru
Then they fall for your lending hand
Only to realize your nothing but a scam
You promised me heaven and sent me to hell
You ruined my life and then wished me well
Watch me now as I go on my way
I’m washing myself of all of your pain
So you and your power can just leave me be
I’m taking my life and setting it free
Source: Dear Addiction, Inspirational Poems http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/life/poetry.asp?poem=22566#ixzz0uYccBjKF
July 19th, 2010
July 12th, 2010
The Park Bench
Poet: Unkown
Beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree.
Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown,
For the world was intent on dragging me down.
And if that weren't enough to ruin my day,
A young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play.
He stood right before me with his head tilted down
And said with great excitement, "Look what I found!"
In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight,
With its petals all worn - not enough rain, or too little light.
Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to play,
I faked a smile and then shifted away.
But instead of retreating he sat next to my side
And placed the flower to his nose and declared with overacted surprise,
"It sure smells pretty and it's beautiful too.
That's why I picked it; here, it's for you."
The weed before me was dying or dead.
Not vibrant of colors: orange, yellow or red.
But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave.
So I reached for the flower, and replied, "Just what I need."
But instead of him placing the flower in my hand,
He held it mid-air without reason or plan.
It was then that I noticed for the first time
That weed-toting boy could not see he was blind.
I heard my voice quiver; tears shone in the sun
As I thanked him for picking the very best one.
"You're welcome," he smiled, and then ran off to play,
Unaware of the impact he'd had on my day.
I sat there and wondered how he managed to see
A self-pitying woman beneath an old willow tree.
How did he know of my self-indulged plight?
Perhaps from his heart, he'd been blessed with true sight.
Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see
The problem was not with the world; the problem was me.
And for all of those times I myself had been blind,
I vowed to see the beauty in life, and appreciate every second that's mine.
And then I held that wilted flower up to my nose
And breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose
And smiled as I watched that young boy, another weed in hand,
About to change the life of an unsuspecting old man.
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