In kindergarten, your idea of a good friend was the person who let you have her red crayon when all that was left was the ugly black one.
In the first year of school, your idea of a good friend was the person who went to the bathroom with you and held your hand as you walked through the scary halls.
In the second year of school, your idea of a good friend was the person who helped you stand up to the class bully.
In the third year of school, your idea of a good friend was the person who shared her lunch with you because you'd left yours on the bus.
In the fourth year of school, your idea of a good friend was the person who was willing to switch partners in the science lab so you wouldn't have to be stuck with Nasty Nick or Smelly Susan.
In the fifth year of school, your idea of a good friend was the person who saved a seat at the back of the bus for you.
In the sixth year of school, your idea of a good friend was the person who went up to your new crush and asked him to dance with you, so that if he said no, you wouldn't be embarrassed.
In the seventh year of school, your idea of a good friend was the person who let you copy the Moral Studies homework the night before that you had to hand it in.
In the eighth year of school, your idea of a good friend was the person who helped you pack up your stuffed animals and old toys, but didn't laugh at you when you finished and broke into tears.
In the ninth year of school, your idea of a good friend was the person who would accompany you to a party thrown by a senior so you wouldn't be the only junior there.
In the 10th year of school, your idea of a good friend was the person who changed her schedule so you would have someone to sit with at lunch.
In the 11th year of school, your idea of a good friend was the person who gave you rides in her new car, convinced your parents that you shouldn't be grounded, consoled you when you broke up with your beau, and found you a date to the prom.
In the 12th year of school, your idea of a good friend was the person who helped you pick out a college/university, assured you that you would get a place there; and helped you deal with your parents, who were having a hard time letting you go.
At graduation, your idea of a good friend was the person who was crying on the inside but managed the biggest smile one could give as she congratulated you.
At the end-of-year party after the 12th year of school, your idea of a good friend was the person who helped you clean up the house; assured you that now that you and your beau were back together, you could make it through anything; helped you pack up for university and silently hugged you as you looked through blurry eyes at the 18 years of memories you were leaving behind; then sent you off to college knowing you were loved.
Now, your idea of a good friend is still the person who gives you the better of two choices; hold your hand when you're scared; helps you fight off those who try to take advantage of you; thinks of you at times when you're not there; reminds you of what you have forgotten; helps you put the past behind you but understands when you need to hold on to it a little longer; stays with you so that you will have confidence; goes out of her way to make time for you; helps you clear up your mistakes; smiles for you even when she is sad; helps you become a better person; and, most importantly, loves you!
Sent to Starmag by Charmed
Thursday, June 24, 2010
The Test
Part 1
John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose.
Blanchard's interest in her had begun 13 months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with its words, but with the notes pencilled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell.
With time and effort he located her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II.
During the next year and one month, the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding.
Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting - 7pm at the Grand Central Station in New York. "You'll recognise me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel."
So at the appointed time, he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen. I'll let Blanchard tell you what happened:
"A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose.
"As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. 'Going my way, sailor?' she murmured. Almost uncontrollably, I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell.
"She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own.
"And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful.
"I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment.
"'I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me. May I take you to dinner?'
"The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. 'I don't know what this is about, son,' she answered, 'but the young lady in the green suit who just went by begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!'
"It is not difficult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive."
Sent to Starmag by Regina Chin on the 15th January 2006
*According to the urban legends reference website, snopes.com, this story was originally published in a 1943 issue of Collier's magazine, and its author is S.I. Kishor. It first appeared on the internet in 1996.
"Tell me whom you love," Houssaye wrote, "And I will tell you who you are."
Part 2
Her Side of the Story
On Jan 15, we ran a fictional story about how John Blanchard met Hollis Maynell at Grand Central Station in New York - he honourable ignored a beautiful young woman to greet the older woman he thought was his dream penpal only to be told to go after the younger woman after all. But things were not as they seemed ... here is Hollis' version of what happened.
I'm too old to be doing something this silly," I thought to myself while in the taxi. It was heading toward Union Station, where I would meet John Blanchard for the first time.
My interest in John first started when I received a letter from him, about four months after the death of my husband. It was April, 1944.
The war had claimed my husband. Perhaps that led me to find hope in John's writings. He claimed to have found a book of mine, one that I had only marked notes in. I honestly don't remember ever doing that, but I wrote back. We exchanged several letters. He had been called to fight in the war, and kept imploring me to write.
During the next 13 months, we grew to know each other through the mail. I couldn't help but hope that a new romance was budding. Even my friends teased me about him. About 10 months into our correspondence, he requested a photograph. Now, for a 37-year-old woman with two children, I didn't look half bad. But I would never compare to the young women who threw themselves at sailors. And I knew it.
I made some excuse that if he had really cared, it wouldn't matter what I looked like. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't help but hope.
Three months later, John Blanchard came home. We arranged a meeting in Union Station at 7om. Since I didn't want to give him a picture, I told him that he would recognise me by the rose in my lapel.
As the taxi pulled up to the curb, I placed the rose in my lapel and paid the driver. My first impulse was to turn around, right there and then, and forget this crazy thing. But I pressed on.
It was 7:03 when I first saw John. I recognised him instantly; if the uniform wasn't a giveaway, then the book he was carrying was enough.
He was a handsome man, clean-cut and fresh from his tour of duty. He reminded me of my husband, and a tear formed in my eye. But he had not yet seen me.
As I began to approach him, a remarkably beautiful girl dressed in an elegant emerald suit passed in front of him and smiled. John looked at her, obvious in his desire. As she walked past, he took a step in her direction, before he saw me.
I stood still, looked back at him and smiled. For a good three seconds, he looked longingly at the young girl as she left the station. Finally, he approached me.
"I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard," he said, taking my hand and shaking it, "and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me. May I take you to dinner?"
He tried. He really tried to hide the disappointment in his voice, but I could hear it only too well. All of my fears had been realised, and I recognised that it would never work.
"I don't know what this is about," I answered, "but the young lady in the green suit who just went by asked me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should tell you that she is waiting in the street corner for you. She said it was some kind of test."
That was all the convincing John needed. He thanked me and walked away. After three steps, he started to run. I called out to him.
"John, wait!" But it was too late. I turned around and walked away, crying.
Looking back on the incident, I sometimes fantasise that I was the young lady. Or that John wasn't so quick to believe that I was. Or that I handled things differently.
I wonder where he is now. I wonder if he found the young lady, and what he did when he found out that she wasn't me. Sometimes, I sit and look at the stars, and wonder what might have been.
Sent to Starmag by Roy ArulDass on the 26th February 2006
John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose.
Blanchard's interest in her had begun 13 months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not with its words, but with the notes pencilled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell.
With time and effort he located her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II.
During the next year and one month, the two grew to know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was budding.
Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled their first meeting - 7pm at the Grand Central Station in New York. "You'll recognise me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel."
So at the appointed time, he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he loved, but whose face he'd never seen. I'll let Blanchard tell you what happened:
"A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose.
"As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. 'Going my way, sailor?' she murmured. Almost uncontrollably, I made one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell.
"She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own.
"And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped the small worn blue copy of the book that was to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and must ever be grateful.
"I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment.
"'I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me. May I take you to dinner?'
"The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. 'I don't know what this is about, son,' she answered, 'but the young lady in the green suit who just went by begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test!'
"It is not difficult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive."
Sent to Starmag by Regina Chin on the 15th January 2006
*According to the urban legends reference website, snopes.com, this story was originally published in a 1943 issue of Collier's magazine, and its author is S.I. Kishor. It first appeared on the internet in 1996.
"Tell me whom you love," Houssaye wrote, "And I will tell you who you are."
Part 2
Her Side of the Story
On Jan 15, we ran a fictional story about how John Blanchard met Hollis Maynell at Grand Central Station in New York - he honourable ignored a beautiful young woman to greet the older woman he thought was his dream penpal only to be told to go after the younger woman after all. But things were not as they seemed ... here is Hollis' version of what happened.
I'm too old to be doing something this silly," I thought to myself while in the taxi. It was heading toward Union Station, where I would meet John Blanchard for the first time.
My interest in John first started when I received a letter from him, about four months after the death of my husband. It was April, 1944.
The war had claimed my husband. Perhaps that led me to find hope in John's writings. He claimed to have found a book of mine, one that I had only marked notes in. I honestly don't remember ever doing that, but I wrote back. We exchanged several letters. He had been called to fight in the war, and kept imploring me to write.
During the next 13 months, we grew to know each other through the mail. I couldn't help but hope that a new romance was budding. Even my friends teased me about him. About 10 months into our correspondence, he requested a photograph. Now, for a 37-year-old woman with two children, I didn't look half bad. But I would never compare to the young women who threw themselves at sailors. And I knew it.
I made some excuse that if he had really cared, it wouldn't matter what I looked like. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't help but hope.
Three months later, John Blanchard came home. We arranged a meeting in Union Station at 7om. Since I didn't want to give him a picture, I told him that he would recognise me by the rose in my lapel.
As the taxi pulled up to the curb, I placed the rose in my lapel and paid the driver. My first impulse was to turn around, right there and then, and forget this crazy thing. But I pressed on.
It was 7:03 when I first saw John. I recognised him instantly; if the uniform wasn't a giveaway, then the book he was carrying was enough.
He was a handsome man, clean-cut and fresh from his tour of duty. He reminded me of my husband, and a tear formed in my eye. But he had not yet seen me.
As I began to approach him, a remarkably beautiful girl dressed in an elegant emerald suit passed in front of him and smiled. John looked at her, obvious in his desire. As she walked past, he took a step in her direction, before he saw me.
I stood still, looked back at him and smiled. For a good three seconds, he looked longingly at the young girl as she left the station. Finally, he approached me.
"I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard," he said, taking my hand and shaking it, "and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me. May I take you to dinner?"
He tried. He really tried to hide the disappointment in his voice, but I could hear it only too well. All of my fears had been realised, and I recognised that it would never work.
"I don't know what this is about," I answered, "but the young lady in the green suit who just went by asked me to wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should tell you that she is waiting in the street corner for you. She said it was some kind of test."
That was all the convincing John needed. He thanked me and walked away. After three steps, he started to run. I called out to him.
"John, wait!" But it was too late. I turned around and walked away, crying.
Looking back on the incident, I sometimes fantasise that I was the young lady. Or that John wasn't so quick to believe that I was. Or that I handled things differently.
I wonder where he is now. I wonder if he found the young lady, and what he did when he found out that she wasn't me. Sometimes, I sit and look at the stars, and wonder what might have been.
Sent to Starmag by Roy ArulDass on the 26th February 2006
'I'm proud of you'
Forty-three years seems like a long time to remember the name of a mere acquaintance. I have duly forgotten the name of an old lady who was a customer on my paper route when I was a 12-year-old boy in Marinette, Wisconsin, the United States, back in 1954.
Yet, it seems like just yesterday that she taught me a lesson in forgiveness that I can only hope to pass on to someone else someday.
On a mindless Saturday afternoon, a friend and I were throwing rocks onto the roof of the old lady's house from a secluded spot in her backyard. The object of our play was to observe how the rocks changed to missiles as they rolled to the roof's edge and shot out into the yard like comets falling from the sky.
I found myself a perfectly smooth rock and sent it for a ride. The stone was too smooth, however, so it slipped from my hand as I let it go and headed straight for a small window on the old lady's back porch.
At the sound of fractured glass, we took off from her yard faster than any of our missiles flew off her roof.
I was too scared about getting caught that first night to be concerned about the old lady with the broken porch window. However, a few days later, when I was sure that I hadn't been discovered, I started to feel guilty about her misfortune. She still greeted me with a smile each day when I gave her the paper, but I was no longer able to be comfortable in her presence.
I made up my mind that I would save my paper delivery money, and in three weeks I had the seven dollars that I calculated would cover the cost of her window. I put the money in an envelope with a note explaining that I was sorry for breaking her window and hoped that it would cover the cost for repairing the damage. I waited until it was dark, snuck up to the old lady's house, and put the envelope of retribution through the letter slot in her door. My soul felt redeemed and I couldn't wait for the freedom of, once again, looking straight into her eyes.
The next day, I handed the old lady her paper and was able to return her warm smile. She thanked me for the paper and said, "Here, I have something for you."
It was a bag of cookies. I thanked her and proceeded to eat them as I continued my route. After several cookies, I felt an envelope and pulled it our of the bag. When I opened the envelope, I was stunned. Inside was the seven dollars and a short note that said, "I'm proud of you."
Sent to Starmag by Kimly
Yet, it seems like just yesterday that she taught me a lesson in forgiveness that I can only hope to pass on to someone else someday.
On a mindless Saturday afternoon, a friend and I were throwing rocks onto the roof of the old lady's house from a secluded spot in her backyard. The object of our play was to observe how the rocks changed to missiles as they rolled to the roof's edge and shot out into the yard like comets falling from the sky.
I found myself a perfectly smooth rock and sent it for a ride. The stone was too smooth, however, so it slipped from my hand as I let it go and headed straight for a small window on the old lady's back porch.
At the sound of fractured glass, we took off from her yard faster than any of our missiles flew off her roof.
I was too scared about getting caught that first night to be concerned about the old lady with the broken porch window. However, a few days later, when I was sure that I hadn't been discovered, I started to feel guilty about her misfortune. She still greeted me with a smile each day when I gave her the paper, but I was no longer able to be comfortable in her presence.
I made up my mind that I would save my paper delivery money, and in three weeks I had the seven dollars that I calculated would cover the cost of her window. I put the money in an envelope with a note explaining that I was sorry for breaking her window and hoped that it would cover the cost for repairing the damage. I waited until it was dark, snuck up to the old lady's house, and put the envelope of retribution through the letter slot in her door. My soul felt redeemed and I couldn't wait for the freedom of, once again, looking straight into her eyes.
The next day, I handed the old lady her paper and was able to return her warm smile. She thanked me for the paper and said, "Here, I have something for you."
It was a bag of cookies. I thanked her and proceeded to eat them as I continued my route. After several cookies, I felt an envelope and pulled it our of the bag. When I opened the envelope, I was stunned. Inside was the seven dollars and a short note that said, "I'm proud of you."
Sent to Starmag by Kimly
My One-eyed Mum
My mum only had one eye ... she was such an embarrassment. She ran a small shop at a flea market and collected little weeds and such to sell, anything for the money we needed.
It was field day during Primary school and she turned up. How could she do this to me? I threw her a hateful look and ran out of the class.
The next day, my friends taunted me: "Your mum only has one eye!"
I wished that she would just disappear from this earth, so I said to her: "Mum, why is it you don't have the other eye? If you're only going to make me a laughing stock, why don't you just die?"
She did not respond. I guess I felt a little bad, but at the same time, it felt good to think that I had said what I'd always wanted. She didn't punish me; maybe that's why I didn't think that I had hurt her feelings.
That night, I woke up and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. Mum was there, crying quietly out of her one eye, as if she was afraid that she might wake me. I took one look at her and turned away. Something pinched at the corner of my heart, but I told myself that I would grow up and become successful because I hated my one-eyed parent and our desperate poverty.
So I studied really hard and got a place in a foreign university. With all the confidence I had, I left home to further my studies.
Then I married, bought a house and had kids. I was happy and successful. I liked living where I was because it didn't remind me of my past. Until one day ...
What? Who's this? It was my mother, still with her one eye. My little girl was scared of her and ran from the door.
"Who are you? I don't know you!" I screamed at her, as if by saying that, I could convince myself it was true. "How dare you come to my house and scare my daughter. Get out of here, now!"
To this, mum quietly answered: "Oh, I'm so sorry. I must have the wrong address." And she disappeared from my sight. I was quite relieved that she hadn't recognised me.
I told myself that I wasn't going to care or think about this incident. Then I received a letter about my school reunion. I told my wife that I was going on a business trip and headed back for the gathering.
Then, more out of curiosity, I went down to the old shack that I used to call home. There I found my mother, lying alone on the cold floor. She had a piece of paper in her hand, addressed to me.
"My son, I think I have lived long enough. I won't visit you any more. But would it be too much to ask that you come and see me once in a while? I miss you so much.
"I was so happy when I heard you were coming back for the reunion. But I decided not to go to the school again. I'm sorry I only have one eye, and that this has always embarrassed you.
"You see, when you were very little, you had an accident and lost your eye. So I gave you mine ... And I've always felt so proud that my son was seeing a while new world with that one eye."
From Starmag
It was field day during Primary school and she turned up. How could she do this to me? I threw her a hateful look and ran out of the class.
The next day, my friends taunted me: "Your mum only has one eye!"
I wished that she would just disappear from this earth, so I said to her: "Mum, why is it you don't have the other eye? If you're only going to make me a laughing stock, why don't you just die?"
She did not respond. I guess I felt a little bad, but at the same time, it felt good to think that I had said what I'd always wanted. She didn't punish me; maybe that's why I didn't think that I had hurt her feelings.
That night, I woke up and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. Mum was there, crying quietly out of her one eye, as if she was afraid that she might wake me. I took one look at her and turned away. Something pinched at the corner of my heart, but I told myself that I would grow up and become successful because I hated my one-eyed parent and our desperate poverty.
So I studied really hard and got a place in a foreign university. With all the confidence I had, I left home to further my studies.
Then I married, bought a house and had kids. I was happy and successful. I liked living where I was because it didn't remind me of my past. Until one day ...
What? Who's this? It was my mother, still with her one eye. My little girl was scared of her and ran from the door.
"Who are you? I don't know you!" I screamed at her, as if by saying that, I could convince myself it was true. "How dare you come to my house and scare my daughter. Get out of here, now!"
To this, mum quietly answered: "Oh, I'm so sorry. I must have the wrong address." And she disappeared from my sight. I was quite relieved that she hadn't recognised me.
I told myself that I wasn't going to care or think about this incident. Then I received a letter about my school reunion. I told my wife that I was going on a business trip and headed back for the gathering.
Then, more out of curiosity, I went down to the old shack that I used to call home. There I found my mother, lying alone on the cold floor. She had a piece of paper in her hand, addressed to me.
"My son, I think I have lived long enough. I won't visit you any more. But would it be too much to ask that you come and see me once in a while? I miss you so much.
"I was so happy when I heard you were coming back for the reunion. But I decided not to go to the school again. I'm sorry I only have one eye, and that this has always embarrassed you.
"You see, when you were very little, you had an accident and lost your eye. So I gave you mine ... And I've always felt so proud that my son was seeing a while new world with that one eye."
From Starmag
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Grandpa's Hands
Grandpa, some 90-plus years, sat feebly on the patio bench. He didn't move, just sat with his head down, staring at his hands. When I sat down beside him, he didn't acknowledge my presence and the longer I sat, the more I wondered if he was alright.
Finally, not wanting to disturb him but feeling the need to check on him at the same time, I asked if he was okay. He raised his head, looked at me and smiled.
"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you for asking," he said in a clear strong voice.
"I didn't mean to disturb you, Grandpa, but you were just sitting here staring at your hands."
"Have you ever looked at your hands?" he asked. "I mean, really looked at them?"
I slowly opened my hands and stared at them. I turned them over, palms up, then down. "No, I guess I had never really looked at my hands," as I tried to figure out the point he was making. Grandpa smiled and said:
"Stop and think for a moment about your hands and how they have served you all these years. These hands, though wrinkled, shrivelled and weak, have been the tools I have used all my life to reach out and grab and embrace life.
"They braced and caught my fall when, as a toddler, I crashed upon the floor. They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back. As a child, my mother taught me to fold them in prayer. They tied my shoes laces and pulled on my boots. They held my rifle and wiped my tears when I went off to war.
"They have been dirty, scraped raw, swollen and bent. They were uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold my newborn son. Decorated with my wedding band, they showed the world that I was married and loved someone special. They wrote the letters home and trembled and shook when I buried my parents and spouse, and walked my daughter down the aisle.
"Yet, they were strong and sure when I dug my buddy out of a foxhole and lifted a plough off my best friend's foot. They have held children, consoled neighbours, and shaken in fists of anger when I didn't understand. They have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and cleansed the rest of my body.
"They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried and raw. And to this day, when not much of anything else of me works really well, these hands hold me up, lay me down, and continue to fold in prayer.
"These hands are the mark of where I've been and the ruggedness of my life. But, more importantly, they are what God will reach out for and take when He leads me home. He will lift me to His side and I will touch His face with my hands."
From that day, I never looked at my hands the same way again. When they are hurt or sore, or when I stroke the face of my children and wife, I think of grandpa. I, too, want to touch the face of God and feel His hands upon my face.
Sent to Starmag by Leong Michelle
Finally, not wanting to disturb him but feeling the need to check on him at the same time, I asked if he was okay. He raised his head, looked at me and smiled.
"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you for asking," he said in a clear strong voice.
"I didn't mean to disturb you, Grandpa, but you were just sitting here staring at your hands."
"Have you ever looked at your hands?" he asked. "I mean, really looked at them?"
I slowly opened my hands and stared at them. I turned them over, palms up, then down. "No, I guess I had never really looked at my hands," as I tried to figure out the point he was making. Grandpa smiled and said:
"Stop and think for a moment about your hands and how they have served you all these years. These hands, though wrinkled, shrivelled and weak, have been the tools I have used all my life to reach out and grab and embrace life.
"They braced and caught my fall when, as a toddler, I crashed upon the floor. They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back. As a child, my mother taught me to fold them in prayer. They tied my shoes laces and pulled on my boots. They held my rifle and wiped my tears when I went off to war.
"They have been dirty, scraped raw, swollen and bent. They were uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold my newborn son. Decorated with my wedding band, they showed the world that I was married and loved someone special. They wrote the letters home and trembled and shook when I buried my parents and spouse, and walked my daughter down the aisle.
"Yet, they were strong and sure when I dug my buddy out of a foxhole and lifted a plough off my best friend's foot. They have held children, consoled neighbours, and shaken in fists of anger when I didn't understand. They have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and cleansed the rest of my body.
"They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried and raw. And to this day, when not much of anything else of me works really well, these hands hold me up, lay me down, and continue to fold in prayer.
"These hands are the mark of where I've been and the ruggedness of my life. But, more importantly, they are what God will reach out for and take when He leads me home. He will lift me to His side and I will touch His face with my hands."
From that day, I never looked at my hands the same way again. When they are hurt or sore, or when I stroke the face of my children and wife, I think of grandpa. I, too, want to touch the face of God and feel His hands upon my face.
Sent to Starmag by Leong Michelle
The Big Picture
"If a stranger were to approach you with a deal - any amount of money you desire for 18 years of your life - would you take it?" asked Charmaine.
Sophia raised an eyebrow, Yvonne sipped her coffee quietly, Mark glanced at his fiancee, Janet, whilst Philip chuckled and replied, "What kind of weird question is that?"
"It's not weird. I'm just asking for your opinions and I want honest answers. Would you give up the last 18 years of your life in exchange for riches beyond belief?"
With eyes wide open, Sophia answered defiantly, "Why, I certainly would not! Not a single portion of my life is for sale!"
"You barely gave it a thought, Sophia. I mean, it's not your entire life, just 18 years of it. Let's say you're destined to live until 90. Taking the deal would make it 72 - you'll still have plenty of golden years to see your grandchildren... if you plan it right, that is."
"But for all you know, you could drop dead on the spot once you signed the deal," interrupted Janet. "Imagine living on borrowed time. What a scary thought."
"Well, every deal had its risks. Still, you can't always look at things from the negative point of view. Why, with our current living standards, everyone should live till 70, with the right food and proper exercise. Imagine having all the riches you could only ever dream about, without having to lift a finger," Charmaine ended with a sigh, as she envisioned sports cars and bungalows.
Mark jabbed Janet and said, "I never knew you had a money-thirsty friend."
Janet eyed her fiance of six months and replied, "She's your sister!"
The group laughed upon seeing the antics of the couple.
"Who put you up to this? Did someone actually make you the offer?" sniggered Philip, halfway through his cafe's famous cappuccino.
"Nah. It just came to me one day and when I asked some of my friends, they gave me all kinds of answers. Some said life was worth more than money or gold; some said they preferred happiness and love; some even called me a gold-digger just for thinking of the question," explained the youngest member of the group.
"I just thought that I'd get different replies from my working friends," she continued, eyeing everyone around the table as she spoke.
"So, it's a collective no, then?"
"Yup!" And up went a ring of hands around the table ... except for Yvonne, who had remained silent throughout the conversation.
"I'd take the deal."
Charmaine eyed the quiet social worker and said, "Whoa, Yvonne. You're the last person here I'd have expected to say yes."
"Well, when you think about it, it's a chance of a lifetime. So why wouldn't I?" Yvonne replied as she placed her empty cup on the table.
Philip injected, "But surely the money's not worth it. I mean, what is you had only another three months to live? Think of all the wonderful things on life that you'd be giving up."
"The people you love," added Mark, whilst giving Janet a smooch on the cheek.
"The holidays and wedding gifts," winked Janet, happy at the attention.
"Friends and family," smiled Sophia, a mother of two.
"You'll be throwing out what's really important in life for money which, if I may remind you, you can't take to your grave," concluded Philip.
"First things first," Yvonne interjected, eyeing Philip. "I may ... ahem, live longer than three months."
"Point taken, ma'am," replied the coffee cafe owner. "But what if you don't?"
"Well, then I guess I'd need to write a will, leaving portions of the money to Charmaine so she can take her Masters degree; so Sophia so she can set up a college fund for her daughter; to Janet and Mark so they can buy that dream house at the beach and ... to Philip, who wants to open up more branches so everyone else can enjoy the excellent cappuccino that he makes," she replied, looking at each friend around the table.
The group fell silent, quietly ashamed of the negative thoughts they had of her.
"Money may be the root of all evil, but you don't have to serve the devil to enjoy it. I may not have much use for millions of dollars no matter how long I live, but I know of orphanages and abandoned old folks who can benefit from the money. And there are many research institutes which would appreciate the funding to find cures for cancer and AIDS. All they need is someone to give up 18 years of her life for it."
From Starmag
By Lee Sing Yin
Sophia raised an eyebrow, Yvonne sipped her coffee quietly, Mark glanced at his fiancee, Janet, whilst Philip chuckled and replied, "What kind of weird question is that?"
"It's not weird. I'm just asking for your opinions and I want honest answers. Would you give up the last 18 years of your life in exchange for riches beyond belief?"
With eyes wide open, Sophia answered defiantly, "Why, I certainly would not! Not a single portion of my life is for sale!"
"You barely gave it a thought, Sophia. I mean, it's not your entire life, just 18 years of it. Let's say you're destined to live until 90. Taking the deal would make it 72 - you'll still have plenty of golden years to see your grandchildren... if you plan it right, that is."
"But for all you know, you could drop dead on the spot once you signed the deal," interrupted Janet. "Imagine living on borrowed time. What a scary thought."
"Well, every deal had its risks. Still, you can't always look at things from the negative point of view. Why, with our current living standards, everyone should live till 70, with the right food and proper exercise. Imagine having all the riches you could only ever dream about, without having to lift a finger," Charmaine ended with a sigh, as she envisioned sports cars and bungalows.
Mark jabbed Janet and said, "I never knew you had a money-thirsty friend."
Janet eyed her fiance of six months and replied, "She's your sister!"
The group laughed upon seeing the antics of the couple.
"Who put you up to this? Did someone actually make you the offer?" sniggered Philip, halfway through his cafe's famous cappuccino.
"Nah. It just came to me one day and when I asked some of my friends, they gave me all kinds of answers. Some said life was worth more than money or gold; some said they preferred happiness and love; some even called me a gold-digger just for thinking of the question," explained the youngest member of the group.
"I just thought that I'd get different replies from my working friends," she continued, eyeing everyone around the table as she spoke.
"So, it's a collective no, then?"
"Yup!" And up went a ring of hands around the table ... except for Yvonne, who had remained silent throughout the conversation.
"I'd take the deal."
Charmaine eyed the quiet social worker and said, "Whoa, Yvonne. You're the last person here I'd have expected to say yes."
"Well, when you think about it, it's a chance of a lifetime. So why wouldn't I?" Yvonne replied as she placed her empty cup on the table.
Philip injected, "But surely the money's not worth it. I mean, what is you had only another three months to live? Think of all the wonderful things on life that you'd be giving up."
"The people you love," added Mark, whilst giving Janet a smooch on the cheek.
"The holidays and wedding gifts," winked Janet, happy at the attention.
"Friends and family," smiled Sophia, a mother of two.
"You'll be throwing out what's really important in life for money which, if I may remind you, you can't take to your grave," concluded Philip.
"First things first," Yvonne interjected, eyeing Philip. "I may ... ahem, live longer than three months."
"Point taken, ma'am," replied the coffee cafe owner. "But what if you don't?"
"Well, then I guess I'd need to write a will, leaving portions of the money to Charmaine so she can take her Masters degree; so Sophia so she can set up a college fund for her daughter; to Janet and Mark so they can buy that dream house at the beach and ... to Philip, who wants to open up more branches so everyone else can enjoy the excellent cappuccino that he makes," she replied, looking at each friend around the table.
The group fell silent, quietly ashamed of the negative thoughts they had of her.
"Money may be the root of all evil, but you don't have to serve the devil to enjoy it. I may not have much use for millions of dollars no matter how long I live, but I know of orphanages and abandoned old folks who can benefit from the money. And there are many research institutes which would appreciate the funding to find cures for cancer and AIDS. All they need is someone to give up 18 years of her life for it."
From Starmag
By Lee Sing Yin
Water the Rose Within
A man planted a rose and watered it faithfully. A bud came out and he saw that it would seen blossom. Then he noticed thorns on the stem and wondered, "How can any beautiful flower come from a plant burdened with so many sharp thorns?"
Saddened by this thought, the man neglected to water the rose. Just before it was ready to bloom, it died.
So it is with many people. Within every soul, there is a rose. The god-like qualities planted in us at birth grow amidst the thorns of our faults.
But many of us look at ourselves and see only the thorns, the defects. We despair, thinking that nothing good can possibly come from us. We neglect to water the good within us and eventually, it dies. We never realise our potential.
Some people do not see the rose within themselves; someone else must show it to them. One of the greatest gifts a person can possess is being able to reach past the thorns of another, and find the rose within her.
Sent to Starmag by Mohamad Ismail
Saddened by this thought, the man neglected to water the rose. Just before it was ready to bloom, it died.
So it is with many people. Within every soul, there is a rose. The god-like qualities planted in us at birth grow amidst the thorns of our faults.
But many of us look at ourselves and see only the thorns, the defects. We despair, thinking that nothing good can possibly come from us. We neglect to water the good within us and eventually, it dies. We never realise our potential.
Some people do not see the rose within themselves; someone else must show it to them. One of the greatest gifts a person can possess is being able to reach past the thorns of another, and find the rose within her.
Sent to Starmag by Mohamad Ismail
Wiping the Slate Clean
Lisa sat on the floor, staring at the old shoe box in front of her. She had decorated it many years ago, for use as her memory box.
One by one, she took her things out: photographs of her family at the Grand Canyon; a note from her friend telling her that Nick liked her; some sweet cards. She lingered over the last before reaching for the last item in the box. It was a single sheet of paper with lines drawn to form boxes - 490, to be exact, and each box had one check mark.
As she stared at the paper, her mind wandered ...
"How many times must I forgive my brother?" the disciple Peter had asked Jesus. "Seven times?"
The Sunday school teacher then read out Jesus' answer to the class: "Seventy times seven."
Lisa leaned over to her brother and whispered, "How many times is that?"
Brent, two years younger but smarter, replied, "490".
She nodded and sat back in her chair.
Brent looked small for his age. He had narrow shoulders and came close to being a nerd. But his incredible talent in music made him popular among his friends. His music teacher had predicted that he would be a musician some day.
That night, Lisa drew up the chart with 490 boxes. She wanted to tally the number of times Brent forgave her. She showed him the chart before going to bed.
He protested. "You don't need to keep count ..." he protested.
"Yes, I do!" Lisa interrupted. "You're always forgiving me, and I just want to keep track."
Slowly, the ticks filled the boxes. No. 418 was for losing Brent's keys; 449, for the dent in his car, which she'd borrowed; 467, for the time she put extra bleach in the washing and spoilt his favourite shirt.
They had a small ceremony when Lisa ticked No. 190. She let Brent sign the chart before putting it away in her memory box.
"I guess that's the end ... no more screw-ups from me!" she exclaimed.
Brent just laughed. "Yeah, right."
Soon enough, it happened. No. 491 was another careless mistake ...
When Brent was in 4th grade at music school, he was offered an opportunity to audition for a place with an orchestra in New York. He was out when the call came. Lisa was the only one home; the audition was scheduled for May 26, the secretary reminded.
Lisa didn't think to jot that down, but assured her that Brent would get the message. Straight after hanging up, she sat down for her own music practice, and totally forgot about the call.
Some weeks later, as the family was having dinner, Brent suddenly said: "The people from NY orchestra were supposed to inform me ..."
"What's the date today?" Lisa shouted.
"June 8."
"Oh no!"
She'd blown her brother's big chance. Guilt engulfed her as she related how she'd picked up the phone and what happened after that. Brent ran straight into his bedroom and didn't come out again, not even to watch his favourite TV show.
That night, Lisa wrote a note - "Mum and Dad, I've made a terrible mistake and Brent won't forgive me. Don't worry, I'll be fine." - and left home.
She found a job in another town and settled into a small apartment. Her parents wrote countless letters to her, but she refused to read or answer any of them.
One day, while at work, Lisa met a family friend, Aunt Winnie, who blurted out: "I'm so sorry about your brother ..."
"Brent? What happened to him?"
Aunt Winnie explained that he had had an accident on the highway and died on the spot.
That night, Lisa returned home. After crying on Brent's bed, she crept into her own room and opened the memory box. There, on top of her forgiveness chart, was another, which had letters written big and bold: "491: Forgiven forever. Love, your brother Brent."
One by one, she took her things out: photographs of her family at the Grand Canyon; a note from her friend telling her that Nick liked her; some sweet cards. She lingered over the last before reaching for the last item in the box. It was a single sheet of paper with lines drawn to form boxes - 490, to be exact, and each box had one check mark.
As she stared at the paper, her mind wandered ...
"How many times must I forgive my brother?" the disciple Peter had asked Jesus. "Seven times?"
The Sunday school teacher then read out Jesus' answer to the class: "Seventy times seven."
Lisa leaned over to her brother and whispered, "How many times is that?"
Brent, two years younger but smarter, replied, "490".
She nodded and sat back in her chair.
Brent looked small for his age. He had narrow shoulders and came close to being a nerd. But his incredible talent in music made him popular among his friends. His music teacher had predicted that he would be a musician some day.
That night, Lisa drew up the chart with 490 boxes. She wanted to tally the number of times Brent forgave her. She showed him the chart before going to bed.
He protested. "You don't need to keep count ..." he protested.
"Yes, I do!" Lisa interrupted. "You're always forgiving me, and I just want to keep track."
Slowly, the ticks filled the boxes. No. 418 was for losing Brent's keys; 449, for the dent in his car, which she'd borrowed; 467, for the time she put extra bleach in the washing and spoilt his favourite shirt.
They had a small ceremony when Lisa ticked No. 190. She let Brent sign the chart before putting it away in her memory box.
"I guess that's the end ... no more screw-ups from me!" she exclaimed.
Brent just laughed. "Yeah, right."
Soon enough, it happened. No. 491 was another careless mistake ...
When Brent was in 4th grade at music school, he was offered an opportunity to audition for a place with an orchestra in New York. He was out when the call came. Lisa was the only one home; the audition was scheduled for May 26, the secretary reminded.
Lisa didn't think to jot that down, but assured her that Brent would get the message. Straight after hanging up, she sat down for her own music practice, and totally forgot about the call.
Some weeks later, as the family was having dinner, Brent suddenly said: "The people from NY orchestra were supposed to inform me ..."
"What's the date today?" Lisa shouted.
"June 8."
"Oh no!"
She'd blown her brother's big chance. Guilt engulfed her as she related how she'd picked up the phone and what happened after that. Brent ran straight into his bedroom and didn't come out again, not even to watch his favourite TV show.
That night, Lisa wrote a note - "Mum and Dad, I've made a terrible mistake and Brent won't forgive me. Don't worry, I'll be fine." - and left home.
She found a job in another town and settled into a small apartment. Her parents wrote countless letters to her, but she refused to read or answer any of them.
One day, while at work, Lisa met a family friend, Aunt Winnie, who blurted out: "I'm so sorry about your brother ..."
"Brent? What happened to him?"
Aunt Winnie explained that he had had an accident on the highway and died on the spot.
That night, Lisa returned home. After crying on Brent's bed, she crept into her own room and opened the memory box. There, on top of her forgiveness chart, was another, which had letters written big and bold: "491: Forgiven forever. Love, your brother Brent."
Much Follows Love
A woman came out of her house and saw three old men with long white beards sitting in her front yard. She did not recognise them. She said, "I don't think I know you, but you must be hungry. Please come in and have something to eat."
"Is the man of the house home?" they asked.
"No," she replied. "He's out."
"Then we cannot come in," they replied.
In the evening, when her husband came home, she told him what happened.
"Go tell them I am home and invite them in!" he said.
The woman went out and invited the men in.
"We do not go into a house together," they replied.
"Why is that?" she asked.
One of the old men explained: "His name is Wealth," he said pointing to one of his friends, and then, pointing first to the other friend and then to himself, he continued, "He is Success, and I am Love. Now go in and talk it over with your husband to decide which one of us you want in your home."
The woman went in and told her husband what had been said. Her husband was overjoyed. "How nice!" he said. "Let us invite Wealth. Let him come and fill our home with wealth!"
His wife disagreed. "My dear, why don't we invite Success?"
Their daughter-in-law was listening. She jumped in with her own suggestion: "Would it not be better to invite Love? Our home will then be filled with love!"
"Let us heed our daughter-in-law's advice," said the husband to his wife. "Go out and invite Love to be our guest."
The woman went out and asked the old men, "Which one of you is Love? Please come in and be our guest."
Love got up and started walking towards the house. The other two men also got up and followed him. Surprised, the woman asked Wealth and Success: "I only invited Love, why are you coming in as well?"
The old men replied together: "If you had invited Wealth of Success, the other two of us would've stayed our, but since you invited Love, wherever he goes, we go with him.
Wherever there is Love, there is also Wealth and Success.
Sent to Starmag by Jasy Liew
"Is the man of the house home?" they asked.
"No," she replied. "He's out."
"Then we cannot come in," they replied.
In the evening, when her husband came home, she told him what happened.
"Go tell them I am home and invite them in!" he said.
The woman went out and invited the men in.
"We do not go into a house together," they replied.
"Why is that?" she asked.
One of the old men explained: "His name is Wealth," he said pointing to one of his friends, and then, pointing first to the other friend and then to himself, he continued, "He is Success, and I am Love. Now go in and talk it over with your husband to decide which one of us you want in your home."
The woman went in and told her husband what had been said. Her husband was overjoyed. "How nice!" he said. "Let us invite Wealth. Let him come and fill our home with wealth!"
His wife disagreed. "My dear, why don't we invite Success?"
Their daughter-in-law was listening. She jumped in with her own suggestion: "Would it not be better to invite Love? Our home will then be filled with love!"
"Let us heed our daughter-in-law's advice," said the husband to his wife. "Go out and invite Love to be our guest."
The woman went out and asked the old men, "Which one of you is Love? Please come in and be our guest."
Love got up and started walking towards the house. The other two men also got up and followed him. Surprised, the woman asked Wealth and Success: "I only invited Love, why are you coming in as well?"
The old men replied together: "If you had invited Wealth of Success, the other two of us would've stayed our, but since you invited Love, wherever he goes, we go with him.
Wherever there is Love, there is also Wealth and Success.
Sent to Starmag by Jasy Liew
Count the Rewards
The United States government recently calculated the cost of raising a child from birth to 18 years and came up with US$160,140 (RM608,532) for a middle-income American family. It doesn't even cover college fees. That figure leads to wild fantasies about all the money we could have banked in if not for our children.
US$160,140 isn't so bad if you break it down. It translates into US$8,896.66 (RM33,806) a year, or US$741.38 (RM2,817) a month, or $171.08 (RM650) a week. That's a mere $24.44 (RM93) a day!
Still, you might think the best financial advice says don't have children if you want to be "rich". It is just the opposite.
So what do you get for your money?
Naming rights. First, middle and last!
Glimpses of God every day.
Giggles under the covers every night.
More love than your heart can hold.
Butterfly kisses and Velcro hugs.
Endless wonder over rocks, ants, clouds, and warm cookies.
A hand (usually covered with jam) to hold.
A partner for blowing bubbles, flying kites, building sandcastles, and skipping down the sidewalk in the pouring rain.
Someone to laugh yourself silly with no matter what the boss said or how your stocks performed that day.
For RM608,532: You never have to grow up. You get to finger-paint, carve pumpkins, play hide-and-seek, catch lightning bugs, and never stop believing in Santa Claus.
You have an excise to: Keep reading the Adventures of Piglet and Pooh, watch Saturday morning cartoons, go to Disney movies, and keep wishing on stars.
You get to frame rainbows, hearts and flowers under refrigerator magnets and collect spray-painted noodle wreaths for Christmas, hand prints set in clay for Mother's Day, and cards with letters written backwards for Father's Day.
For that amount, there is no greater bang for you ringgit. You get to be a hero just for retrieving a Frisbee off the garage roof, taking the training wheels off the bike, removing a splinter, filling a wading pool, coaxing a wad of gum out of bangs, and coaching a baseball team that never wins but always gets treated to ice cream regardless.
You get a front-row seat to history to witness the first step, first word, first bra, first date, and first time behind the wheel. You get to be immortal.
You get another branch added to your family tree, and if you're lucky, a long list of limbs in your obituary called grandchildren.
You get an education in psychology, nursing, criminal justice, communication, and human sexuality that no college can match.
In the eyes of a child, you rank right up there with God. You have all the power to heal a boo-boo, scare away the monsters under the bed, patch a broken heart, police a slumber party, ground them forever, and love them without limits, so that one day they will, like you, love without counting the cost.
From Starmag
US$160,140 isn't so bad if you break it down. It translates into US$8,896.66 (RM33,806) a year, or US$741.38 (RM2,817) a month, or $171.08 (RM650) a week. That's a mere $24.44 (RM93) a day!
Still, you might think the best financial advice says don't have children if you want to be "rich". It is just the opposite.
So what do you get for your money?
Naming rights. First, middle and last!
Glimpses of God every day.
Giggles under the covers every night.
More love than your heart can hold.
Butterfly kisses and Velcro hugs.
Endless wonder over rocks, ants, clouds, and warm cookies.
A hand (usually covered with jam) to hold.
A partner for blowing bubbles, flying kites, building sandcastles, and skipping down the sidewalk in the pouring rain.
Someone to laugh yourself silly with no matter what the boss said or how your stocks performed that day.
For RM608,532: You never have to grow up. You get to finger-paint, carve pumpkins, play hide-and-seek, catch lightning bugs, and never stop believing in Santa Claus.
You have an excise to: Keep reading the Adventures of Piglet and Pooh, watch Saturday morning cartoons, go to Disney movies, and keep wishing on stars.
You get to frame rainbows, hearts and flowers under refrigerator magnets and collect spray-painted noodle wreaths for Christmas, hand prints set in clay for Mother's Day, and cards with letters written backwards for Father's Day.
For that amount, there is no greater bang for you ringgit. You get to be a hero just for retrieving a Frisbee off the garage roof, taking the training wheels off the bike, removing a splinter, filling a wading pool, coaxing a wad of gum out of bangs, and coaching a baseball team that never wins but always gets treated to ice cream regardless.
You get a front-row seat to history to witness the first step, first word, first bra, first date, and first time behind the wheel. You get to be immortal.
You get another branch added to your family tree, and if you're lucky, a long list of limbs in your obituary called grandchildren.
You get an education in psychology, nursing, criminal justice, communication, and human sexuality that no college can match.
In the eyes of a child, you rank right up there with God. You have all the power to heal a boo-boo, scare away the monsters under the bed, patch a broken heart, police a slumber party, ground them forever, and love them without limits, so that one day they will, like you, love without counting the cost.
From Starmag
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Ash Greig's 10 Steps to Make a Relationship Work
Step 1: Comparison is the worst thing you can do.
So your ex-boyfriend had a better sense of humour. Or perhaps your ex-girlfriend had nicer, perkier boobs. Leave it at that. Stop reminding him/her. It only proves that you don’t accept him/her exactly for what he/she is. :)
Step 2: Give each other space.
You don’t want to be his/her Siamese twin. The sky wouldn’t fall if you don’t call, text, MSN or Skype him/her for a day. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, remember? :)
Step 3: Don’t lie. Ever.
Trust is the most difficult thing to earn, so don’t throw it down the drain for nothing. Be honest, because it will take you far. If you really care for him/her, you wouldn’t want them to feel hurt when they find out. :)
Step 4: Stop being paranoid.
Checking his phone for late night calls to other girls, or going through her inbox for texts messages from other guys isn’t going to solve trust issues between the both of you. :)
Step 5: Try not to forget your anniversary or the day you first said “I love you”.
Show him/her that you’ve put in the effort to remember and keep things alive between the two of you. Sometimes it’s the little things that make the biggest difference. :)
Step 6: Never forget to have fun.
You’ve got assignments to finish, or bills to pay. Don’t vent out your frustrations on him/her. Go to the fun-fair or for a walk in the park. Life is better with that special someone around - don’t let him/her forget that. :)
Step 7: Stop pretending and start being real.
If you don’t enjoy watching Wrestle Mania, tell him. If you don’t enjoy going shoe-shopping, tell her. Bottling up your feelings is never an answer; one day you’ll burst and he/she will not like what he/she sees. :)
Step 8: Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill.
So he said no to buying that beautiful $950 silk dress. Maybe she was half an hour late for a date because she couldn’t find her lipstick. Things happen; you don’t need to make it complicated by picking a fight over trivial matters. :)
Step 9: Get creative.
So your ex-boyfriend had a better sense of humour. Or perhaps your ex-girlfriend had nicer, perkier boobs. Leave it at that. Stop reminding him/her. It only proves that you don’t accept him/her exactly for what he/she is. :)
Step 2: Give each other space.
You don’t want to be his/her Siamese twin. The sky wouldn’t fall if you don’t call, text, MSN or Skype him/her for a day. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, remember? :)
Step 3: Don’t lie. Ever.
Trust is the most difficult thing to earn, so don’t throw it down the drain for nothing. Be honest, because it will take you far. If you really care for him/her, you wouldn’t want them to feel hurt when they find out. :)
Step 4: Stop being paranoid.
Checking his phone for late night calls to other girls, or going through her inbox for texts messages from other guys isn’t going to solve trust issues between the both of you. :)
Step 5: Try not to forget your anniversary or the day you first said “I love you”.
Show him/her that you’ve put in the effort to remember and keep things alive between the two of you. Sometimes it’s the little things that make the biggest difference. :)
Step 6: Never forget to have fun.
You’ve got assignments to finish, or bills to pay. Don’t vent out your frustrations on him/her. Go to the fun-fair or for a walk in the park. Life is better with that special someone around - don’t let him/her forget that. :)
Step 7: Stop pretending and start being real.
If you don’t enjoy watching Wrestle Mania, tell him. If you don’t enjoy going shoe-shopping, tell her. Bottling up your feelings is never an answer; one day you’ll burst and he/she will not like what he/she sees. :)
Step 8: Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill.
So he said no to buying that beautiful $950 silk dress. Maybe she was half an hour late for a date because she couldn’t find her lipstick. Things happen; you don’t need to make it complicated by picking a fight over trivial matters. :)
Step 9: Get creative.
Cliche as it may sound, it does wonders to maintain a healthy relationship. Leave little notes for him to find in his book or wallet. Learn how to say "I love you" to her in 10 different languages. Paint something together. :)
Step 10: Communication - the most important key to a successful relationship.
Step 10: Communication - the most important key to a successful relationship.
The day you stop sharing your feelings is the day things take a turn for the worse. Explain to her the reason why you feel like quitting your job. Discuss with him your ideas on furnishing your home. He/she is there to listen and comfort you; and to understand and plan with you. :)
~Ashley Greig~
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Heaven and Hell
A highly-successful human resource manager had passed away and her soul arrived up in heaven, where she was met at the pearly gates by St Peter himself.
"Welcome," said St Peter. "Before you get settled in, though, it seems we have a problem. You see, strangely enough, we've never once had a HR manager make it this far, and we're not really sure what to do with you."
"No worries, just let me in," said the woman.
"Well, I'd like to, but I have higher orders. What we're going to do is let you have a day in hell and a day in heaven. Then you can choose whichever one you want to spend an eternity in."
"Actually, I think I've made up my mind. I prefer to stay in heaven," the woman said.
"Sorry, we have rules ..." And with that, St Peter put the executive in a lift and it went down, down, down to hell. The doors opened and she stepped out onto the putting green of a beautiful golf course. In the distance was a country club and in front of her were all the executive friends whom she had worked with. They were dressed in evening gowns and cheering for her.
Her friends ran up and kissed her on both cheeks and talked about old times. Then, all of them played an excellent round of golf and at night, they headed for the country club, where she enjoyed a superb steak and lobster dinner.
The executive met the Devil, who was actually a really nice guy (kinda cute) and had a great time telling jokes and dancing. She was having such a good time that before she knew it, it was time to leave. Everybody shook her hand and waved good-bye as she got into the lift.
The lift went straight up to the pearly gates, where she found St Peter waiting.
"Now it's time to spend a day in heaven," he said. So she spent the next 24 hours lounging around on clouds, and playing the harp and singing. She had a great time and before she knew it, her 24 hours were up. St Peter came for her.
"So, you've spent a day in hell and another in heaven. Now you must choose your eternity."
The woman paused for a second and replied: "Well, I never thought I would say this. I mean, heaven has been really great, but I had a better time in hell."
So St Peter escorted her to the lift and again she went down and back to hell. When the doors opened, she found herself standing in a desolate wasteland covered with garbage and filth. She saw that her friends were dressed in rags; they were picking up the garbage and putting it in sacks.
The Devil came up to her and put his arm around her.
"I don't understand," the woman stammered, "Yesterday when I was here, there was golf course and a country club, and we ate lobster and danced, and had a great time. Now all there is a wasteland and all my friends look miserable."
The Devil looked at her and smiled, "Yesterday we were recruiting you. Today you're staff ..."
"Welcome," said St Peter. "Before you get settled in, though, it seems we have a problem. You see, strangely enough, we've never once had a HR manager make it this far, and we're not really sure what to do with you."
"No worries, just let me in," said the woman.
"Well, I'd like to, but I have higher orders. What we're going to do is let you have a day in hell and a day in heaven. Then you can choose whichever one you want to spend an eternity in."
"Actually, I think I've made up my mind. I prefer to stay in heaven," the woman said.
"Sorry, we have rules ..." And with that, St Peter put the executive in a lift and it went down, down, down to hell. The doors opened and she stepped out onto the putting green of a beautiful golf course. In the distance was a country club and in front of her were all the executive friends whom she had worked with. They were dressed in evening gowns and cheering for her.
Her friends ran up and kissed her on both cheeks and talked about old times. Then, all of them played an excellent round of golf and at night, they headed for the country club, where she enjoyed a superb steak and lobster dinner.
The executive met the Devil, who was actually a really nice guy (kinda cute) and had a great time telling jokes and dancing. She was having such a good time that before she knew it, it was time to leave. Everybody shook her hand and waved good-bye as she got into the lift.
The lift went straight up to the pearly gates, where she found St Peter waiting.
"Now it's time to spend a day in heaven," he said. So she spent the next 24 hours lounging around on clouds, and playing the harp and singing. She had a great time and before she knew it, her 24 hours were up. St Peter came for her.
"So, you've spent a day in hell and another in heaven. Now you must choose your eternity."
The woman paused for a second and replied: "Well, I never thought I would say this. I mean, heaven has been really great, but I had a better time in hell."
So St Peter escorted her to the lift and again she went down and back to hell. When the doors opened, she found herself standing in a desolate wasteland covered with garbage and filth. She saw that her friends were dressed in rags; they were picking up the garbage and putting it in sacks.
The Devil came up to her and put his arm around her.
"I don't understand," the woman stammered, "Yesterday when I was here, there was golf course and a country club, and we ate lobster and danced, and had a great time. Now all there is a wasteland and all my friends look miserable."
The Devil looked at her and smiled, "Yesterday we were recruiting you. Today you're staff ..."
Keys to My Life
Many of us have certain things that make us better people and our life, an unforgettable journey. For me, the organ has played and still plays a major role in my life.
It all started when my parents got me an organ when I was 11 years old. I was thrilled to see it in our living room. I wondered: "How am I going to play all those keys with just 10 fingers?"
Mr Jeffrey, my first teacher, was very patient and kind. He sparked my interest in the instrument with creative improvisations on every piece that he played for me.
By the time I was 13, I realised that whenever I was happy of sad, something would tell me to go to the organ and play. When I was sad, I would play a sad piece; when I was happy, it would be a happy tune.
Once, when I was reprimanded by my father for not completing some assignment he had given me, I went straight for the organ and hit the keys with a clenched fist. That produced a thunderous sound.... Of course, my father gave me a piece of his mind, in a thunderous voice.
When I was in Form Four, the organ took a backseat as I concentrated more on games with my friends. I also decided to take a break from lessons.
That year, I faired badly in my mid-term exams. As I headed home with a heavy heart, I wondered what to tell my parents.
As I reached my house, something told me to look towards the window in the living room. There, with a thick cloth draped over it, was the organ. On top of it was a family photo, books, a vase filled with flowers ... it had become a piece of furniture on which to display household items.
I pulled off the cloth and lifted the lid of the organ. It was dusty. I played a few notes and, slowly, it all came back to me. I started playing all my favourite pieces. Suddenly, I realise that my parents were behind me. They were so happy to see me at it again. I told them my results and they said it was okay, as long as I worked harder in future.
A few years later, I entered college and soon discovered I was in love. While all my friends were busy writing love letters to their heartthrobs, I was composing songs for mine.
I wanted to express my feelings for her without a single word, yet with a thousand sentences, I could only manage that with the organ. There were times when we had minor arguments and would not talk for days. But the minute I played the songs I composed for her on the organ, she would be there.
We are married now and the organ is in our living room. I still play it to communicate with my wife. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I will sit and wonder what the organ means to me. I see my face on its varnished surface and I realise that's how it helps me express myself - it reflects my emotions.
Well, in a few hours, a young student will be starting his first lesson with me. I think I'll use a mirror to help him understand the beauty of this instrument.
Written by Leonard Selva Gurunathan
Published in Starmag
It all started when my parents got me an organ when I was 11 years old. I was thrilled to see it in our living room. I wondered: "How am I going to play all those keys with just 10 fingers?"
Mr Jeffrey, my first teacher, was very patient and kind. He sparked my interest in the instrument with creative improvisations on every piece that he played for me.
By the time I was 13, I realised that whenever I was happy of sad, something would tell me to go to the organ and play. When I was sad, I would play a sad piece; when I was happy, it would be a happy tune.
Once, when I was reprimanded by my father for not completing some assignment he had given me, I went straight for the organ and hit the keys with a clenched fist. That produced a thunderous sound.... Of course, my father gave me a piece of his mind, in a thunderous voice.
When I was in Form Four, the organ took a backseat as I concentrated more on games with my friends. I also decided to take a break from lessons.
That year, I faired badly in my mid-term exams. As I headed home with a heavy heart, I wondered what to tell my parents.
As I reached my house, something told me to look towards the window in the living room. There, with a thick cloth draped over it, was the organ. On top of it was a family photo, books, a vase filled with flowers ... it had become a piece of furniture on which to display household items.
I pulled off the cloth and lifted the lid of the organ. It was dusty. I played a few notes and, slowly, it all came back to me. I started playing all my favourite pieces. Suddenly, I realise that my parents were behind me. They were so happy to see me at it again. I told them my results and they said it was okay, as long as I worked harder in future.
A few years later, I entered college and soon discovered I was in love. While all my friends were busy writing love letters to their heartthrobs, I was composing songs for mine.
I wanted to express my feelings for her without a single word, yet with a thousand sentences, I could only manage that with the organ. There were times when we had minor arguments and would not talk for days. But the minute I played the songs I composed for her on the organ, she would be there.
We are married now and the organ is in our living room. I still play it to communicate with my wife. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I will sit and wonder what the organ means to me. I see my face on its varnished surface and I realise that's how it helps me express myself - it reflects my emotions.
Well, in a few hours, a young student will be starting his first lesson with me. I think I'll use a mirror to help him understand the beauty of this instrument.
Written by Leonard Selva Gurunathan
Published in Starmag
The Daffodil Principle
Several time my daughter had telephoned to say, "Mother, you must come see the daffodils before they are over." I wanted to do, but she lived two hours' drive away. "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 set off. When I finally walked into Carolyn's house and hugged my grandchildren, I said, "Forget the daffodils! The road is invisible in the clouds and fog, and there is nothing in the world except you and these children that I want to see bad enough to drive another inch for!"
My daughter smiled and said, "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. It's just a few blocks," Carolyn said. "I'll drive."
After several minutes, I had to ask, "Where are we going? This isn't the way to the garage!"
"We're going to my garage the long way - by way of the daffodils."
"Carolyn," I said sternly, "please turn around."
"It's all right, Mother, I promise. You will never forgive yourself if you miss this."
After about 20 minutes, we turned onto a small gravel road and I saw a small church and a hand-written sign: "Daffodil Garden". We got out of the car and each took a child's hand, and I followed Carolyn down the path. Then we turned a corner of the path, and I looked up and gasped.
Before me lay the most glorious sight. It looked as though someone had taken a great vat of gold and poured it down over the mountain peak and slopes. 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-coloured variety was planted as a group so that it swirled and flowed like its own river, with its own unique hue.
"But who has done this?" I asked.
"It's just one woman. She lives on the property. That's her home." Carolyn pointed to a well-kept house that looked small and modest in the midst of all that glory. We walked up to it. On the patio was a poster with the headline, Answers to the Questions I Know You are Asking.
The first answer read: "50,000 bulbs". The second was, "One at a time, by one woman. Two hands, two feet, and very little brain." The third: "Began in 1958."
There it was, The Daffodil Principle. I thought of this woman whom I had never met, whom more than 40 years before, had begun to bring her vision of beauty and joy to an obscure mountain top. Just by planting one bulb at a time, year after year, this unknown woman had changed the world in which she lived. She had created something of ineffable magnificence, beauty and inspiration.
The principle of her daffodil garden taught is one of the greatest principles of celebration. That is, learning to move toward out goals and desires one step at a time - often, just one baby step - and learning to love the doing, and learning to use the accumulation of time. When we multiply tiny pieces of time with this small increments of daily effort, we, too, will find we can accomplish great things. We can change the world.
"It makes me sad in a way," I admitted to Carolyn. "What might I have accomplished if I had thought of a wonderful goal 35 or 40 years ago and had worked away at it 'one bulb at a time' through all those decades. Just think of what I might have been able to achieve."
In her usual direct way, my daughter said, "Start tomorrow."
Yes, it is pointless to think of the lost hours of yesterdays. The way to make learning a lesson of celebration instead of a cause for regret is to only ask, "How can I put this to use today?"
So, stop waiting ... until you get a new car; until your apartment is paid off; until you go back to school; until you lose 5kg; until you get married; until your kids leave home until you retire; until summer, spring, winter or fall; until you die. There is no better time than right now to be happy.
Sent to Starmag by SO K.E
Next Tuesday dawned cold and rainy. Still, I had promised, and so I set off. When I finally walked into Carolyn's house and hugged my grandchildren, I said, "Forget the daffodils! The road is invisible in the clouds and fog, and there is nothing in the world except you and these children that I want to see bad enough to drive another inch for!"
My daughter smiled and said, "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. It's just a few blocks," Carolyn said. "I'll drive."
After several minutes, I had to ask, "Where are we going? This isn't the way to the garage!"
"We're going to my garage the long way - by way of the daffodils."
"Carolyn," I said sternly, "please turn around."
"It's all right, Mother, I promise. You will never forgive yourself if you miss this."
After about 20 minutes, we turned onto a small gravel road and I saw a small church and a hand-written sign: "Daffodil Garden". We got out of the car and each took a child's hand, and I followed Carolyn down the path. Then we turned a corner of the path, and I looked up and gasped.
Before me lay the most glorious sight. It looked as though someone had taken a great vat of gold and poured it down over the mountain peak and slopes. 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-coloured variety was planted as a group so that it swirled and flowed like its own river, with its own unique hue.
"But who has done this?" I asked.
"It's just one woman. She lives on the property. That's her home." Carolyn pointed to a well-kept house that looked small and modest in the midst of all that glory. We walked up to it. On the patio was a poster with the headline, Answers to the Questions I Know You are Asking.
The first answer read: "50,000 bulbs". The second was, "One at a time, by one woman. Two hands, two feet, and very little brain." The third: "Began in 1958."
There it was, The Daffodil Principle. I thought of this woman whom I had never met, whom more than 40 years before, had begun to bring her vision of beauty and joy to an obscure mountain top. Just by planting one bulb at a time, year after year, this unknown woman had changed the world in which she lived. She had created something of ineffable magnificence, beauty and inspiration.
The principle of her daffodil garden taught is one of the greatest principles of celebration. That is, learning to move toward out goals and desires one step at a time - often, just one baby step - and learning to love the doing, and learning to use the accumulation of time. When we multiply tiny pieces of time with this small increments of daily effort, we, too, will find we can accomplish great things. We can change the world.
"It makes me sad in a way," I admitted to Carolyn. "What might I have accomplished if I had thought of a wonderful goal 35 or 40 years ago and had worked away at it 'one bulb at a time' through all those decades. Just think of what I might have been able to achieve."
In her usual direct way, my daughter said, "Start tomorrow."
Yes, it is pointless to think of the lost hours of yesterdays. The way to make learning a lesson of celebration instead of a cause for regret is to only ask, "How can I put this to use today?"
So, stop waiting ... until you get a new car; until your apartment is paid off; until you go back to school; until you lose 5kg; until you get married; until your kids leave home until you retire; until summer, spring, winter or fall; until you die. There is no better time than right now to be happy.
Sent to Starmag by SO K.E
An Xmas Sacrifice
It was bitterly cold Christmas eve in Korea in 1952. A pregnant young Bak Yoon hobbled through the snow toward the home of a missionary friend where she knew she could find help. Tears of sorrow froze on her face as she mourned for her husband. He had recently been killed in the Korean War, and she had no one else to turn to.
A short way down the road from the house was a deep gully spanned by a bridge. As Bak Yoon stumbled forward, birth pains suddenly overcame her. She fell, and realising that she could go no further, crawled under the end of the bridge.
There, cold and alone, her baby boy was born. Bak Yoon had nothing with her except her heavy padded clothes. One by one she removed all the pieces of her clothing and wrapped them around her tiny son, still connected to her body by his umbilical cord. Then, exhausted, she lay back in the snow beside him.
The next morning, Miss Watson, a long-time missionary, drove across the bridge to take a basket of food to a needy Korean family. On her return, as she neared the bridge, the car sputtered and stopped. It was out of petrol. She got out and started across the bridge. Through crunching snow under her feet, she heard another sound - a baby's faint cry. She hesitated, stopped, then heard the cry again.
"It's coming from beneath this bridge!"
Miss Watson crawled under the bridge to investigate. There she saw a tiny, bundled baby, warm but hungry, and Bak Yoon frozen in death. With a knife from her tool box, she cut the cord and took the baby home. After caring first for the child, she, along with some helpers, brought Bak Yoon's body back to near where she lived and buried her there.
She named the baby Soo Park, and adopted him. He was strong and healthy and grew up among many other orphans that she cared for. But to her, he was special. She often told him, "Your mother had great love for you, Soo Park," and about how she had proved that live. The boy never tired of hearing about his beautiful mother.
On Christmas day, his 12th birthday, snow fell non-stop. After the children had helped Soo Park celebrate, he went and sat beside Miss Watson.
"Mother Watson, do you think God made your car run out of petrol the day you found me?"
"Perhaps He did. If that car hadn't stopped, I would not have found you. But I'm so glad it did. I love you and am very proud of you, Soo Park." She hugged him and he rested his head against her.
"Will you please take me out to my mother's grave? I want to pray there. I want to thank her for my life."
"Yes, but put on your heavy coat. It's very cold."
Beside the grave, Soo Park asked Mother Watson to wait a distance away. As the astonished missionary watched, the boy began to take off his warm clothing, piece by piece. Surely he won't take off all his clothing, she thought. He'll freeze!
But the boy stripped himself of everything, laid it on his mother's grave, and knelt shivering in the snow.
Miss Watson waited one minute, then two. Then she put her gloved hand on his snow-covered shoulder. "Come, Soo Park. Your mother in Heaven sees how much you love her. I will help you dress."
In deep sorrow, the boy cried out to the mother he never knew: "Were you colder than this for me, my mother?" And he wept bitterly because he knew, of course, that she was.
Sent to Starmag by Pat Chan
A short way down the road from the house was a deep gully spanned by a bridge. As Bak Yoon stumbled forward, birth pains suddenly overcame her. She fell, and realising that she could go no further, crawled under the end of the bridge.
There, cold and alone, her baby boy was born. Bak Yoon had nothing with her except her heavy padded clothes. One by one she removed all the pieces of her clothing and wrapped them around her tiny son, still connected to her body by his umbilical cord. Then, exhausted, she lay back in the snow beside him.
The next morning, Miss Watson, a long-time missionary, drove across the bridge to take a basket of food to a needy Korean family. On her return, as she neared the bridge, the car sputtered and stopped. It was out of petrol. She got out and started across the bridge. Through crunching snow under her feet, she heard another sound - a baby's faint cry. She hesitated, stopped, then heard the cry again.
"It's coming from beneath this bridge!"
Miss Watson crawled under the bridge to investigate. There she saw a tiny, bundled baby, warm but hungry, and Bak Yoon frozen in death. With a knife from her tool box, she cut the cord and took the baby home. After caring first for the child, she, along with some helpers, brought Bak Yoon's body back to near where she lived and buried her there.
She named the baby Soo Park, and adopted him. He was strong and healthy and grew up among many other orphans that she cared for. But to her, he was special. She often told him, "Your mother had great love for you, Soo Park," and about how she had proved that live. The boy never tired of hearing about his beautiful mother.
On Christmas day, his 12th birthday, snow fell non-stop. After the children had helped Soo Park celebrate, he went and sat beside Miss Watson.
"Mother Watson, do you think God made your car run out of petrol the day you found me?"
"Perhaps He did. If that car hadn't stopped, I would not have found you. But I'm so glad it did. I love you and am very proud of you, Soo Park." She hugged him and he rested his head against her.
"Will you please take me out to my mother's grave? I want to pray there. I want to thank her for my life."
"Yes, but put on your heavy coat. It's very cold."
Beside the grave, Soo Park asked Mother Watson to wait a distance away. As the astonished missionary watched, the boy began to take off his warm clothing, piece by piece. Surely he won't take off all his clothing, she thought. He'll freeze!
But the boy stripped himself of everything, laid it on his mother's grave, and knelt shivering in the snow.
Miss Watson waited one minute, then two. Then she put her gloved hand on his snow-covered shoulder. "Come, Soo Park. Your mother in Heaven sees how much you love her. I will help you dress."
In deep sorrow, the boy cried out to the mother he never knew: "Were you colder than this for me, my mother?" And he wept bitterly because he knew, of course, that she was.
Sent to Starmag by Pat Chan
Carrot, Egg or Coffee Bean?
A young woman complained to her mother about how hard things were for her. She was tired of fighting and struggling, and felt like giving up. It seemed as though whenever one problem got solved, another cropped up.
The mother took her to the kitchen. She filled three pots with water and put them to on the stove to boil. Then she placed carrots int he first pot, eggs in the second, and ground coffee beans in the last and let them boil. After about 20 minutes, mum fished the carrots and eggs out and placed them in a bowl, and ladled the coffee into another bowl.
Turning to her daughter, she said, "Tell me what you see."
"Carrots, eggs, and coffee."
She drew the girl closer and asked her to feel the carrots. The daughter did, and noted that they were soft. She was then asked to take an egg and remove the shell. The egg was hard-boiled. Finally, the young woman sipped the coffee from the second bowl, smiling as she breathed in its rich aroma.
"What does all this mean, mum?"
Her mother explained that the three items had faced the same adversity - boiling water - but each had reacted differently. The carrot went in strong, hard and unrelenting. However, it softened and became weak. The egg had been fragile but its thin outer shell had protected its liquid interior. And the boiling water had hardened what was inside. However, the coffee beans were unique - they actually changed the water!
"Which are you?" mum asked. "When adversity knocks on your door, how do you respond? Do you become soft and lose your strength when you encounter pain? Are you like the egg, which has a malleable heart that changes with the heat? Do you become bitter and hard inside after facing hardship?
"Or are you like the coffee bean, which actually changes the hot water - the very factor that causes the pain. As the water boils, the bean releases its fragrance and flavour. In times of trial and darkness, can you, like the bean, elevate yourself to another level?"
Sent to Starmag by Jaysheila Manoharan
The mother took her to the kitchen. She filled three pots with water and put them to on the stove to boil. Then she placed carrots int he first pot, eggs in the second, and ground coffee beans in the last and let them boil. After about 20 minutes, mum fished the carrots and eggs out and placed them in a bowl, and ladled the coffee into another bowl.
Turning to her daughter, she said, "Tell me what you see."
"Carrots, eggs, and coffee."
She drew the girl closer and asked her to feel the carrots. The daughter did, and noted that they were soft. She was then asked to take an egg and remove the shell. The egg was hard-boiled. Finally, the young woman sipped the coffee from the second bowl, smiling as she breathed in its rich aroma.
"What does all this mean, mum?"
Her mother explained that the three items had faced the same adversity - boiling water - but each had reacted differently. The carrot went in strong, hard and unrelenting. However, it softened and became weak. The egg had been fragile but its thin outer shell had protected its liquid interior. And the boiling water had hardened what was inside. However, the coffee beans were unique - they actually changed the water!
"Which are you?" mum asked. "When adversity knocks on your door, how do you respond? Do you become soft and lose your strength when you encounter pain? Are you like the egg, which has a malleable heart that changes with the heat? Do you become bitter and hard inside after facing hardship?
"Or are you like the coffee bean, which actually changes the hot water - the very factor that causes the pain. As the water boils, the bean releases its fragrance and flavour. In times of trial and darkness, can you, like the bean, elevate yourself to another level?"
Sent to Starmag by Jaysheila Manoharan
Friday, June 18, 2010
The 99 Club
Long ago, there lived a king who should have been contented with his life, given all his riches and luxuries he had. However, this was not the case. The king was always wondering why he just never seemed happy with what he had.
Sure, he had the attention of everyone wherever he went, and he attended fancy dinners and parties. Yet, he still felt something was lacking but couldn't put his finger on it.
One day, the king woke up earlier than usual to stroll around his palace. He entered his huge living room and came to a stop when he heard someone happily singing away. He followed the sound of the song and found one of the servants singing. The man had a very contented look on his face.
This fascinated the king and he summoned him to his chambers. The servant entered as ordered and the king asked why he was so happy?
To that, he replied: " Your Majesty, I am nothing but a servant, but I make enough to keep my wife and children happy. They are my inspiration; they are contented with whatever little I bring home. We don't need much - a roof over our heads and warm food to fill our stomachs. I am happy because my family is happy."
Hearing this, the King dismissed the servant and called for his personal assistant. The King poured out his personal anguish and then related the story of the servant. He hoped that somehow, his assistant would be able to tell him why a ruler who could have anything he wished for at a snap of his fingers was not contented, whereas his servant, who had so little, was extremely happy.
The assistant listened attentively and came to a conclusion. "Your Majesty, I believe that the servant is not a member of The 99 Club."
"The 99 Club? And what is that?"
"To truly know what The 99 Club is, Your Majesty will have to place 99 gold coins in a bag and leave it at this servant's doorstep."
That very evening, the king arranged for 99 gold coins to be placed at the servant's doorstep. He was slightly hesitant and thought he should have put 100 coins into the bad, but decided to do as his assistant had advised.
The servant was just stepping out of his house when he saw the bag at his doorstep. Wondering what it could contain, he took it into his house and opened it. When he saw the gold coins, he let out a joyous shout. There were so many of them!
He could hardly believe his eyes. He called out to his wife and showed her the shiny pieces. He then took the bag to a table, emptied it out and began to count the coins. Soon, he came to 99 and it struck him that that was an odd number. So he counted the coins again and again, only to arrive at the same number.
The servant began to wonder what could have happened to the last coin. There must have been 100, for who would put just 99 coins in the bag?
He began to search his entire house, and poked and looked around his backyard. For hours, he searched because he didn't want to lose out on that one coin. Finally, exhausted, he decided that he would have to work harder than ever to earn enough to complete his entire collection of 100 gold coins.
He got up late the next morning, in an extremely bad mood, and started shouting at his wife and children. What he didn't realise was that he'd spent most of the night thinking of ways to work hard so that he would have enough money to buy himself one gold coin.
Then he went to work, only not in his usual happy mood, with a song on his lips, but feeling grumpy and tired.
When the King saw the servant, he was puzzled to see the changes in his attitude. He promptly summoned his assistant to his chambers. The King related his thoughts about the man and once again, his assistant listened. The King had thought that the servant who, until yesterday, had been contented with his life should be even happier after receiving the gold coins.
To this, the assistant replied: "Ah! But Your Majesty, the servant has now officially joined The 99 Club."
He explained: "The 99 Club is just a name given to those people who have everything yet are never contented. They are always striving for that extra one gold coin to round off what they have to 100!
"We have so much to be thankful for and we can live with very little. But the minute we are given something bigger and better, we want even more. We are not the same happy, contented person we used to be.
"We don;t realise the price we have to pay for wanting more and more - we lost sleep, we hurt the people around us ... That is what joining The 99 Club is all about."
Sent to Starmag by Lydia Chin
Sure, he had the attention of everyone wherever he went, and he attended fancy dinners and parties. Yet, he still felt something was lacking but couldn't put his finger on it.
One day, the king woke up earlier than usual to stroll around his palace. He entered his huge living room and came to a stop when he heard someone happily singing away. He followed the sound of the song and found one of the servants singing. The man had a very contented look on his face.
This fascinated the king and he summoned him to his chambers. The servant entered as ordered and the king asked why he was so happy?
To that, he replied: " Your Majesty, I am nothing but a servant, but I make enough to keep my wife and children happy. They are my inspiration; they are contented with whatever little I bring home. We don't need much - a roof over our heads and warm food to fill our stomachs. I am happy because my family is happy."
Hearing this, the King dismissed the servant and called for his personal assistant. The King poured out his personal anguish and then related the story of the servant. He hoped that somehow, his assistant would be able to tell him why a ruler who could have anything he wished for at a snap of his fingers was not contented, whereas his servant, who had so little, was extremely happy.
The assistant listened attentively and came to a conclusion. "Your Majesty, I believe that the servant is not a member of The 99 Club."
"The 99 Club? And what is that?"
"To truly know what The 99 Club is, Your Majesty will have to place 99 gold coins in a bag and leave it at this servant's doorstep."
That very evening, the king arranged for 99 gold coins to be placed at the servant's doorstep. He was slightly hesitant and thought he should have put 100 coins into the bad, but decided to do as his assistant had advised.
The servant was just stepping out of his house when he saw the bag at his doorstep. Wondering what it could contain, he took it into his house and opened it. When he saw the gold coins, he let out a joyous shout. There were so many of them!
He could hardly believe his eyes. He called out to his wife and showed her the shiny pieces. He then took the bag to a table, emptied it out and began to count the coins. Soon, he came to 99 and it struck him that that was an odd number. So he counted the coins again and again, only to arrive at the same number.
The servant began to wonder what could have happened to the last coin. There must have been 100, for who would put just 99 coins in the bag?
He began to search his entire house, and poked and looked around his backyard. For hours, he searched because he didn't want to lose out on that one coin. Finally, exhausted, he decided that he would have to work harder than ever to earn enough to complete his entire collection of 100 gold coins.
He got up late the next morning, in an extremely bad mood, and started shouting at his wife and children. What he didn't realise was that he'd spent most of the night thinking of ways to work hard so that he would have enough money to buy himself one gold coin.
Then he went to work, only not in his usual happy mood, with a song on his lips, but feeling grumpy and tired.
When the King saw the servant, he was puzzled to see the changes in his attitude. He promptly summoned his assistant to his chambers. The King related his thoughts about the man and once again, his assistant listened. The King had thought that the servant who, until yesterday, had been contented with his life should be even happier after receiving the gold coins.
To this, the assistant replied: "Ah! But Your Majesty, the servant has now officially joined The 99 Club."
He explained: "The 99 Club is just a name given to those people who have everything yet are never contented. They are always striving for that extra one gold coin to round off what they have to 100!
"We have so much to be thankful for and we can live with very little. But the minute we are given something bigger and better, we want even more. We are not the same happy, contented person we used to be.
"We don;t realise the price we have to pay for wanting more and more - we lost sleep, we hurt the people around us ... That is what joining The 99 Club is all about."
Sent to Starmag by Lydia Chin
Sighs of the Heart
"We've been back to this animal shelter at least five times. It has been weeks since we started all of this," the woman told the volunteer.
"What is it your daughter keeps asking for?" the latter asked.
"Puppy size!"
"We have plenty of puppies, if that's what she's looking for."
"I know. We have seen most of them," the woman added, in frustration. Just then her child walked into the office.
"Well, did you find one?"
"No, not this time," the little girl said, with sadness in her voice. "Can we come back on the weekend?"
The two women looked at each other, shook their heads and laughed.
"You never know when we will get more dogs. Unfortunately, there's always a fresh supply," the volunteer said.
The child took her mother by the hand and headed for the door. "Don't worry. I bet we'll find one this weekend," she said.
Over the next few days, Mum and Dad had long conversations with her. They both felt she was being too particular.
"It's this weekend or we're not looking any more," Dad said, finally. "We don't want to hear anything more about puppy size either," Mum added.
Sure enough, they were the first ones in the shelter on Saturday morning. By now, the child knew her was around, so she ran right for the section that housed the smaller dogs.
Tired of the routine, Mum sat in the small waiting room at the end of the first row of cages. There was an observation window so you could see the animals during the times when visitors weren't permitted.
The girl walked slowly from cage to cage, kneeling periodically to take a closer look. One by one the dogs were brought out and she held each one. One by one she said, "Sorry, you're not the one."
She reached the last cage on this last day in search of the perfect pup. The volunteer opened the cage door and the child carefully picked up the dog and held it close. This time, she took a little longer.
"Mum, that's it! I've found the right puppy! He's the one! I know it!" she screamed with joy. Mum, startled by the commotion, came running.
"What? Are you sure? How do you know?"
"It's the puppy sighs!"
"Yes, it is the same size as all the other puppies you held the last few weeks," Mum said.
"No, not S-I-Z-E Mum, S-I-G-H-S. When I held him in my arms, he sighed," the child said.
"So?"
"Mum, don't you remember? When I asked you one day what love is, you told me "Love depends on the sighs of your heart. The more you love, the bigger the sighs!"
The tow women looked at each other. Mum didn't know whether to laugh or cry. As she stooped to hug her child, she did a little of both.
"Mum, every time you hold me, I sigh. When you and Daddy come home, you both sigh. I knew I would find the right puppy if it sighed when I held it in my arms."
Then. holding the puppy up close to her face, she said: "Mum, he loves me. I heard the sighs of his heart."
Written by Bob Perks
Sent to Starmag by G. Suresh Kumar
"What is it your daughter keeps asking for?" the latter asked.
"Puppy size!"
"We have plenty of puppies, if that's what she's looking for."
"I know. We have seen most of them," the woman added, in frustration. Just then her child walked into the office.
"Well, did you find one?"
"No, not this time," the little girl said, with sadness in her voice. "Can we come back on the weekend?"
The two women looked at each other, shook their heads and laughed.
"You never know when we will get more dogs. Unfortunately, there's always a fresh supply," the volunteer said.
The child took her mother by the hand and headed for the door. "Don't worry. I bet we'll find one this weekend," she said.
Over the next few days, Mum and Dad had long conversations with her. They both felt she was being too particular.
"It's this weekend or we're not looking any more," Dad said, finally. "We don't want to hear anything more about puppy size either," Mum added.
Sure enough, they were the first ones in the shelter on Saturday morning. By now, the child knew her was around, so she ran right for the section that housed the smaller dogs.
Tired of the routine, Mum sat in the small waiting room at the end of the first row of cages. There was an observation window so you could see the animals during the times when visitors weren't permitted.
The girl walked slowly from cage to cage, kneeling periodically to take a closer look. One by one the dogs were brought out and she held each one. One by one she said, "Sorry, you're not the one."
She reached the last cage on this last day in search of the perfect pup. The volunteer opened the cage door and the child carefully picked up the dog and held it close. This time, she took a little longer.
"Mum, that's it! I've found the right puppy! He's the one! I know it!" she screamed with joy. Mum, startled by the commotion, came running.
"What? Are you sure? How do you know?"
"It's the puppy sighs!"
"Yes, it is the same size as all the other puppies you held the last few weeks," Mum said.
"No, not S-I-Z-E Mum, S-I-G-H-S. When I held him in my arms, he sighed," the child said.
"So?"
"Mum, don't you remember? When I asked you one day what love is, you told me "Love depends on the sighs of your heart. The more you love, the bigger the sighs!"
The tow women looked at each other. Mum didn't know whether to laugh or cry. As she stooped to hug her child, she did a little of both.
"Mum, every time you hold me, I sigh. When you and Daddy come home, you both sigh. I knew I would find the right puppy if it sighed when I held it in my arms."
Then. holding the puppy up close to her face, she said: "Mum, he loves me. I heard the sighs of his heart."
Written by Bob Perks
Sent to Starmag by G. Suresh Kumar
Remembering the Other Woman
After 21 years of marriage, I went out with another woman. It was really mu wife's idea. "I know that you love her," she said one day, taking me by surprise.
"But I love YOU," I protested.
"I know, but you also love her."
The other woman that my wife wanted me to visit was my mother, who has been a widow for 19 years, but the demand of my work made it possible to visit her only occasionally. That night I called to invite her to go out for dinner and movie.
"What's wrong, are you well?" she asked. My mother is the type of woman who suspects that a late night call or surprise invitation is a sign of bad news.
"I just thought that it would be pleasant to pass some time with you," I responded. "Just the two of us."
She thought about it for a moment then said, "I would like that very much."
That Friday after work, as I drove over to pick her up I was a bit nervous. When I arrived at her house, I noticed that she, too, seemed to be nervous about our date. She waited in the door with her coat on. She had curled her hair and was wearing the dress that she had worn to celebrate her last wedding anniversary. She smiled from a face that was as radiant as an angel's.
"I told my friends that I was going to go out with my son and they were impressed," she said, as she got into the car. "They can't wait to hear about our meeting."
We went to a restaurant that, although not elegant, was very nice and cosy. My mother took my arm as if she were the First Lady. After we sat down, I had to read the menu. Her eyes could only read large print. Half way through the entree, I lifted my eyes and saw Mom sitting there staring at me. A nostalgic smile was on her lips.
:It was I who used to have to read the menu when you were small," she said.
"Then it's time that you relax and let me return the favour," I responded.
During the dinner we had an agreeable conversation - nothing extraordinary - catching up on recent events of each other's life. We talked so much that we missed the movie. As we arrived at her house later, she said, "I'll go out with you again but only if you let me invite you."
I agreed.
"How was your dinner date?" asked my wife when I got home.
"Very nice. Much more so than I could have imagined," I answered.
A few days later my mother died of a massive heart attack. It happened so suddenly that I didn't have a chance to do anything for her.
Some time later I received an envelope with a copy of a restaurant receipt from the same place mother and I had dined. An attached note said: "I had paid this bill in advance. I was almost sure that I couldn't be there but, nevertheless, I paid for two plates - one for you and the other for your wife. You will never know what that night meant for me. I love you."
At that moment I understood the importance of saying, in time: "I love you" and give our loved ones the time that they deserve.
Nothing in life is more important that God and your family. Give them the time they deserve, because these things cannot be put off to "some other time."
From Starmag
"But I love YOU," I protested.
"I know, but you also love her."
The other woman that my wife wanted me to visit was my mother, who has been a widow for 19 years, but the demand of my work made it possible to visit her only occasionally. That night I called to invite her to go out for dinner and movie.
"What's wrong, are you well?" she asked. My mother is the type of woman who suspects that a late night call or surprise invitation is a sign of bad news.
"I just thought that it would be pleasant to pass some time with you," I responded. "Just the two of us."
She thought about it for a moment then said, "I would like that very much."
That Friday after work, as I drove over to pick her up I was a bit nervous. When I arrived at her house, I noticed that she, too, seemed to be nervous about our date. She waited in the door with her coat on. She had curled her hair and was wearing the dress that she had worn to celebrate her last wedding anniversary. She smiled from a face that was as radiant as an angel's.
"I told my friends that I was going to go out with my son and they were impressed," she said, as she got into the car. "They can't wait to hear about our meeting."
We went to a restaurant that, although not elegant, was very nice and cosy. My mother took my arm as if she were the First Lady. After we sat down, I had to read the menu. Her eyes could only read large print. Half way through the entree, I lifted my eyes and saw Mom sitting there staring at me. A nostalgic smile was on her lips.
:It was I who used to have to read the menu when you were small," she said.
"Then it's time that you relax and let me return the favour," I responded.
During the dinner we had an agreeable conversation - nothing extraordinary - catching up on recent events of each other's life. We talked so much that we missed the movie. As we arrived at her house later, she said, "I'll go out with you again but only if you let me invite you."
I agreed.
"How was your dinner date?" asked my wife when I got home.
"Very nice. Much more so than I could have imagined," I answered.
A few days later my mother died of a massive heart attack. It happened so suddenly that I didn't have a chance to do anything for her.
Some time later I received an envelope with a copy of a restaurant receipt from the same place mother and I had dined. An attached note said: "I had paid this bill in advance. I was almost sure that I couldn't be there but, nevertheless, I paid for two plates - one for you and the other for your wife. You will never know what that night meant for me. I love you."
At that moment I understood the importance of saying, in time: "I love you" and give our loved ones the time that they deserve.
Nothing in life is more important that God and your family. Give them the time they deserve, because these things cannot be put off to "some other time."
From Starmag
Thursday, June 17, 2010
The Empty Egg
Jeremy Forrester was born with a twisted body and a slow mind. At the age of 12 he was still in second grade, seemingly unable to learn. His teacher, Doris Miller, often became exasperated with hi,. He would squirm in his seat, drool, and make grunting noises. At other times, he spoke clearly and distinctly, as if a spot of light had penetrated the darkness of his brain.
Most of the time, however, Jeremy just irritated his teacher. One day she called his parents and asked them to come in for a consultation.
As the Forresters entered the empty classroom, Miller said to them: "Jeremy really belongs in a special school. It isn't fair to him to be with younger children who don't have learning problems. Why, there is a five-year gap between his age and that of the other students."
Mrs Forrester cried softly into a tissue, while her husband spoke.
"Miss Miller, there is no school of that kind nearby. It would be a terrible shock for Jeremy if we had to take him out of this school. We know he really likes it here."
Miller sat for a long time after they had left, staring at the snow outside the window. Its coldness seemed to seep into her soul. She wanted to sympathise with the Forresters. After all, their only child had a terminal illness. But it wasn't fair to keep him in her class. She had 18 other youngsters to teach, and Jeremy was a distraction. Furthermore, he would never learn to read and write.
Why waste any more time trying? As she pondered the situation, guilt washed over her. Here I am complaining when my problems are nothing compared to that poor family's, she thought. Lord, please help me to be more patient with Jeremy.
From that day on, she tried hard to ignore Jeremy's noises and his blank stares. Then one day, he limped to her desk, dragging his bad leg behind him.
"I love you, Miss Miller," he exclaimed, loud enough for the whole class to hear. The other students snickered, and Miller's face turned red. She stammered, "Wh-why that's very nice, Jeremy. N-now please take your seat."
Spring came, and the children talked excitedly about the coming of Easter. Miller told them the story of Jesus, and then to emphasise the idea of new life springing forth, she gave each of them a large plastic egg.
"Now, I want you to take this home and bring it back tomorrow with something inside that shows new life. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Miss Miller," the children responded enthusiastically - all except for Jeremy. He listened intently: his eyes never left her face. He did not even make his usual noises. Had he understood what she had said about Jesus' death and resurrection? Did he understand the assignment?
Perhaps she should call his parents and explain the project to them.
That evening, Miller's kitchen sink stopped up. She called the landlord and waited an hour for him to come by and unclog it. After that, she still had to show for groceries, iron a blouse, and prepare a vocabulary test for the next day. She completely forgot about phoning Jeremy's parents.
The next morning, 19 children came to school, laughing and talking as they placed their eggs in the large wicker basket on her desk. After they completed their math lesson, it was time to open the eggs. In the first egg, Miller found a flower.
"Oh yes, a flower is certainly a sign of new life," she said. "When plants peek through the ground, we know that spring is here."
A small girl in the first row waved her arm. "That's my egg, Miss Miller," she called out.
The next egg contained a plastic butterfly, which looked very real. Miller held it up. "We all know that a caterpillar changes and grows into a beautiful butterfly. Yes, that's new life, too."
Little Judy smiled proudly and said, "Miss Miller, that one is mine."
Next, Miller found a rock with moss on it. She explained that moss, too, showed life. Billy spoke up from the back of the classroom, "My daddy helped my," he beamed.
Then Miller opened the fourth egg. She gasped: it was empty. Surely it must be Jeremy's, she thought. Of course he had not understood her instructions. If only she hadn't forgotten to phone his parents... As she did not want to embarrass him, she quietly set the egg aside and reached for another.
Suddenly, Jeremy spoke up. "Miss Miller, aren't you going to talk about my egg?" Flustered, Miller replied: "But Jeremy, your egg is empty."
He looked into her eyes and said softly, "Yes, but Jesus' tomb was empty, too." Tome stopped. When she could speak again, Miller asked him: "Do you know why the tomb is empty?"
"Oh, yes," Jeremy said, "Jesus was killed and put int here. Then His Father raised Him up."
The recess bell rang. While the children excitedly ran out to the school yard, Miller cried. The cold inside her melted completely away.
Three months later, Jeremy died. Those who paid their respects at the mortuary were surprised to see 19 eggs on top of his casket, all of them empty.
Sent to Starmag by Sharon Jarjan
Most of the time, however, Jeremy just irritated his teacher. One day she called his parents and asked them to come in for a consultation.
As the Forresters entered the empty classroom, Miller said to them: "Jeremy really belongs in a special school. It isn't fair to him to be with younger children who don't have learning problems. Why, there is a five-year gap between his age and that of the other students."
Mrs Forrester cried softly into a tissue, while her husband spoke.
"Miss Miller, there is no school of that kind nearby. It would be a terrible shock for Jeremy if we had to take him out of this school. We know he really likes it here."
Miller sat for a long time after they had left, staring at the snow outside the window. Its coldness seemed to seep into her soul. She wanted to sympathise with the Forresters. After all, their only child had a terminal illness. But it wasn't fair to keep him in her class. She had 18 other youngsters to teach, and Jeremy was a distraction. Furthermore, he would never learn to read and write.
Why waste any more time trying? As she pondered the situation, guilt washed over her. Here I am complaining when my problems are nothing compared to that poor family's, she thought. Lord, please help me to be more patient with Jeremy.
From that day on, she tried hard to ignore Jeremy's noises and his blank stares. Then one day, he limped to her desk, dragging his bad leg behind him.
"I love you, Miss Miller," he exclaimed, loud enough for the whole class to hear. The other students snickered, and Miller's face turned red. She stammered, "Wh-why that's very nice, Jeremy. N-now please take your seat."
Spring came, and the children talked excitedly about the coming of Easter. Miller told them the story of Jesus, and then to emphasise the idea of new life springing forth, she gave each of them a large plastic egg.
"Now, I want you to take this home and bring it back tomorrow with something inside that shows new life. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Miss Miller," the children responded enthusiastically - all except for Jeremy. He listened intently: his eyes never left her face. He did not even make his usual noises. Had he understood what she had said about Jesus' death and resurrection? Did he understand the assignment?
Perhaps she should call his parents and explain the project to them.
That evening, Miller's kitchen sink stopped up. She called the landlord and waited an hour for him to come by and unclog it. After that, she still had to show for groceries, iron a blouse, and prepare a vocabulary test for the next day. She completely forgot about phoning Jeremy's parents.
The next morning, 19 children came to school, laughing and talking as they placed their eggs in the large wicker basket on her desk. After they completed their math lesson, it was time to open the eggs. In the first egg, Miller found a flower.
"Oh yes, a flower is certainly a sign of new life," she said. "When plants peek through the ground, we know that spring is here."
A small girl in the first row waved her arm. "That's my egg, Miss Miller," she called out.
The next egg contained a plastic butterfly, which looked very real. Miller held it up. "We all know that a caterpillar changes and grows into a beautiful butterfly. Yes, that's new life, too."
Little Judy smiled proudly and said, "Miss Miller, that one is mine."
Next, Miller found a rock with moss on it. She explained that moss, too, showed life. Billy spoke up from the back of the classroom, "My daddy helped my," he beamed.
Then Miller opened the fourth egg. She gasped: it was empty. Surely it must be Jeremy's, she thought. Of course he had not understood her instructions. If only she hadn't forgotten to phone his parents... As she did not want to embarrass him, she quietly set the egg aside and reached for another.
Suddenly, Jeremy spoke up. "Miss Miller, aren't you going to talk about my egg?" Flustered, Miller replied: "But Jeremy, your egg is empty."
He looked into her eyes and said softly, "Yes, but Jesus' tomb was empty, too." Tome stopped. When she could speak again, Miller asked him: "Do you know why the tomb is empty?"
"Oh, yes," Jeremy said, "Jesus was killed and put int here. Then His Father raised Him up."
The recess bell rang. While the children excitedly ran out to the school yard, Miller cried. The cold inside her melted completely away.
Three months later, Jeremy died. Those who paid their respects at the mortuary were surprised to see 19 eggs on top of his casket, all of them empty.
Sent to Starmag by Sharon Jarjan
Mom's the Word
In celebration of Mother's Day today, we share this lovely story from the internet that was sent to us (STARMAG) by Rani Jarjan
Once upon a time there was a child ready to be born. The child asked God, "They tell me you are sending me to Earth tomorrow, but how am I going to live there being so small and helpless?"
God replied, "Among the many angels, I chose one for you. Your angel will be waiting for you and will take care of you."
The child further inquired, "But tell me, here in heaven I don't have to do anything but sing and smile to be happy."
God said, "Your angel will sing for you and will also smile for you every day. And you will feel your angel's love and be very happy."
Again the child asked, "And how am I going to be able to understand when people talk to me if I don't know the language?"
God said, "Your angel will tell you the most beautiful and sweet words you will ever hear, and with much patience and care, you angel will teach you how to speak."
"And what am I going to do when I want to talk to you?"
God said, "Your angel will place your hands together and will teach you how to pray."
"I've heard that on Earth there are bad men. Who will protect me?"
God said, "Your angel will defend you even if it means risking its life."
"But I will always be sad because I will not see you anymore."
God said, "Your angel will teach you the way to come back to me, even though I will always be next to you."
At the moment there was much peace in heaven, but voices from Earth could be heard and the child hurriedly asked, "God, if I am to leave now, please tell me my angel's name."
"Her name is not important. You will simply call her MOM."
Once upon a time there was a child ready to be born. The child asked God, "They tell me you are sending me to Earth tomorrow, but how am I going to live there being so small and helpless?"
God replied, "Among the many angels, I chose one for you. Your angel will be waiting for you and will take care of you."
The child further inquired, "But tell me, here in heaven I don't have to do anything but sing and smile to be happy."
God said, "Your angel will sing for you and will also smile for you every day. And you will feel your angel's love and be very happy."
Again the child asked, "And how am I going to be able to understand when people talk to me if I don't know the language?"
God said, "Your angel will tell you the most beautiful and sweet words you will ever hear, and with much patience and care, you angel will teach you how to speak."
"And what am I going to do when I want to talk to you?"
God said, "Your angel will place your hands together and will teach you how to pray."
"I've heard that on Earth there are bad men. Who will protect me?"
God said, "Your angel will defend you even if it means risking its life."
"But I will always be sad because I will not see you anymore."
God said, "Your angel will teach you the way to come back to me, even though I will always be next to you."
At the moment there was much peace in heaven, but voices from Earth could be heard and the child hurriedly asked, "God, if I am to leave now, please tell me my angel's name."
"Her name is not important. You will simply call her MOM."
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