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RETRIEVED FROM THE INTERNET SENT TO ME BY FRIENDS

THOUGHTS AND REFLECTIONS

1.Today by Mark

 

Today, I will delete from my journal two days: yesterday and tomorrow

Yesterday was to learn from and tomorrow...well that will be the consequence of what I can do today.

Today, I will face life with the sure knowledge that this day will never return

Today, is the last opportunity I have to live intensely, as no one can assure me that I will see tomorrow's sunrise.

Today, I will be brave enough not to let any opportunity pass me by, my only alternative is to succeed.

Today, I will invest my most valuable resource: my time in the most transcendental work: my life

Today, I will spend each minute passionately, to make today a different and unique day in my life.

Today, I will defy every obstacle that appears on my way, trusting I will succeed.

Today, I will resist pessimism, and will conquer the world with a smile and a positive attitude of always expecting the best.

Today, I will make of every ordinary task a sublime expression

Today, I will have my feet on the ground understanding reality and the stars' gaze, and thus will invent my future.

Today, I will take the time to be happy and will leave my footprints and my presence in the hearts of others, not just in the sands of time

Today,  I invite you to begin a new season where we can dream that everything we undertake is possible and we fulfil that dream, with joy and dignity

Today, why not perform a random act of kindness...? And, if there are those that you love, tell them, you don't know when it might be your last opportunity. Tell them, as I have just done...today

A lesson of life
Read the following and have a GREAT day!

I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily appraising a basket of freshly picked green peas.
I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next to me.
'Hello Barry, how are you today? ''H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas. They sure
look good. ''They are good, Barry. How's your Ma? ''Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time. ''Good. Anything I can help you with? ''No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas. ''Would you like to take some home?' asked Mr. Miller. 'No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with. ''Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas? ''All I got's my prize marble here. ''Is that right? Let me see it' said Miller. 'Here 'tis. She's a dandy. ''I can see that. Hmm mmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?' the store owner asked. 'Not zackley but almost.

 ''Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble'. Mr. Miller told the boy. 'Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller. 'Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile she said, 'There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever. When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, when they come on their next trip to the store. 'I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado , but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering for marbles. Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his visitation that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them.

 Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever
words of comfort we could. Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and
the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts...all very professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.
Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and reminded her of the story from those many years ago and what she had told me about her husband's bartering for marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket. 'Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about.
They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim 'traded' them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about colour or size....they came to pay their debt. ''We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world,' she confided, 'but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho ...'With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.
The Moral :
We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds. Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath. Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles~ A fresh pot of coffee you didn't make yourself...An unexpected phone call from an old friend .....Green stoplights on your way to work...The fastest line at the grocery store...A good sing-along song on the radio...Your keys found right where you left them.
IT'S NOT WHAT YOU GATHER, BUT WHAT YOU SCATTER THAT TELLS WHAT KIND OF LIFE YOU HAVE LIVED

TheSandpiper

by Robert Peterson

She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live.
I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world
begins to close in on me. She was building a sand castle or something and
looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.

"Hello," she said.

I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.

"I'm building," she said.

"I see that. What is it?" I asked, not really caring.

"Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand."

That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes.

A sandpiper glided by.

"That's a joy," the child said.

"It's a what?"

"It's a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy."

The bird went gliding down the beach. Good-bye joy, I muttered to myself,

hello pain, and turned to walk on. I was depressed, my life seemed

completely out of balance.

"What's your name?" She wouldn't give up.

"Robert," I answered. "I'm Robert Peterson."

"Mine's Wendy... I'm six."

"Hi, Wendy."

She giggled. "You're funny," she said.

In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on.

Her musical giggle followed me.

"Come again, Mr. P," she called. "We'll have another happy day."

The next few days consisted of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings,

and an ailing mother. The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out

of the dishwater. I need a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up my

coat.

The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly,

but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.

"Hello, Mr. P," she said. "Do you want to play?"

"What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.

"I don't know. You say."

"How about charades?" I asked sarcastically.

The tinkling laughter burst forth again. "I don't know what that is."

"Then let's just walk."

Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face.

"Where do you live?" I asked.

"Over there." She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.

Strange, I thought, in winter.

"Where do you go to school?"

"I don't go to school. Mommy says we're on vacation."

She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was

on other things. When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day.

Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.

Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I was in

no mood to even greet Wendy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch and

felt like demanding she keep her child at home.

"Look, if you don't mind," I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, "I'd

rather be alone today." She seemed unusually pale and out of breath.

"Why?" she asked.

I turned to her and shouted, "Because my mother died!" and thought, My God,

why was I saying this to a little child?

"Oh," she said quietly, "then this is a bad day."

"Yes," I said, "and yesterday and the day before and -- oh, go away!"

"Did it hurt?" she inquired.

"Did what hurt?" I was exasperated with her, with myself.

"When she died?"

"Of course, it hurt!" I snapped, misunderstanding,

wrapped up in myself. I strode off.

A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there.

Feeling guilty, ashamed, and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up to

the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn looking young

woman with honey-coloured hair opened the door.

"Hello," I said, "I'm Robert Peterson. I missed your little girl today and

wondered where she was."

"Oh, yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy spoke of you so much. I'm

afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance, please, accept my

apologies."

"Not at all! she's a delightful child." I said, suddenly realizing

that I meant what I had just said.

"Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson. She had leukemia

Maybe she didn't tell you."

Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. I had to catch my breath.

"She loved this beach, so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no. She

seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days. But

the last few weeks, she declined rapidly..." Her voice faltered, "She left

something for you, if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I

look?"

I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely young

woman. She handed me a smeared envelope with "MR. P" printed in bold

childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues -- a yellow

beach, a blue sea, and a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed:

A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY.

Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to love

opened wide. I took Wendy's mother in my arms. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry,

I'm so sorry," I uttered over and over, and we wept together. The precious

little picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six words -- one for

each year of her life -- that speak to me of harmony, courage, and

undemanding love.

A gift from a child with sea blue eyes and hair the colour of sand

-- who taught me the gift of love.

NOTE: This is a true story sent out by Robert Peterson. It happened over 20

years ago and the incident changed his life forever. It serves as a reminder

to all of us that we need to take time to enjoy living and life and each

other. The price of hating other human beings is loving oneself less.

Life is so complicated, the hustle and bustle of everyday traumas can make

us lose focus about what is truly important or what is only a momentary setback or crisis.

This week, be sure to give your loved ones an extra hug, and by all means,

take a moment...even if it is only ten seconds...to stop and smell the

roses.

This comes from someone's heart and is read by many

and now I share it with you.

May God Bless everyone who receives this! There are NO coincidences!

Everything that happens to us happens for a reason. Never brush aside anyone

as insignificant. Who knows what they can teach us?

I wish for you,

a sandpiper.

 

A NEW APPROACH TO A LIFE GIVING GESTURE CLICK ON THE URL BELOW OR PASTE IT IN YOUR BROWSER

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nySUhtaf2QQ