Have I taught my children to fish and to sharpen their axes?

Finally my back has gotten better and I am terribly grateful for that. I forget how hard it is to function or concentrate when you are in such pain. It has been a long time since my back has been that bad...I think it scared Jeff and I both. I don't want to have surgery on my back, I pray that I can get stronger and keep it that way!

Today I was able to go to church and teach the women in Relief Society. The lesson was how important it is that we teach our children about God and how that can change their lives. One of the things that stuck out to me was ...that the reason that it is important to teach your children about God and Jesus Christ is because, there will be times in your kids lives that you can't be there.. but their Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ will always be there. What a great source of strength that can be.
I love the quote...

"Give a Man a Fish, and You Feed Him for a Day. Teach a Man To Fish, and You Feed Him for a Lifetime"

I would love to keep all my family close to me always and shelter them from anything bad in the world, but that isn't possible. I just pray that Jeff and I have taught them well enough to fish on their own. I hope that they will read the scriptures and go to them always for strength and comfort.

I hope that they know through and through, that they are a child of God and with that knowledge they will be able to be happy and have peace and hope...no matter what is going on in their world.

I hope that they love and teach their families to love and serve others. That they will never see someone in trouble or hurt...without helping them. 

you can watch the video HERE:

What a better world we would have if everyone loved one another.
It was a great reminder for me to study the scriptures, pray more often and look for opportunities every day to help someone in need.

Good Night dear friends!

PS If any of you think your lives are too busy to take time and read your scriptures...then read this story below!

The Wood-Choppers Contest

Once upon a time there were two men in a wood-chopping contest.  They were tasked with chopping down as many trees in the forest as they could from sun-up to sun-down.  The winner would be rewarded with both fame and fortune.

From morning till noon, both men steadily chopped and chopped.  By noon they were neck and neck, but then one man took a break and stopped chopping.  The other man saw this and thought to himself: “The lazy fool, he’s probably taken a break for lunch. He’s given me a chance to get ahead of him and I will without doubt win this contest!”

A while later the man got back to work. As the day continued he chopped more trees than his hard-working (and hungry) competitor and by mid-afternoon he had taken a clear lead.

When sundown came, the man who had taken the break at noon had chopped almost twice as many trees as the other man, who was drenched in sweat, hungry and exhausted.

“How did you beat me?” he asked puzzled. “You were lazier than I and even took a break for lunch!”

“Ah,” said the other man, “I did take a break, but it was during that break, that I sharpened my axe.”

It gets better!

Well, today went different than we had planned for Angie's 3 Day Sleep Over...she is still very sick. So we just laid low again, tried to get a lot of fluids in her and just sat around and talked. We watched a movie and then just headed her to bed early. I pray that tonight she does better than last night. She is such a sweetheart and hardly complains at all. Still no matter what she still wants to stay for her Sleep Over. It does my heart good!
Loved this letter that Jason F. Wright, great reminder to us all ...that "It gets better".
Good Night dear friends!

Letter to a stranger in a cemetary

Dear Sir in the cemetery,

I saw you last Sunday.

I was driving home from a church in the northern part of Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley.

You were visiting a different kind of church. Wearing a dark suit, you stood at the foot of what appeared to be a fresh grave in a quiet, sunny cemetery. You looked younger than me, but your face and posture breathed experience.

You were alone.

I admit that my heart suggested I slam on the brakes and approach you. But my mind argued otherwise. Yes, I did pull into the cemetery’s side entrance, but I observed from a safe distance and did not leave my car.

As I sat, I reminisced about my own graveside visits to those I’ve loved and lost. And I lingered on three words heaven has whispered to me over and over again.

It gets better.

Obviously, I do not know the circumstances of your loss, your relationship or your grief. You might have been there to mourn a mother who lived to 82, a brother who perished at 52 or a wife who passed at 32.

Or, perhaps most tragically, a toddler taken at just 2.

As an adult, you probably already know that the grief for every kind of death is distinct, like crayons in a box that are all the same size and shape, but when streaked across the paper are unique.

But perhaps in the postscript of a funeral, you don’t yet know that those three words are as real as the pain you feel.

It gets better.

I’m almost certain people who’ve been there surround you on all sides. Maybe not living the exact same shades of grief, but they’ve likely lost someone they loved more than anyone or anything. When you wonder about tomorrow, you wonder if they believe in those three words, too.

If my assumptions are correct and your own loss is recent, the grief might feel like a bright billboard that no matter where you turn or how fast you drive, is always right in front of you. It seems inescapable. Even when you close your eyes, even when you dream, your personalized shade of sadness finds you.

That’s part of the plan. Though today it may sound out of tune, grief is good. It means they lived, it means you loved, it means they left behind a piece of their soul inside yours.

Many years ago I invited one of my brothers to visit my father’s grave with me. Unlike the grave you watered with tears last week, our dad’s has seen only rain and sprinklers for a long time. My brother smiled and reminded me what I already knew. “He’s not there.”

I realized that day that for my brother, it got better. And, eventually, it got better for me, too. We miss him, of course, but our grief has turned into brighter shades of memories: the cheesy T-shirts, the bad jokes and a thousand lessons learned.

During this Holy Week, the days that lead to the victory of Easter morning, I’m reminded again of the many visits to gravesites that tugged at my heartstrings. I remember how cemeteries can be peaceful, healing settings and I don’t regret a single second spent there.

I also remember the billboard I couldn’t escape. I recall the pain that waited for me each morning like uncomfortable shoes at the side of my bed.

Perhaps like you, I wondered if the sun would ever rise again.

In time, I learned the most foundational and fundamental truth of eternal life.

The sun will rise again, because the Son rose.

Friends come and go, families grow, relationships end and 101 hearts are broken and healed every second of every day. But this Easter truth is constant.

He is Risen.

Just like Mary who sat outside an empty tomb, the graves we visit are simply symbols. The only life there is our own. The ones we mourn, the one you miss, is not there.

No, they’re not yet risen. But they will be!

Because he was.

And even though I don’t know you, because he is risen, I know these other three words are also true.

It gets better.
You can read it HERE:

Kindness of a stranger

Well, I kept thinking what I accomplished today to tell you about...nothing much. My coughing kept me up most of the night, and so I really didn't feel like doing much. After talking to the doctor's office this morning,  I did take a shower... just in case they needed me to come in.  I guess that was an accomplishment, still not very exciting or motivational. But, I do have an article that I found that was. So I hope you enjoy it, and remember even though the news doesn't publish it very often...that there are many wonderful people out there in the world, doing wonderful things! Now that's motivational! Good night dear friends!

ROCKFORD, Ill. (AP) - Three waitresses at an Illinois restaurant say they could only stare in disbelief when a woman over the weekend handed them each a $5,000 check.
The owner of the Boone County Family Restaurant in Caledonia, Matt Nebiu, said business was slow Saturday when the customer handed checks to 25-year-old Amy Sabani, 23-year-old Sarah Seckinger and 28-year-old Amber Kariolich.
Sabansi told the Rockford Register Star that she first thought her check was for $500. But on closer inspection she saw its actual value and refused to take it.
Sabani said the woman told the waitresses to use the money for school and "everything else in life."
Seckinger says a last semester to earn her associate degree in criminal justice was too expensive, but she will now return to school.
(Copyright 2014 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.)

Read more at http://www.ksl.com/?nid=711&sid=28596017#vwvrX4uD0CtVbAIc.99
Found the story here:

Everything happens for a reason!

Well, dear friends I am back blogging, I am still on vacation but it is back to my turn to write. I knew my daughter in law would do a great job, just like my daughters have done. So grateful that they understand how important this blog is to me and how thankful I am for their examples of motivation and happiness.
It is late and I will write soon and let you know all that has been going on. For now, here is a sweet message from Jason Wright! Enjoy and good night dear friends!

                  

                         

During the early moments of our 90-minute visit, I convinced myself that spending the time with the sweet woman would be good for her. But by the time we said, "Goodbye,” I realized it hadn’t been good for her — it had been good for me.

WOODSTOCK, Va. — It was a hot, muggy Monday afternoon in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley. The humid hours and minutes felt like fat dominos, too heavy to gather momentum and topple over onto one another. It was the kind of afternoon that just gives up and waits for dusk to arrive with a fan and an extra lemonade.
I stepped outside my office on Main Street in Woodstock for a thick walk to our small-town post office. It was time to clear my lousy head after punching through several lousy drafts of a lousy column that now sits in my digital trashcan.
I took the long way, despite the heat, and extended the stroll by several blocks. I watched cars and other pedestrians pass by, waved at a few strangers and wondered what I was missing.
Then, when I returned to my building — a quaint movie theater from another era — I met a remarkable woman who rewrote my afternoon, this very column, and maybe, just maybe, my outlook on life.
Betty Pelletier, 89, of Woodstock, Va., was sitting alone on a bench outside my office eating a snack when I sat down next to her to say, "Hello." I learned she was returning home from a doctor’s appointment and an errand at the opposite end of Main Street. She’d walked from one end of town to the other and back again.
I’d barely taken a seat when she said confidently, “Everything happens for a reason.”
During the early moments of our 90-minute visit, I convinced myself that spending the time with the sweet woman would be good for her. But by the time we said, "Goodbye," I realized it hadn’t been good for her — it had been good for me.
After the usual pleasantries, I learned that Pelletier moved to the area four years ago from Arlington, Va. The Florida native had been in northern Virginia for most of her adult life, working as a secretary and typist in Washington, D.C. Four years ago she moved to Woodstock to care for her former husband, a man she hadn’t associated with in years. “There was no one else,” she said. “And everyone deserves to be cared for.”
Sadly, soon after she uprooted and planted herself in town, the man developed Alzheimer’s and was checked into a long-term care facility. The arrangement was no longer necessary, but here she was to stay.
I turned to face her. “You know, Betty, not many people would do that.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Everything happens for a reason.”
Pelletier spoke fondly of the man who still lives, but because of illness does not know her. She talked of his career driving tour buses, including a longtime gig driving the legendary Smokey Robinson. The two men became friends, and though her former husband wouldn’t remember, she suspects Robinson would. The warm memory brought a smile to her face and mine.
My new friend shared with me the second love of her life and a long-distance relationship that survived the odds. Though he no longer lives, her memories of him are as crisp as the days they unfolded. They have two children she wishes she saw more often and two grandchildren she loves dearly.
Once, as she told a particular story, I interrupted her to clarify a point. "Well, if you'd just let me finish," she quipped.
Later during our conversation, two elderly women approached asking if we knew where a nearby beauty salon was located. My friend, not content to simply point and give directions, stood immediately and asked me to watch her things. “I’ll be right back.” She led the older of the two women by the arm, tenderly supporting her as they moved down the sidewalk. The side-by-side sight of the three women was almost poetic.
Pelletier returned five minutes later and picked up right where she’d left off.

We discussed a new bakery in town, her friends at the seniors’ center and how much the facility and the people mean to her. We talked about books, history and our shared experiences of falling down the stairs from the second floor to the first. “Just a sprain and a bruise,” she said with relief. “You?”
“I rode my plastic motorcycle down the stairs when I was 4.” I pointed to the scar on the back of my head and she stifled a laugh, but not a smile.
Soon my daughters drove by and pulled over to say hello to their dad and a stranger sitting on a bench. I asked, “Would you mind if my daughter took a picture?”
My beautiful pal laughed and her eyes widened. “Without lipstick?”
Because I know an 89-year-old woman on a fixed income with no car or family nearby has few options, I insisted on giving Pelletier my cellphone number, my wife’s number and my word that if she needed a ride to the doctor, the store or anywhere in between, we’d be there.
Before I left I asked this woman of a thousand stories if she would mind if I shared hers with my readers. After the predictable “no-one-wants-to read-about-me” response, she gave me three things she would want the world to know about a long life well lived.
“We should pray every morning.”
“We should live each day like it’s our last. You never know,” she paused to watch a car pass. “You just never know.”
“And last?” I wondered aloud.
"Like I said," she smiled. "Everything happens for a reason."
To read more of Jason's articles you can find them here:

Great Moments!

What an incredible story! I hope I am this nice and positive, when I am old!
Good night dear friends!

The last cab ride

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. One time I arrived in the middle of the night for a pick up at a building that was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window.
Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked.
“Just a minute,” answered a frail, elderly voice.
I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80′s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase.
The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
“Would you carry my bag out to the car?” she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.
“It’s nothing,” I told her. “I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated.”
“Oh, you’re such a good boy,” she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, “Could you drive through downtown?”
“It’s not the shortest way,” I answered quickly.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” she said. “I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.”
I looked in the rear view mirror. Her eyes were glistening.
“I don’t have any family left,” she continued. “The doctor says I don’t have very long.”
I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. “What route would you like me to take?” I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, “I’m tired. Let’s go now.”
We drove in silence to the address she had given me.
It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
“How much do I owe you?” she asked, reaching into her purse.
“Nothing,” I said.
“You have to make a living,” she answered.
“There are other passengers.”
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.
“You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,” she said. “Thank you.”
I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.
I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life. We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware—beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

Found the story here:
" If you haven't any charity in your heart, you have the worst kind of heart trouble."  ~Bob Hope
" It's nice to be important, but it's more important to be nice."  ~Author Unknown

" If you want others to be happy, practice compassion.  If you want to be happy, practice compassion."  ~Dalai Lama

Every little bit helps... and matters!

This was a powerful story, and it was about the difference little children can make. Made me stop and think what difference am I making on a daily basis? It is a bit long, but good! Enjoy!

 

The Rock Club

One night when I was in second grade, I saw something on the news that really bothered me. It was about a group of homeless people sleeping outside in the cold, with nowhere to go for warmth and comfort. I felt sorry for them, and I wanted to help.

So I decided to start a club. The goal was to raise money to help the homeless. I called it the Rock Club. When I first started, we only had about five members, but that quickly grew to about twenty. It wasn't hard to get people to join the club. I hardly had to ask anybody if they wanted to be a member. In fact, they came up to me and just asked me if they could join!

We spent all of our free time at recess painting rocks. We painted animals, flowers and shapes – even names of sports teams. We all just worked on whatever we felt like painting.

We'd go around the school in search of teachers who would buy our rocks and use them as paperweights. We sold the rocks for five cents, ten cents and even up to twenty cents each. We painted one huge rock with polka dots that sold for five bucks! By Christmas, we had raised thirty-three dollars. We decided to give the money to a local homeless shelter.

My mom offered to take my friend and me to the shelter to deliver the money. When we pulled up, we noticed that there were whole families sitting on the snowy sidewalk. As we went into the building, I could not get the picture of what I had just seen out of my mind. I kept thinking about the little children, and all of the men and women with nowhere to sleep.

When we got inside, we met the lady at the front desk and gave her the money that the club had earned. She seemed really grateful for our donation. She invited us to take a tour of the shelter. I had never seen a real homeless shelter before, so I wanted to see the inside. As we toured the building, what really got to me were the rows and rows of tables set up to feed the hungry. There must have been over one hundred tables in there. In the kitchen, the helpers were making what seemed like endless rows of gingerbread men. It was amazing to me that for every gingerbread man, the shelter was expecting a person in need for dinner and shelter that night.

As we were leaving the homeless shelter, I saw a man sitting on the snow-covered pavement. He was wearing a dirty, dark green coat and black pants that were covered in mud. He was clutching to his side a Christmas tree covered with red ornaments. I felt so sorry for him because he had nowhere else to put a tree except the streets where he lived. It made me realize that even someone with no home, or money for presents, still wanted to have a Christmas.

The next day there was picture of that same man in the newspaper. I knew his image would stay with me forever. I hoped that his picture also reminded others about how much help the homeless people need, and that we should remember them all year – not only at Christmas.

A few days later, a newspaper reporter and a photographer came to our school and took a picture of our Rock Club members. The photo and article came out in the paper the next day. We all felt proud that we had done something that gave more attention to the needs of the homeless in our town.

Our school decided that what we did was really great, so they started a program just for kids. Now kids at our school are helping the homeless shelter and other organizations that help people in need.

Something as simple as some rocks, some paint and a few caring kids made me realize that you're never too young – and you don't need much – to make a difference.

by Vanessa Clayton, age 14

"Never look down on anybody unless you're helping him up."  ~Jesse Jackson

"Today, give a stranger one of your smiles.  It might be the only sunshine he sees all day."  ~Quoted in P.S. I Love You, compiled by H. Jackson Brown, Jr.