UGLY

Everyone in the apartment complex I lived in knew who Ugly was. Ugly was
the resident tomcat. Ugly loved three things in this world: fighting, eating
garbage, and shall we say, love. The combination of these things combined
with a life spent outside had their effect on Ugly. To start with, he had
only one eye, and where the other should have been was a gaping hole. He was
also missing his ear on the same side, his left foot has appeared to have
been badly broken at one time, and had healed at an unnatural angle, making
him look like he was always turning the corner. His tail has long since been
lost, leaving only the smallest stub, which he would constantly jerk and
twitch. Ugly would have been a dark gray tabby striped-type, except for the
sores covering his head, neck, even his shoulders with thick, yellowing
scabs. Every time someone saw Ugly there was the same reaction. "That's one
UGLY cat!!"
All the children were warned not to touch him, the adults threw rocks at
him, hosed him down, squirted him when he tried to come in their homes, or shut
his paws in the door when he would not leave. Ugly always had the same
reaction. If you turned the hose on him, he would stand there, getting
soaked until you gave up and quit. If you threw things at him, he would curl his
lanky body around feet in forgiveness. Whenever he spied children, he would
come running meowing frantically and bump his head against their hands,
begging for their love. If you ever picked him up he would immediately begin suckling on your shirt, earrings, whatever he could find.
One day Ugly shared his love with the neighbors huskies. They did not
respond kindly, and Ugly was badly mauled. From my apartment I could hear his
screams, and I tried to rush to his aid. By the time I got to where he was
laying, it was apparent Ugly's sad life was almost at an end. Ugly lay in a wet circle, his back legs and lower back twisted grossly out of shape, a gaping tear in the white strip of fur that ran down his front. As I picked him up and tried to carry him home I could hear him wheezing and gasping, and could feel him struggling. I must be hurting him terribly I
thought. Then I felt a familiar tugging, sucking sensation on my ear- Ugly, in so much pain, suffering and obviously dying was trying to suckle my ear. I pulled him closer to me, and he bumped the palm of my hand with his head, then he turned his one golden eye towards me, and I could hear the distinct sound of purring. Even in the greatest
pain, that ugly battled-scarred cat was asking only for a little affection, perhaps some compassion.
At that moment I thought Ugly was the most beautiful, loving creature I had
ever seen. Never once did he try to bite or scratch me, or even try to get
away from me, or struggle in any way. Ugly just looked up at me completely
trusting in me to relieve his pain.
Ugly died in my arms before I could get inside, but I sat and held him for a
long time afterwards, thinking about how one scarred, deformed little stray
could so alter my opinion about what it means to have true pureness of
spirit, to love so totally and truly. Ugly taught me more about giving and
compassion than a thousand books, lectures, or talk show specials ever
could, and for that I will always be thankful.
He had been scarred on the outside, but I was scarred on the inside, and it
was time for me to move on and learn to love truly and deeply. To give my
total to those I cared for.
Many people want to be richer, more successful, well liked, or beautiful,
but, for me, I will always try to be Ugly.

I WANT TO BE SIX AGAIN

I want to go to McDonald's and think it's the best place in
the world to eat.

I want to sail sticks across a fresh mud puddle and make
waves with rocks.

I want to think M&Ms are better than money 'cause you can eat them.

I want to play kickball during recess and stay up on
Christmas Eve waiting to hear Santa and Rudolph on the roof.

I long for the days when life was simple. When all you knew
were your colors, the addition tables, and simple nursery rhymes,
but it didn't bother you because you didn't know what you didn't
know, and you didn't care.

I want to go to school and have snack time, recess, gym,
and field trips.

I want to be happy because I don't know what should make me upset.

I want to think the world is fair, and everyone in it is
honest and good.

I want to believe that anything is possible. Sometime, while I
was maturing, I learned too much. I learned of nuclear weapons,
starving and abused kids, and unhappy marriages.

I want to be six again.

I want to think that everyone, including myself, will live
forever because I don't know the concept of death.

I want to be oblivious to the complexity of life, and be
overly excited by the little things again.

I want television to be something I watch for fun, not something
I use for escape from the things I should be doing.

I want to live knowing the little things I find exciting will
always make me as happy as when I first learned them.

I want to be six again.

I remember not seeing the world as a whole, but rather being
aware of only the things that directly concerned me.

I want to be naive enough to think that if I'm happy, so is
everyone else.

I want to walk down the beach and think only of the sand
beneath my feet, and the possibility of finding that blue piece
of sea glass I'm looking for.

I want to spend my afternoons climbing trees and riding my
bike, letting the grownups worry about time, the dentist, and
how to find the money to fix the car.

I want to wonder what I'll do when I grow up, not worry what
I'll do if this doesn't work out.

I want that time back. I want to use it now as an escape.
So that when my computer crashes, I have a mountain of paperwork,
two depressed friends, or second thoughts about so many things,
I can travel back and build a snowman without thinking about
anything except whether the snow sticks together. What I can
possibly use for the snowman's mouth?

I want to be six again

A PIECE OF CHALK

In our home it was natural to fear our father.

Even our mother was afraid of him. As children, my sister and I thought every family was like that. Every family had an unpredictable alcoholic who was impossible to please, and a praying Mama who was there to protect the children. We thought God planned it that way.

We were good children, Mama was always telling us we were, even if Daddy couldn't see it. Part of this was because we dared not do anything. We were quiet, timid children who rarely spoke; never when Daddy was home. People thought God had blessed Mama with the sweetest girls. She was always so proud!

Then came the day we found something new and fun to do.

We knew it would not upset anyone. We never took the risk of doing that. On our house we had a wooden door. We discovered we could draw pictures on it with chalk and it would rub right back off. We could have lots of fun.

We set to work drawing and making lots of pretty pictures all over it. We had a great time. It surprised us to see how talented we were. These pictures were good! That's when we decided to finish our masterpiece. We were proud of our work. We knew Mama would just love it. She would want all her friends to come see it and maybe they would want us to do their doors too. We had found something we were really good at!

The praise we expected did not come. Instead of seeing the beauty in our work, all Mama could see was the time and effort she would need to clean it off. She was mad. We did not understand this but we knew all about anger - and we were in big trouble!

Off we ran to find a place to hide. In our wooded yard it was not hard for two small children to find safety. Together we huddled behind a tree and did not move. Soon we heard the frightened voices of Mom and our neighbors calling out to us. Still we did not budge. They were afraid that we had run away or had drowned in the pond out back. We were afraid of being found.

The sun set and it began to get dark. Those around us became more anxious and we became more frightened. Time was slipping by, and the longer we hid there the harder it was to come out. Mom was, by now, convinced something awful had happened to us and she resorted to calling the police. We could tell something was happening because we could hear all the voices drawn together in a group. Then the search was on again, this time with strong male voices overpowering the others. If we were frightened before -- now we were terrified!

As we clung together in the dark we became aware of yet another voice. One we instantly recognized with horror -- our Daddy. But there was something strangely different about his voice. In it we heard something we had never heard before. Fear, agony, despair -- we couldn't put a name to it then, but that's what it was. Then came the prayers, tears and prayers intermingled together.

Was that our Daddy on his knees pleading with God? Our Daddy -- with tears running down his face, promising God that he would give his life to Him if He would safely return his girls?

Nothing in our lives had prepared us for this kind of shock. Neither of us remember making a decision to come out. We were drawn to him like a magnet, our fears dissolving into the forest. We don't know yet if we actually took steps or if God somehow moved us out and into his arms. What we do remember are those strong loving arms holding us and crying, holding us like we were precious.

Things were different after that. We had a new Daddy. It was like the old one was buried that day in the forest. God had taken him and replaced him with another. One who loved us and was ever thankful for us.

Mama always told us that God was a God of miracles. I guess she was right. He changed our whole family with a piece of chalk.

-- Holly Smeltzer

The Dream

In 1991, Debra Robinson was dating Ed Wilson. They had been seeing each other for over three years. Although he had "popped the question" several times, she had avoided giving him an answer. Fearful, conflicted, and anxious about "tying the knot," she kept stalling. As a result, she was tormented and miserable.

One night, Chuck Anton, an old friend of her deceased father, Wayne Robinson, had a dream. In the dream, Wayne Robinson said, "Chuck, do me a favor. My daughter Debra is going out with someone, and this person is her destined one. Please find her and tell her that she should marry him, and that she's going to have a wonderful life! This match has my blessing and, for once, she should listen to her father!"

Chuck Anton woke up with a muffled scream. He hadn't seen Debra Robinson since her father had died ten years before. Shaken, he roused his wife and recounted the dream. She told him it was ridiculous and advised him to go back to sleep. He followed her counsel and soon forgot the entire episode.

A week later, Wayne Robinson reappeared in a new dream. "Chuck!" he expostulated, wagging an accusing finger. "You didn't do what I requested! How many times do I have to ask you to tell my daughter to marry the young man she's seeing!" Once again, Chuck awoke with a start, but this time he resolved to consult his priest.

"Look," said the priest after Chuck poured out his heart, "Find the girl, and ask her if she's currently seeing anyone seriously. If she isn't, say nothing. If she is, you have a responsibility to deliver her father's message."

The following Sunday, Debra Robinson lay on her bed, weeping. The night before, her younger sister, Susie, had gotten engaged. Although she was happy for her sister, the engagement had undeniably served to accentuate her own sense of aloneness and her anxiety about her relationship with Ed.

Debra was in agony, and cried out, "Please God, help me figure out what to do! I beg you... send me a sign!" At that precise moment, the telephone rang. "Debra?" an old, familiar voice inquired. "This is Chuck Anton..." Three months later, Debra and Ed were married, and they have been living a fairy-tale life ever since.

The Birthday

It was grandfather's birthday. He was 79. He got up early, showered, combed his hair and put on his Sunday best so he would look nice when they came.

He skipped his daily walk to the town cafe where he had coffee with his cronies. He wanted to be home when they came.

He put his porch chair on the sidewalk so he could get a better view of the street when they drove up to celebrate his birthday.

At noon he got tired, but decided to forgo his nap so he could be awake when they came. Most of the rest of the afternoon he spent near the telephone so he could answer it when they called.

He has five married children, 13 grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. One son and daughter live within 10 miles of his place. They hadn't visited him for a long time. But today was his birthday and they were sure to come.

At suppertime he left the cake untouched so they could cut it and have dessert with him. After supper he sat on the porch waiting.

At 8:30 he went to his room to prepare for bed. Before retiring he left a note on the front door, which read, "Be sure to wake me up when you arrive."

It was grandfather's birthday. He was 79.

THE RICH FAMILY IN OUR CHURCH
by Eddie Ogan

I'll never forget Easter 1946. I was 14, my little sister Ocy, 12, and my older sister Darlene, 16. We lived at home with our mother, and the four of us knew what it was to do without many things. My dad had died 5 years before, leaving Mom with seven school kids to raise and no money. By 1946 my older sisters were married, and my brothers had left home.

A month before Easter, the pastor of our church announced that a special Easter offering would be taken to help a poor family. He asked everyone to save and give sacrificially. When we got home, we talked about what we could do. We decided to buy 50 pounds of potatoes and live on them for a month. This would allow us to save $20 of our grocery money for the offering. Then we thought that if we kept our electric lights turned out as much as possible and didn't listen to the radio, we'd save money on that month's electric bill.

Darlene got as many house and yard cleaning jobs as possible, and both of us baby sat for everyone we could. For 15 cents, we could buy enough cotton loops to make three potholders to sell for $1. We made $20 on potholders. That month was one of the best of our lives. Every day we counted the money to see how much we had saved. At night we'd sit in the dark and talk about how the poor family was going to enjoy having the money the church would give them. We had about 80 people in church, so we figured that whatever amount of money we had to give, the offering would surely be 20 times that much. After all, every Sunday the Pastor had reminded everyone to save for the sacrificial offering.

The day before Easter, Ocy and I walked to the grocery store and got the manager to give us three crisp $20 bills and one $10 bill for all our change. We ran all the way home to show Mom and Darlene. We had never had so much money before. That night we were so excited we could hardly sleep. We didn't care that we wouldn't have new clothes for Easter; we had $70 for the sacrificial offering. We could hardly wait to get to church!

On Sunday morning, rain was pouring. We didn't own an umbrella, and the church was over a mile from our home, but it didn't seem to matter how wet we got. Darlene had cardboard in her shoes to fill the holes. The cardboard came apart, and her feet got wet. But we sat in church proudly. I heard some teenagers talking about the Smith girls having on their old dresses. I looked at them in their new clothes, and I felt so rich.

When the sacrificial offering was taken, we were sitting on the second row from the front. Mom put in the $10 bill, and each of us girls put in a $20.

As we walked home after church, we sang all the way. At lunch Mom had a surprise for us. She had bought a dozen eggs, and we had boiled Easter eggs with our fried potatoes!

Late that afternoon the minister drove up in his car. Mom went to the door, talked with him for a moment, and then came back with an envelope in her hand. We asked what it was, but she didn't say a word. She opened the envelope and out fell a bunch of money. There were three crisp $20 bills, one $10 and seventeen $1 bills. Mom put the money back in the envelope. We didn't talk, just sat and stared at the floor. We had gone from feeling like millionaires to feeling like poor white trash.

We kids had had such a happy life that we felt sorry for anyone who didn't have our mom and dad for parents and a house full of brothers and sisters and other kids visiting constantly. We thought it was fun to share silverware and see whether we got the fork or the spoon that night. We had two knives which we passed around to whoever needed them. I knew we didn't have a lot of things that other people had, but I'd never thought we were poor. That Easter Day I found out we were. The minister had brought us the money for the poor family, so we must be poor. I didn't like being poor. I looked at my dress and worn-out shoes and felt so ashamed that I didn't want to go back to church.

Everyone there probably already knew we were poor! I thought about school. I was in the ninth grade and at the top of my class of over 100 students. I wondered if the kids at school knew we were poor. I I decided I could quit school since I had finished the eighth grade. That was all the law required at that time.

We sat in silence for a long time. Then it got dark, and we went to bed. All that week, we girls went to school and came home, and no one talked much. Finally on Saturday, Mom asked us what we wanted to do with the money. What did poor people do with money? We didn't know. We'd never known we were poor.

We didn't want to go to church on Sunday, but Mom said we had to. Although it was a sunny day, we didn't talk on the way. Mom started to sing, but no one joined in and she only sang one verse. At church we had a missionary speaker. He talked about how churches in Africa made buildings out of sun-dried bricks, but they need money to buy roofs. He said $100 would put a roof on a church. The minister said, "Can't we all sacrifice to help these poor people?"

We looked at each other and smiled for the first time in a week. Mom reached into her purse and pulled out the envelope. She passed it to Darlene. Darlene gave it to me, and I handed it to Ocy. Ocy put it in the offering. When the offering was counted, the minister announced that it was a little over $100. The missionary was excited. He hadn't expected such a large offering from our small church.

He said, "You must have some rich people in this church." Suddenly it struck us! We had given $87 of that "little over $100." *We* were the rich family in the church! Hadn't the missionary said so? From that day on I've never been poor again.

THE LITTLE BOY

In the days when an ice cream sundae cost much less, a 10-year-old boy entered a hotel coffee shop and sat at a table. A waitress put a glass of water in front of him. "How much is an ice cream sundae?"

"Fifty cents," replied the waitress. The little boy pulled his hand out of his pocket and studied a number of coins in it. "How much is a dish of plain ice cream?" he inquired. Some people were now waiting for a table and the waitress was a bit impatient.

"Thirty-five cents," she said brusquely. The little boy again counted the coins. "I'll have the plain ice cream," he said. The waitress brought the ice cream, put the bill on the table and walked away. The boy finished the ice cream, paid the cashier and departed.

When the waitress came back, she began wiping down the table and then swallowed hard at what she saw. There, placed neatly beside the empty dish, were two nickels and five pennies - her tip.

YOU MAKE A DIFFERENCE

A teacher in New York decided to honor each of her seniors in high school by telling them the difference they each made. Using a process developed by Helice Bridges of Del Mar, California, she called each student to the front of the class, one at a time. First she told them how the student made a difference to her and the class. Then she presented each of them with a blue ribbon imprinted with gold letters which read, "Who I Am Makes a Difference."

Afterwards the teacher decided to do a class project to see what kind of impact recognition would have on a community. She gave each of the students three more ribbons and instructed them to go out and spread this Acknowledgment ceremony. Then they were to follow up on the results, see who honored whom and report back to the class in about a week.

One of the boys in the class went to a junior executive in a nearby company and honored him for helping him with his career planning. He gave him a blue ribbon and put it on his shirt. Then he gave him two extra ribbons, and said, "We're doing a class project on recognition, and we'd like you to go out, find somebody to honor, give them a blue ribbon, then give them the extra blue ribbon so they can acknowledge a third person to keep this acknowledgment ceremony going. Then please report back to me and tell me what happened."

Later that day the junior executive went in to see his boss, who had been noted as being kind of a grouchy fellow. He sat his boss down and he told him that he deeply admired him for being a creative genius. The boss seemed very surprised. The junior executive asked him if he would accept the gift of the blue ribbon and would he give him permission to put it on him. His surprised boss said, "Well, sure."

The junior executive took the blue ribbon and placed it right on his boss's jacket above his heart. As he gave him the last extra ribbon, he said, "Would you do me a favor? Would you take this extra ribbon and pass it on by honoring somebody else? The young boy who first gave me the ribbons is doing a project in school, and we want to keep this recognition ceremony going and find out how it affects people."

That night the boss came home to his 14-year-old son and sat him down. He said, "The most incredible thing happened to me today. I was in my office and one of the junior executives came in and told me he admired me and gave me a blue ribbon for being a creative genius. Imagine! He thinks I'm a creative genius! Then he put this blue ribbon that says 'Who I Am Makes A Difference' on my jacket above my heart. He gave me an extra ribbon and asked me to find somebody else to honor."

"As I was driving home tonight, I started thinking about whom I would honor with this ribbon, and I thought about you. I want to honor you. My days are really hectic, and when I come home, I don't pay a lot of attention to you. Sometimes I scream at you for not getting good enough grades in school and for your bedroom being a mess, but somehow tonight, just wanted to sit here and let you know that you do make a difference to me. Besides your mother, you are the most important person in my life. You're a great kid and I love you."

The startled boy started to sob and sob, and he couldn't stop crying. His whole body shook. He looked up at his father and said through his tears, "I was planning to commit suicide tomorrow, Dad, because I didn't think you loved me. Now I don't need to. I love you Dad."

FLYING

Once upon a time there was a little boy who was raised in a orphanage. The little boy had always wished that he could fly like a bird. It was very difficult for him to understand why he could not fly. There were birds at the zoo that were much bigger than he, and they could fly. "Why can't I?" he thought. "Is there something wrong with me?" he wondered.

There was another little boy who was crippled. He had always wished that he could walk and run like other little boys and girls. "Why can't I be like them?" he thought. One day the little orphan boy who had wanted to fly like a bird ran away from the orphanage. He came upon a park where he saw the little boy who could not walk or run playing in the sandbox. He ran over to the little boy and asked him if he had ever wanted to fly like a bird.

"No," said the little boy who could not walk or run. "But I have wondered what it would be like to walk and run like other boys and girls." "That is very sad." said the little boy who wanted to fly. "Do you think we could be friends?" he said to the little boy in the sandbox. "Sure." said the little boy. The two little boys played for hours. They made sand castles and made really funny sounds with their mouths. Sounds which made them laugh real hard. Then the little boy's father came with a wheelchair to pick up his son.

The little boy who had always wanted to fly ran over to the boy's father and whispered something into his ear. "That would be OK," said the man. The little boy who had always wanted to fly like a bird ran over to his new friend and said, "You are my only friend and I wish that there was something that I could do to make you walk and run like other little boys and girls. But I can't. But there is something that I can do for you."

The little orphan boy turned around and told his new friend to slide up onto his back. He then began to run across the grass. Faster and faster he ran, carrying the little crippled boy on his back. Faster and harder he ran across the park. Harder and harder he made his legs travel. Soon the wind just whistled across the two little boys' faces. The little boy's father began to cry as he watched his beautiful little crippled son flapping his arms up and down in the wind, all the while yelling at the top of his voice, "I'M FLYING, DADDY. I'M FLYING!"

-- Roger Dean Kiser, Sr., Florida

LESSONS

I grew up knowing I was different, and I hated it. I was born with a cleft palate, and when I started to go to school, my classmates-who were constantly teasing- made it clear to me how I must look to others: a little girl with a misshapen lip, crooked nose, lopsided teeth, and hollow and somewhat garbled speech. I couldn't even blow up a balloon without holding my nose, and when I bent to drink from a fountain, the water spilled out of my nose.

When my schoolmates asked, "What happened to your lip?" I'd tell them that I'd fallen as a baby and cut it on a piece of glass. Somehow it seemed more acceptable to have suffered an accident than to have been born different. By the age of seven I was convinced that no one outside my own family could ever love me. Or even like me.

And then I entered the second grade, and Mrs. Leonard's class. I never knew what her first name was -- just Mrs. Leonard. She was round and pretty and fragrant, with chubby arms and shining brown hair and warm dark eyes that smiled even on the rare occasions when her mouth didn't. Everyone adored her. But no one came to love her more than I did. And for a special reason.

The time came for the annual "hearing tests" given at our school. I was barely able to hear anything out of one ear, and was not about to reveal yet another problem that would single me out as different. And so I cheated.

I had learned to watch other children and raised my hand when they did during group testing. The "whisper test" however, required a different kind of deception: Each child would go to the door of the classroom, turn sideways, close one ear with a finger, and the teacher would whisper something from her desk, which the child would repeat. Then the same thing was done for the other ear. I had discovered in kindergarten that nobody checked to see how tightly the untested ear was being covered, so I merely pretended to block mine.

As usual, I was last, but all through the testing I wondered what Mrs. Leonard might say to me. I knew from previous years that she whispered things like "The sky is blue" or "Do you have new shoes?"

My turn came up. I turned my bad ear to her plugging up the other solidly with my finger, then gently backed my finger out enough to be able to hear. I waited and then the words that God had surely put into her mouth, seven words that changed my life forever. Mrs. Leonard, the pretty, fragrant teacher I adored, said softly, "I wish you were my little girl."

-- Mary Ann Bird, Hopkinton, Massachusetts

WEAKNESS OR STRENGTH

Sometimes your biggest weakness can become your biggest strength. Take,
for example, the story of one 10-year-old boy who decided to study judo
despite the fact that he had lost his left arm in a devastating car
accident.

The boy began lessons with an old Japanese judo master. The boy was
doing well, so he couldn't understand why, after three months of
training, the master had taught him only one move.

"Sensei," the boy finally said, "shouldn't I be learning more moves?"

"This is the only move you know, but this is the only move you'll ever
need to know," the sensei replied.

Not quite understanding, but believing in his teacher, the boy kept
training.

Several months later, the sensei took the boy to his first tournament.
Surprising himself, the boy easily won his first two matches. The third
match proved to be more difficult, but after some time, his opponent
became impatient and charged; the boy deftly used his one move to win
the match. Still amazed by his success, the boy was now in the finals.

This time, his opponent was bigger, stronger, and more experienced. For
a while, the boy appeared to be overmatched. Concerned that the boy
might get hurt, the referee called a time-out. He was about to stop the
match when the sensei intervened.

"No," the sensei insisted, "Let him continue."

Soon after the match resumed, his opponent made a critical mistake: he
dropped his guard. Instantly, the boy used his move to pin him. The
boy had won the match and the tournament. He was the champion.

On the way home, the boy and sensei reviewed every move in each and
every match. Then the boy summoned the courage to ask what was really on
his mind.

"Sensei, how did I win the tournament with only one move?"

"You won for two reasons," the sensei answered. "First, you've almost
mastered one of the most difficult throws in all of judo. Second, the
only known defense for that move is for your opponent to grab your left
arm."

The boy's biggest weakness had become his biggest strength.

Unknown

I Want That One
by Charles Stanley

I heard a story once about a farmer who had some puppies for sale.
He made a sign advertising the pups and nailed it to a post on the edge
of his yard. As he was nailing the sign to the post, he felt a tug on
his overalls. He looked down to see a little boy with a big grin and
something in his hand.

"Mister," he said, "I want to buy one of your puppies."

"Well," said the farmer, "these puppies come from fine parents
and cost a good deal."

The boy dropped his head for a moment, then looked back up at
the farmer and said, "I've got thirty-nine cents. Is that
enough to take a look?

"Sure," said the farmer, and with that he whistled and called
out, "Dolly. Here, Dolly." Out from the doghouse and down the
ramp ran Dolly followed by four little balls of fur. The
little boy's eyes danced with delight.

Then out from the doghouse peeked another little ball; this one
noticeably smaller. Down the ramp it slid and began hobbling in an
unrewarded attempt to catch up with the others. The pup was clearly
the runt of the litter.

The little boy pressed his face to the fence and cried out, "I want
that one," pointing to the runt.

The farmer knelt down and said, "Son, you don't want that puppy. He
will never be able to run and play with you the way you would like."

With that the boy reached down and slowly pulled up one leg of his
trousers. In doing so he revealed a steel brace running down both
sides of his leg attaching itself to a specially made shoe. Looking
up at the farmer, he said, "You see, sir, I don't run too well myself,
and he will need someone who understands."

LESSONS FORM ANGELICA

Yesterday I paused outside the deli in my office building to let pass a rather harried looking mother pushing a stroller loaded with a variety of shoulder bags and a small little girl.

My mind was elsewhere and I never actually saw what caused it, but halfway through this narrow doorway a wheel of the stroller caught on the threshold and tipped the entire load forward. Caught off balance and a little pre-occupied herself, this young lady lost her grip and the stroller pitched forward, spilling the contents of several bags and one very frightened brown haired child.

Instinct took over and as any father would do, my first reaction was to lift this baby to my shoulder, pat her on the back and console her. I couldn't get over how light she was or how strange it was that she didn't look around for her mother. She just cried and stared directly at the wall and never turned her head in any direction.

Despite her small stature, Angelica, as I would later learn her name was, nearly choked me with her grip, as she frantically held onto my shirt and neck. Never responding to my voice as my daughter had, Angelica pressed her face into my hands as I stroked her hair and wiped the tears from her wide green eyes.

It only took a second or two for her mother to free the stroller from the doorway and race to my side, but Angelica would not let go of my shoulder and hand so I told her mother to go ahead and get her things together while I held the baby.

I had resumed my attempt at calming the baby when her mother turned and said, "She can only hear you if you put her ear to your chest, she's also deaf."

Also?

I turned my head to stare into this beautiful little girls eyes, and saw... nothing... no response... no reaction.

This frail, frightened child was blind and deaf, her only window to the world was through touch. I stroked her cheek and was given a hopeful smile through her tears, I tickled her under the chin, she giggled and placed her head on my shoulder and sighed. My heart was broken as could only think of my own two and a-half-year old daughter, Christina. I thought of how often she fell asleep to my wife and I singing to her or how often I catch her looking out of the corner of her eye at me and laughing when I wink or make a face. Would she ever know the joy and love in her home if she couldn't see or hear it? Could I show her how much she means in my life just by touch alone? How often had I said "I love you, Good night" without a hug or a kiss?

We all know how important touching can be, we all know the peace that settles into your heart after a warm hug, but could any of us convey complex emotions like sadness, joy, sympathy or love through touch alone? Did this little girl know that I was a stranger, someone she had never been near before? Did she even have a concept of different people at all? Could she tell her mother apart from any other woman?

And then all these questions where answered in one quick second. Her mother took her from me and nuzzled her neck and hugged her. The look on that child's face answered all and then some.

Of course she could.

I stood there watching Angelica being buckled back into her seat and tried my best not to cry in the hallway of my office. I pray that this mother can somehow get through to her little girl over the only bridge available, and I pray that I will never have to try. I do know one thing though -- I'm going home tonight and practice.

To Live Again

"If I had my life to live over, I'd try to make more mistakes next time. I
would relax, I would limber up. I would be crazier than I've been on this
trip. I know very few things I'd take seriously anymore. I'd certainly be
less hygienic I would take more chances, I would take more trips, I would
scale more mountains, I would swim more rivers, and I would watch more
sunsets. I would eat more ice cream and fewer beans. I would have more
actual troubles and fewer imaginary ones. Oh, I've had my moments, and if I
had to do it all over again, I'd have many more of them. In fact I'd try
not to have anything else, just moments, one after another, instead of
living so many years ahead of my day. If I had to do it all over again, I'd
travel lighter, much lighter than I have. I would start barefoot earlier in
the spring, and I'd stay that way later in the fall. And I would ride more
merry-go-rounds, and catch more gold rings, and greet more people and pick
more flowers and dance more often. If I had it to do all over again - but
you see, I don't."
-Jorge Luis Borges

God's Wife

This is an eye witness account which happened in the City of New York, on a
cold day in December some time ago... A little boy about 10 years old was
standing before a shoe store on Broadway, barefooted, peering through the
window, and shivering with cold. A lady approached the boy and said,
"My little fellow, why are you looking so earnestly in that window?" "I was
asking God to give me a pair of shoes," was the boys reply. The lady took him
by the hand and went into the store, and asked the clerk to get half a dozen
pairs of socks for the boy. She then asked if he could give her a basin of
water and a towel, and he replied: "Certainly," and quickly brought them to
her. She took the little fellow to the back part of the store and, removing
her gloves, knelt down, washed his little feet and dried them with a towel.
By this time the clerk had returned with the socks.

Placing a pair upon the boy's feet, she purchased him a pair of shoes, and
tying up the remaining pairs of socks, gave them to him. She patted him on
the head and said, "No doubt, my little fellow, you feel more comfortable
now?"

As she turned to go, the astonished lad caught her by the hand, and looking
up in her face, with tears in his eyes, answered the question with these words,
"Are you God's Wife?"

Brian

He was driving home one evening, on a two-lane country road. Work in
this small Midwestern community was almost as slow as his beat-up
Pontiac.
But he never quit looking. Ever since the factory closed, he'd been
unemployed, and with winter raging on, the chill had finally hit home.
It was a lonely road. Not very many people had a reason to be on it,
unless they were leaving. Most of his friends had already left. They
had families to feed and dreams to fulfill. But he stayed on. After
all, this was where he buried his mother and father. He was born here
and knew the country. He could go down this road blind, and tell you
what was on either side and with his headlights not working, that came
in handy. It was starting to get dark and light snow flurries were
coming down. He'd better get a move on.

You know, he almost didn't see the old lady, stranded on the side of the
road. But even in the dim light of day, he could see she needed help.
So he pulled up in front of her Mercedes and got out. His Pontiac was
still sputtering when he approached her. Even with the smile on his
face, she was worried.

No one had stopped to help for the last hour or so. Was he going to
hurt her? He didn't look safe, he looked poor and hungry. He could
see that she was frightened, standing out there in the cold. He knew
how she felt. It was that chill which only fear can put in you. He
said, "I'm here to help you ma am. Why don't you wait in the car
where it's warm? By the way, my name is Bryan." Well, all she had
was a flat tire, but for an old lady, that was bad enough. Bryan
crawled under the car looking for a place to put the jack, skinning
his knuckles a time or two. Soon he was able to change the tire.
But he had to get dirty and his hands hurt. As he was tightening up
the lug nuts, she rolled down the window and began to talk to him.

She told him that she was from St. Louis and was only just passing
through. She couldn't thank him enough for coming to her aid. Bryan
just smiled as he closed her trunk. She asked him how much she owed
him. Any amount would have been all right with her. She had already
imagined all the awful things that could have happened had he not
stopped. Bryan never thought twice about the money. This was not a
job to him. This was helping someone in need, and God knows there
were plenty who had given him a hand in the past. He had lived his
whole life that way, and it never occurred to him to act any other way. He
told her that if she really wanted to pay him back, the next time
she saw someone who needed help, she could give that person the
assistance that they needed, and Bryan added "...and think of me."

He waited until she started her car and drove off. It had been a cold
and depressing day, but he felt good as he headed for home, disappearing
into the twilight.

A few miles down the road the lady saw a small cafe. She went in to
grab a bite to eat, and take the chill off before she made the last leg
of her trip home. It was a dingy looking restaurant. Outside were two
old gas pumps.
The whole scene was unfamiliar to her. The cash register was like the
telephone of an out of work actor -- it didn't ring much. Her waitress
came over and brought a clean towel to wipe her wet hair. She had a
sweet smile, one that even being on her feet for the whole day couldn't
erase. The lady noticed that the waitress was nearly eight months
pregnant, but she never let the strain and aches change her attitude.
The old lady wondered how someone who had so little could be so giving
to a stranger. Then she remembered Bryan. After the lady finished her
meal, and the waitress went to get change for her hundred dollar bill,
the lady slipped right out the door. She was gone by the time the waitress
came back.

She wondered where the lady could be, then she noticed something written
on a napkin. There were tears in her eyes when she read what the lady
wrote.

It said: "You don't owe me anything. I have been there too. Somebody
once helped me, the way I'm helping you. If you really want to pay
me back, here is what you do: Do not let this chain of love end with
you."

Well, there were tables to clear, sugar bowls to fill, and people to
serve, but the waitress made it through another day. That night when
she got home from work and climbed into bed, she was thinking about the
money and what the lady had written. How could the lady have known how
much she and her husband needed it? With the baby due next month, it
was going to be hard.

She knew how worried her husband was, and as he lay sleeping next to
her, she gave him a soft kiss and whispered soft and low, Everything's
gonna be all right. I love you, Bryan."

The Bus Rider

The passengers on the bus watched sympathetically as the attractive young
woman with the white cane made her way carefully up the steps. She paid the
driver and, using her hands to feel the location of the seats, walked down
the aisle and found the seat he'd told her was empty. Then she settled in,
placed her briefcase on her lap and rested her cane against her leg.

It had been a year since Susan, thirty-four, became blind. Due to a medical
misdiagnosis she had been rendered sightless, and she was suddenly thrown
into a world of darkness, anger, frustration and self-pity. Once a fiercely
independent woman, Susan now felt condemned by this terrible twist of fate to
become a powerless, helpless burden on everyone around her.

"How could this have happened to me?" she would plead, her heart
knotted with anger. But no matter how much she cried or ranted or
prayed, she knew the painful truth her sight was never going to return. A
cloud of depression hung over Susan's once optimistic spirit. Just getting
through each day was an exercise in frustration and exhaustion. And all she
had to cling to was her husband Mark.

Mark was an Air Force officer and he loved Susan with all of his heart. When
she first lost her sight, he watched her sink into despair and was determined
to help his wife gain the strength and confidence she needed to become
independent again. Mark's military background had trained him well to deal
with sensitive situations, and yet he knew this was the most difficult battle
he would ever face.

Finally, Susan felt ready to return to her job, but how would she get
there? She used to take the bus, but was now too frightened to get
around the city by herself. Mark volunteered to drive her to work each day,
even though they worked at opposite ends of the city. At first, this
comforted Susan and fulfilled Mark's need to protect his sightless wife who
was so insecure about performing the slightest task.

Soon, however, Mark realized that this arrangement wasn't working - it was
hectic, and costly. Susan is going to have to start taking the bus again, he
admitted to himself. But just the thought of mentioning it to her made him
cringe. She was still so fragile, so angry. How would she react?

Just as Mark predicted, Susan was horrified at the idea of taking the bus
again. "I'm blind!" she responded bitterly. "How am I supposed to know
where I'm going? I feel like you're abandoning me."

Mark's heart broke to hear these words, but he knew what had to be done. He
promised Susan that each morning and evening he would ride the bus with her,
for as long as it took, until she got the hang of it. And that is exactly
what happened.

For two solid weeks, Mark, military uniform and all, accompanied Susan to and
from work each day. He taught her how to rely on her other senses,
specifically her hearing, to determine where she was and how to adapt to her
new environment. He helped her befriend the bus drivers who could watch out
for her, and save her a seat. He made her laugh, even on those not-so-good
days when she would trip exiting the bus, or drop her briefcase.

Each morning they made the journey together, and Mark would take a cab back
to his office. Although this routine was even more costly and exhausting
than the previous one, Mark knew it was only a matter of time before Susan
would be able to ride the bus on her own. He believed in her, in the Susan
he used to know before she'd lost her sight, who wasn't afraid of any
challenge and who would never, ever quit.

Finally, Susan decided that she was ready to try the trip on her own.
Monday morning arrived, and before she left, she threw her arms around Mark,
her temporary bus riding companion, her husband, and her best friend. Her
eyes filled with tears of gratitude for his loyalty, his patience, his love.
She said good-bye, and for the first time, they went their separate ways.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday... Each day on her own went perfectly,
and Susan had never felt better. She was doing it! She was going to work all
by herself!

On Friday morning, Susan took the bus to work as usual. As she was paying
for her fare to exit the bus, the driver said, "Boy, I sure envy you."
Susan wasn't sure if the driver was speaking to her or not. After all, who
on earth would ever envy a blind woman who had struggled just to find the
courage to live for the past year? Curious, she asked the driver, "Why do
you say that you envy me?"

The driver responded, "It must feel so good to be taken care of and
protected like you are." Susan had no idea what the driver was talking
about, and asked again, "What do you mean?" The driver answered, "You know,
every morning for the past week, a fine looking gentleman in a military
uniform has been standing across the corner watching you when you get off
the bus. He makes sure you cross the street safely and he watches you until
you enter your office building. Then he blows you a kiss, gives you a little
salute and walks away. You are one blessed lady."

Tears of happiness poured down Susan's cheeks. For although she
couldn't physically see him, she had always felt Mark's presence. She was
lucky, so lucky, for he had given her a gift more powerful than sight, a gift
she didn't need to see to believe - the gift of love that can bring light
where there had been darkness.

Learning to Teach

There is a story many years ago of an elementary teacher. Her name was
Mrs.Thompson. And as she stood in front of her fifth grade class on the
very first day of school, she told the children a lie. Like most teachers,
she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same. But
that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat,
as a little boy named Teddy Stoddard.

Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he
didn't play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and
that he constantly needed a bath. And Teddy could be unpleasant. It got to
the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his
papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and then putting a big "F" at
the top of his papers.

At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review
each
child's past records and she put Teddy's off until last. However, when she
reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.

Teddy's first grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is a bright child with a
ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners...he is a joy to
be
around."

His second grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is an excellent student, well
liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a
terminal illness and life at home must be a struggle."

His third grade teacher wrote, "His mother's death has been hard on him.
He tries to do his best but his father doesn't show much interest and his
home life will soon affect him if some steps aren't taken."

Teddy's fourth grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is withdrawn and doesn't show
much interest in school. He doesn't have many friends and sometimes sleeps
in class."

By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of
herself. She felt even worse when her students brought her Christmas
presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for
Teddy's.

His present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got
from a grocery bag. Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of
the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a
rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing and a bottle that was
one quarter full of perfume.

But she stifled the children's laughter when she exclaimed how pretty
the bracelet was. She put it on and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist.

Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say,
Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to."

After the children left she cried for at least an hour. On that very
day, she quit teaching reading, writing, and arithmetic. Instead, she began to
teach children.

Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Teddy. As she worked with
him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the
faster he responded. By the end of the year, Teddy had
become one of the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie
that she would love all the children the same, Teddy became one of her
"pets."

A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her
that she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.

Six years went by before she got another note from Teddy. He then wrote
that he had finished high school, third in his class, and she was still the
best teacher he ever had in his whole life.

Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things
had been tough at times, he stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would
soon graduate from college with the highest of honors. He assured
Mrs.Thompson that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had
in his whole life.

Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This
time he explained that after he got his bachelor's degree, he decided to go
a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and
favorite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer.

The letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, M.D.

The story doesn't end there. You see, there was yet another letter that
spring. Teddy said he'd met this girl and was going to be married. He
explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was
wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit in the place at the wedding
that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom. Of course, Mrs.
Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that
bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. And she made sure she
was wearing the perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their
last Christmas together.

They hugged each other, and Dr. Stoddard whispered in Mrs. Thompson's
ear, "Thank you, Mrs. Thompson, for believing in me. Thank you so much for
making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference."

Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said,
"Teddy, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could
make a difference. I didn't know how to teach until I met you."