A Decision I Must Make Every Day

Gretchen Alexander is sightless. But she refuses to allow her blindness to limit her life activities. She enjoys archery, golf, softball, sailing and water-skiing, as well as a number of other activities that those of us who are sighted have yet to learn.  She also speaks to groups about living life fully. When speaking to a group of high school students, she was once asked if there was anything she wouldn't try.  "I've decided to never skydive," she answered. "It would scare the heck out of my dog."

Why do some people rise above their problems and live life fully, while others become defeated? Merle Shain explains it this way: "There are only two ways to approach life, as a victim or as a gallant fighter. And every day the decision is ours." Or put another way, we can believe we're helpless or we can believe we're powerful and capable. And every day we reaffirm our belief.

Another person who knew what it was like to live sightless, not to mention soundless, was Helen Keller. She famously pointed out that "although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of suffering." Does that sound someone who believes she is helpless, or like someone who believes she is capable?

I love the perspective of a shop owner in Nottingham, England. He posted this notice in the window of his coat store: "We have been established for over 100 years and have been pleasing and displeasing customers ever since. We have made money and lost money, suffered the effects of coal nationalization, coat rationing, government control and bad payers. We have been cussed and discussed, messed about, lied to, held up, robbed and swindled. The only reason we stay in business is to see what happens next." Though he lifts up a myriad of hardships they've endured, they somehow figured out how to stay in business. Does that sound like someone who believes he is helpless... or capable?

When discouraged some people will give up, give in or give out far too early. They blame their problems on difficult situations, unreasonable people or their own inabilities.

When discouraged other people will push back that first impulse to quit, push down their initial fear, push through feelings of helplessness and push ahead. They're less likely to find something to blame and more likely to find a way through.

For me, it's an important decision about whether I want to live my life fully and with courage or whether I will be forever defeated by harsh circumstances. It's a decision about believing I am powerful enough and capable enough. And it's a decision I must make every day of my life.

- Steve Goodier, Life Support System

  

A Pot-Bellied Guardian Angel

We've heard many stories of dogs and other pets sensing danger surrounding their owners.  You may have your own similar event.  This is yet another of those heartwarming stories involving an unusual pet.

Lulu was technically our daughter’s Vietnamese potbellied pig, but she spent lots of time with us.  Ever since I’d had a heart attack 18 months before I didn’t like being alone, so I was happy to have Lulu around when my husband went fishing.

Early on one of those mornings, I felt a familiar pain in my chest. I couldn’t even get to the phone. “Help!” I cried. It was a holiday weekend. Was anyone around?  Lulu ran to me, squealing. Then she ran out of the bedroom. Lord, she’s as helpless as me.

After what seemed like an eternity, I heard someone at the door. “Lady, your pig is in the road!” a man called. “I almost ran over her with my truck!”  “Call an ambulance!” I cried.

My husband met me at the hospital, where I stayed under observation for several days.  When we returned home, my neighbor greeted us. “Nobody heard you yell,” he said. “I saw Lulu tear out of the doggie door and play dead in the road. I went out to shoo her back inside. The truck driver beat me to your door.”

Yes, Lulu was technically my daughter’s potbellied pig. But she was 100 percent my angel.

-Jo Ann Altsman, Beaver PA (as appeared in Angels on Earth)

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The Living House

Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house.  At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing.  He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. 

But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to?

  

The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of - throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself."

-C.S. Lewis

Mother

   

A teacher gave her class of second-graders a lesson on the magnet and what it does. The next day in a written test, she included this question:
 

"My full name has six letters. The first one is M. I am strong and attractive. I pick up things. What am I?"

When the test papers were turned in, the teacher was astonished to find that almost 50 percent of the students answered the question with the word "Mother".

Happy Mother's Day!

The Perfect Gift For Mother's Day

“Use this to buy your mother a gift for Mother’s Day,” my dad said as he handed me a dime.  It was 1938, and I was 10 years old. Being the older of two boys, I took the mission seriously. I was going to find Mom a useful gift that showed her how much we loved, cherished and appreciated her.

Woolworth’s five-and-dime was the place to shop if you had only a dime to spend. There was so much to choose from - small bottles of perfume, various ribbons, barrettes and knickknacks. But it was while looking in the kitchen hardware section that I spotted what I thought was the perfect gift: a potato peeler. We ate potatoes nearly every day. My earliest memories are of my mother standing at the kitchen sink, peeling potatoes swiftly and expertly with her favorite paring knife. This new peeler, with its swivel handle attached to glistening double blades, would make her job so much easier.

After breakfast on Mother’s Day, Mom opened her gift. I studied her eyes and saw only delight as she exclaimed, “What a nice gift! Oh, thank you!” She gingerly kissed my brother and me on the forehead.

I was eager to see the new peeler in operation, but I noticed that my mother kept using her old paring knife. After several days of disappointment, I asked her, “Mom, why don’t you use the new potato peeler?”

“Oh, my goodness, I must have forgotten,” she replied. “I’ll use it tomorrow.”  But she didn’t. I concealed my dismay as she continued to use the paring knife. I even hid it once in the dark recesses of the drawer, hoping she’d have to use the new peeler. But Mom found the old knife and kept using it.  Maybe she hoped I would forget about the peeler, but it really bugged me. Finally I asked her if there was something wrong with her Mother’s Day gift.  Taking a deep breath, she decided to level with me. “Alvin, the best part of the potato is just under the skin,” she explained. “This new type of peeler wastes too much of the potato and removes the best part.”  Seeing the hurt look on my face, she added, “Alvin, I’ll always remember your gift. I’ll keep it in the drawer forever so that every time I open it and see the peeler I’ll be reminded of what a wonderful Mother’s Day it was.”  She gently kissed my forehead and continued peeling potatoes.

Fifty years later, my brother and I stand in that same kitchen, sorting through Mom and Dad’s estate. Every item brings back a memory. As I dump the contents of a drawer into a box for auction, I spot the double-bladed, swivel-handled potato peeler. I pick it up and wonder how many times she held it in her hands and thought, What a wonderful Mother’s Day it was.

 

-Alvin Rosser, Reminisce Magazine 

  

To Mothers

  

This is for the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up barf, laced with Oscar Mayer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying, "It's okay, honey, Mommy's here."
For mothers who have sat in rocking chairs for hours on end soothing crying babies who can't be comforted.

This is for all the mothers who show up at work with spit-up in their hair and milk stains on their blouses and diapers in their purses.
For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew Halloween costumes. And all the mothers who don't.

This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see. And the mothers who took those babies and showered them with love.
This is for the mothers whose priceless art collections are hanging on their refrigerator doors.
And for all the mothers who froze their buns on metal bleachers at football or soccer games instead of watching from the warmth of their cars. And when their kids asked, "Did you see me, Mom?" they could say, "Of course, I wouldn't have missed it for the world," and meant it.

This is for all the mothers who go hungry, so their children can eat.
For all the mothers who read "Goodnight, Moon" twice a night for a year. And then read it again. "Just one more time."
This is for all the mothers who taught their children to tie their shoelaces before they started school. And for all the mothers who opted for Velcro instead.
This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot.

This is for every mother whose head turns automatically when a little voice calls "Mom?" in a crowd, even though they know their own offspring are at home -- or even away at college or have their own families.
This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can't find the words to reach them.
For all the mothers who bite their lips until they bleed when their 14-year-olds dye their hair green.
This is for all the mothers who pray their children come home safely from serving their country.
What makes a good mother anyway? Is it patience? Compassion? The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and sew a button on a shirt, all at the same time?

Or is it in her heart?

Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son or daughter disappear down the street, walking to school alone for the very first time?
The jolt that takes you from sleep to dread, from bed to crib at 2 A.M. to put your hand on the back of a sleeping baby?
The panic, years later, that comes again at 2 A.M. when you just want to hear their key in the door and know they are safe again in your home?
Or the need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear news of a fire, a car accident, a child dying?

The emotions of motherhood are universal and so our thoughts are for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation... And mature mothers learning to let go. For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers. Single mothers and married mothers. Mothers with money, mothers without.
This is for all of you... For all of us... Hang in there. In the end we can only do the best we can.
Tell them every day that we love them. And pray... and never stop being a mom.

-Taken from Good Clean Funnies