WHAT GOES AROUND COMES AROUND

  WHAT GOES AROUND COMES AROUND

One day a man saw a 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 Anderson.”

"Well, all she had was a flat tire, but for an old lady, that was bad enough." she said.

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. The lady asked how much she owed him. Any amount would have been all right with her. She already imagined all the awful things that could have happened had he not stopped.

Bryan never thought twice about being paid.
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 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 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 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, she paid with a hundred dollar bill. The waitress quickly went to get change for her hundred dollar bill, but the old lady had slipped right out the door. She was gone by the time the waitress came back. The waitress wondered where the lady could be. Then she noticed something written on the napkin.
There were tears in her eyes when she read what the lady wrote: “You don’t owe me anything. I have been there too. Somebody once helped me out, 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.”

Under the napkin were four more $100 bills.

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 going to be all right. I love you, Bryan Anderson.”
There is an old saying “What goes a round comes around.” Today, I sent you this story, and I’m asking you to pass it on .. Let this light shine.
Simply, pass this on to a friend

Good friends are like stars….You don’t always see them, but you know they are always there.

MORAL LESSON: WHAT GOES AROUND COMES AROUND

The Old Man and the Dog

The Old Man and the Dog 

 

     By Catherine Moore 
 
            "Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me.   "Can't you do anything right?"
   
     Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.
   
     "I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving."

      My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.
     
     Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?
     
     Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington  and  Oregon  He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often.
   
     The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his powers.
     
     The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.
 
    Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing.
     
     At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived... But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.
     
     My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust.
     
     Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue..
   
     Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind.
   
     But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.
     
     The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered in vain.
   
     Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article."
     
     I listened as she read.. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.
     
     I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog  in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed..
   
     Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention.. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.
     
     I pointed to the dog "Can you tell me about him?"
     
     The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement. "He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow.." He gestured helplessly.
     
     As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?"
     
     "Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog."
     
     I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said..
     
     I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch. "Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly.
     
     Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.
     
     Anger rose inside me It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples. "You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!"
     
     Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, Dad?" I screamed.
   
     At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate.
   
     We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.
   
     Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.
     
     It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne.  Together he and Cheyenne  explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and  Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.
     
     Dad and  Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne  made many friends. Then late one night I was startled to feel  Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.
     
     Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed.. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.
     
     The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it."
     
     "I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.
   
     For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article....
     
     Cheyenne 's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. .. ..his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . and the proximity of their deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all. 

The Brave Girl

The little girl  who had to use a basketball as her prosthetic body :

In 2000, Qian Hongyan, was injured tragically in a car accident when she was only 3 years old. To insure her survival, the doctors were forced to amputate her legs.

Qian’s family, living in Zhuangxia, China, was unable to afford modern prosthetic and instead used half a basketball to get around on. Once on the ball she uses two wooden props to help her move around. She struggled to live her life with a basketball as an under-prop, ‘walking’ between school and home by herself.

Qian Hongyan, who was forced to use half a basketball as her prosthetic body, inspired millions with her ambition to compete as a swimmer in the 2012 Paralympics in London. The girl’s story got widely reported in the country, and drew the attention of the Ministry of Public Security and China Rehabilitation Research Center.

Qian now has a pair of proper prosthetic legs, but still says she likes to use the basketball from time to time as it is easier for her to get in and out of the pool.

May God bless the brave little girl who has inspired millions the world over with her resolute will power.

Moral Lesson of the Story: 

"Count your blessings and your problems… If your problems outnumber your blessings, Count Again…. Chances are the things that you take for granted were not added up…"

THE CRACKED POT

The Cracked Pot

''The passion of learning good things can come from life challenges.  Sometimes we don’t think the exchange is worth it, but we can create positives out of difficulties.''

A water bearer elderly woman had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a pole which she carried across her neck. 
This pots was used to carry water from the stream river and into the house.

One of the pots had a cracked in it while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water. At the end of the long walk from the stream to the house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years this went on daily, with the woman bringing home only one and a half pots of water.

Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it could only do half of what
it had been made to do. After 2 years of what it perceived to be bitter failure, it spoke to the woman one day by the stream.

The broken pot said, "I am ashamed of myself, because
of this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house."

The old woman smiled and said, "Don't be ashamed of yourself, did you ever notice that there are flowers on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side?, That's because I have always known about your flaw or imperfection, so I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back into the house, you water them." "For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house."

Lesson to learn:

Each of us has our own unique flaws or imperfection. But it's the cracks and flaws we each have that make our lives together so very interestingly and rewarding. You've just got to take each person for what they are and not look only for the good in them. 
Remember the story of David and Goliath. Don't judge by the size or appearance of a person, the outer personality is nothing compared to the inner ability and personality that counts.

Remember to see and observe the part of a person where they are capable of and the part where you think they are not capable of and then start to help them build up some unique things that can be useful and not to start criticizing them. So you can smell the fragrance of flowers of good deeds that comes out of the imperfection side of the individual!

The passion of learning good things can come from life challenges.  Sometimes we don’t think the exchange is worth it, but we can create positives out of difficulties.

Have a great day everyone !

The Butterfly Story

The Butterfly Story

  " As you go through school or everyday life, 
keep in mind that struggling is an important part of any growth experience. 
In fact, it is the struggle that causes you to develop your ability to fly."
 
Struggle is Good! 

 

Once, There was a little boy who was playing outdoors and found a fascinating caterpillar. He carefully picked it up and took it home to show his mother. He asked his mother if he could keep it, and she said he could if he would take good care of it.

The little boy got a large jar from his mother and put plants to eat, and a stick to climb on, in the jar. Every day he watched the caterpillar and brought in a new plants to eat.

One day the caterpillar climbed up the stick and started acting strangely. The boy worriedly called his mother who came and understood that the caterpillar was creating a cocoon. The mother explained to the boy how the caterpillar was going to go through a metamorphosis (a complete change) and become a butterfly.

The little boy was thrilled to hear about the changes and what about his caterpillar would go through. He watched every day, waiting for the butterfly to emerge. One day it happened, a small hole appeared in the cocoon and the butterfly started to struggle to come out.

At first the boy was excited, but soon he became concerned. The butterfly was struggling so hard to get out! It looked like it couldn’t break free! It looked desperate! and It looked like it was making no progress!

The boy was so concerned he decided to help. He ran to get a pair of scissors, and then walked back (because he had learned not to run with scissors…). He then instead snipped the cocoon to make the hole bigger and the butterfly quickly emerged!

As the butterfly came out the boy was surprised. It had a swollen body and small, shriveled wings. He continued to watch the butterfly expecting that, at any moment, the wings would dry out, enlarge and expand to support the swollen body. He knew that in time the body would shrink and the butterfly’s wings would expand.

        But neither happened!

The butterfly spent the rest of its life crawling around with a swollen body and shriveled wings.

It never was able to fly…Poor little butterfly.

As the boy tried to figure out what had gone wrong his mother took him to talk to a scientist from a local college School. The boy then learned that the butterfly was SUPPOSED to struggle to come out of its cocoon to complete his life cycle, coming out to be a beautiful butterfly, But because the boy minded some business and tried to help the poor little young butterfly come out of its own cocoon, the butterfly then has an abnormal growth or cripple all its life.

In fact, the butterfly’s supposedly struggle to push its way through the tiny opening of the cocoon helps pushes the fluid out of its body and into its wings. So that the wings develops the power process to have a beautiful wings. But without the struggle, the butterfly would never, ever fly. The boy’s good intentions hurt the butterfly.

In life, like a child we had to be independently learned to grow up and overcome our hardships in order to be mold bold strong and courageous to survive independently. But if you allow you parents or somebody to pumper you then you will never grow up stand alone and move on. Learn from the story of this butterfly and move on. Soar high. 

"As you go through school or everyday life, keep in mind that struggling is an important part of any growth experience. In fact, it is the struggle that causes you to develop your ability to fly."