Many more bridges to build..!

Once upon a time two brothers who lived on adjoining farms fell into conflict. It was the first serious rift in 40 years of farming side by side, sharing machinery, and trading labor and goods as needed without a hitch.

Then the long collaboration fell apart. It began with a small misunderstanding. It grew into a major difference. Finally it exploded into an exchange of bitter words followed by weeks of silence.

One morning there was a knock on the older brother's door. He opened it to find a man with a carpenter's toolbox. "I'm looking for a few days work," he said.

"Perhaps you have a few small jobs here and there. Can I help you with something?"

"Yes," said the older brother. "I do have a job for you. Look across the creek at that farm. That's my neighbor. In fact, it's my younger brother. Last week there was a meadow between us. Then he ripped a hole in the river levee with his bulldozer. Now there is a creek between us. Well, he may have done this to spite me, but I'll go him one better. See that pile of lumber curing by the barn? I want you to build me a fence, an 8-foot fence, so I won't need to see his place anymore. Cool him down, anyhow."

The carpenter said, "I think I understand the situation. Show me the nails and the post-hole digger and I'll be able to do a job that pleases you."

The older brother left the farm for the day to go into town.

The carpenter worked hard all that day measuring, sawing and nailing.
About sunset when the farmer returned, the carpenter had just finished his job. The farmer's eyes opened wide. His jaw dropped!

There was no fence there at all. There was a bridge ... a bridge stretching from one side of the creek to the other! A fine piece of work, too, handrails and all ... and the neighbor, his younger brother, was coming across the bridge, his hands outstretched.

"You are quite a fellow to build this bridge after all I've said and done."

The two brothers met in the middle of the bridge, taking each others hand. And then they spontaneously embraced.

Hearing a noise, they turned to see the carpenter hoist his toolbox on his shoulder. "No, wait! Stay a few days. I've a lot of other projects for you," said the older brother.

"I'd love to stay on," the carpenter said, "but I have many more bridges to build."

Get Wiser laughing............

The Turtles
A turtle family decided to go on a picnic. The turtles, being naturally slow about things, took seven years to prepare for their outing. Finally the turtle family left home looking for a suitable place. During the second year of their journey they found a place ideal for them at last!

For about six months they cleaned the area, unpacked the picnic basket, and completed the arrangements. Then they discovered they had forgotten the salt. A picnic without salt would be a disaster, they all agreed. After a lengthy discussion, the youngest turtle was chosen to retrieve the salt from home. Although he was the fastest of the slow moving turtles, the little turtle whined, cried, and wobbled in his shell. He agreed to go on one condition: that no one would eat until he returned. The family consented and the little turtle left.

Three years passed and the little turtle had not returned. Five years...six years... then on the seventh year of his absence, the oldest turtle could no longer contain his hunger. He announced that he was going to eat and begun to unwrap a sandwich. At that point the little turtle suddenly popped out from behind a tree shouting, 'See! I knew you wouldn't wait. Now I am not going to go get the salt.'

[Some of us waste our time waiting for people to live up to our expectations. We are so concerned about what others are doing that we do not do anything ourselves.]
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The Frogs

A farmer came into town and asked the owner of a restaurant if he could use a million frog legs. The restaurant owner was shocked and asked the man where he could get so many frog legs! The farmer replied, 'There is a pond near my house that is full of frogs -millions of them. They all croak all night long and they are about to make me crazy!' So the restaurant owner and the farmer made an agreement that the farmer would deliver frogs to the restaurant, five hundred at a time for the next several weeks.

The first week, the farmer returned to the restaurant looking rather sheepish, with two scrawny little frogs. The restaurant owner said, 'Well... where are all the frogs?'.
The farmer said, 'I was mistaken. There were only these two frogs in the pond. But they
sure were making a lot of noise!'

[ Next time you hear somebody criticizing or making fun of you, remember, it's probably just a couple of noisy frogs. Also remember that problems always seem bigger in the dark. Have you ever laid in your bed at night worrying about things which seem almost overwhelming like a million frogs croaking? Chances are pretty good that when the morning comes, and you take a closer look, you'll wonder what all the fuss was about.]

Who is the teacher..??

Dedicating this story to a persistent "Dinesh Rishi"
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As she stood in front of her 5th grade class on the very first day of school, she told the children an untruth. Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same. However, that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard.

Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed that he did not play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. In addition, 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 he 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, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on he r 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 "teacher's pets.."

A year later, she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that she was 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 life.

Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he'd 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 had 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 deg ree, 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, MD.

The story does not end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Teddy said he had 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 at the wedding in the place 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. Moreover, she made sure she was wearing the perfume that Teddy remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas together.

They hugged ea ch 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."

(For you that don't know, Teddy Stoddard is the Dr. at Iowa Methodist in Des Moines that has the Stoddard Cancer Wing.)

Warm someone's heart today. . . I love this story so very much, I cry every time I read it. Just try to make a difference in someone's life today? tomorrow? just "do it". Random acts of kindness, I think they call it!

May all of your days be filled with random acts of kindness.

If you haven't done it, start NOW.....

Scholars and scientists, including Albert Einstein and Orville Wright thought enough of Jimmy Yen to vote him one of the top ten Modern Revolutionaries of the Twentieth Century. Yet all he did was teach Chinese peasants to read.

What made that so amazing was that for four thousand years reading and writing in China was only done by the Scholars. "Everybody" knew, including the peasants themselves, that peasants were incapable of learning.

That thoroughly ingrained cultural belief was Jimmy Yen's first impossible barrier. The second barrier was the Chinese language itself, consisting of 40,000 characters, each character signifying a different word! The third barrier was the lack of technology and good roads. How could Jimmy Yen reach the 350 million peasants in China?

Impossible odds, an impossibly huge goal-and yet he had almost attained it when he was forced (by Communists) to leave his country.

Did he give up? No. He learned from defeat and expanded his goal: Teach the rest of the Third World to read. Practical reading programs, like the ones he invented in China, started pumping out literate people like a gushing oil well in the Philippines, Thailand, Sri Lanka, Nepal, Kenya, Columbia, Guatemala, Indonesia, Bangladesh, Ghana, India-people became literate. For the first time in their entire genetic history, they had access to the accumulated knowledge of the human race.

For those of us who take literacy for granted, I'd like you to consider for a moment how narrow your world would be if you'd never learned how to read and there was no access to radios or TVs.

180,000 Chinese peasants were hired by the Allied Forces in WW1 as laborers in the war effort. Most of them had no idea-not a clue-where England, Germany or France was, they didn't know what they were being hired to do, and didn't even know what a war was!

Try to grasp, if you will, the vacancy, the darkness, the lack that existed in those people because they couldn't read. Jimmy Yen was a savior to them.

What was the secret of Jimmy Yen's success? He found a real need, and found in himself a strong desire to answer that need. And he took some action: He tried to do something about it even though it seemed impossible. He worked long hours. And he started with what he had in front of him and gradually took on more and more, a little upon a little.

The English author Thomas Carlyle said,

"Our main business is not to see what lies dimly at a distance, but to do what lies clearly at hand."

And that's what Jimmy Yen did. He started out teaching a few peasants to read, with no desks, no pens, no money, no overhead projectors. He started from where he found himself and did what was clearly at hand.

And that's all you need to do. Start now. Start here. And do what lies clearly at hand.

Instead of hoping for a miracle, it's much wiser to act on proven principles. Most of all, whatever your present situation is, it's important to get started today. If you put together a plan and follow it, you'll be amazed at the progress you can make.

Inspired from Jimmy Yen's Life.

You get your lift when you need one......

As Steven stood awkwardly on the bank of Lake Malone in Western Kentucky, his grandfather watched his "Little Buddy" desperately attempt to get just one of the many flat rocks he'd gathered to skip over the lake's sun reflective surface. "Keep at it son!" his grandfather shouted with much enthusiasm. "Grandpa," Steven asked in his pre-adolescent and breaking voice, "Why am I no good at anything I try? I want to be a great pitcher like you used to be!"
His grandfather gently touched his shoulder while observing his grandson's eyes beginning to brim with tears. "Little Buddy, let me tell you why you are already a great pitcher and will be a better pitcher than your old grandpa ever was. Can I give you a little advice son? Steven looked intensely into his hero's eyes and replied, "Yes grandpa! I'll do anything to be great like you!"

His grandfather sat him down on a hollowed out log and pulled him in close. "Little Buddy, I want you to remember what I am about to tell you and all I ask is that you never forget what I had to learn the hard way. Do you promise you will remember?" Steven's grandfather asked. Without pause, Steven assured his grandfather he'd remember any and everything he told him.

His grandfather continued, "If you think someone is better than you, always remember that you are the only one who is thinking the other guy is." His grandson looked at him inquisitively and caught his grandfather off guard with his response. "So you're saying that I need to use my brain, is that what you said grandpa?" "You got it Little Buddy! Many folks focus on what they are doing wrong, but the winners figure out what they are doing right."

His grandson replied with yet another super insight based on what he'd heard his grandfather say. "So I need to tell myself that I am good?" he asked. His grandfather smiled and went further: "Not only do you need to tell yourself that you're good, you must always believe that you are great! You see Little Buddy, you've got determination and grit. I've been watching you throw those stones for over two hours and anyone who stays at it that long has what it takes to be a winner even though he may get a bit down on occasion!"

As they walked back up the hill to the home Steven's grandfather built for him and his wife 20 years earlier, his grandfather took hold of his Little Buddy's hand and stated the last piece of wisdom Steven would ever hear him provide. "You'll be at the pitcher's mound next season and I'll be there Lord willing. When you're on that mound, I want you to repeat to yourself what I'm about to tell you when you start to throw each ball. Are you listening son?"

He glanced at his grandfather and boldly stated, "Yes Sir!" "Okay then, I want you to repeat this right after me. 'When I feel down, I know God will lift me up'!" His grandson repeated it three times before they finally reached the front porch.

The next season came and Steven looked into the stands searching for his grandfather's always eager and proud face. "Mom, I don't see grandpa anywhere! Where is he?" he anxiously asked his mother of very strong faith. "Steven, grandpa won't be here today because God called him to be with him last night."

Steven began to cry as his mother consoled him with a firm and comforting hug. "Steven, grandpa told me last night before he passed away to be sure to tell you that he loves you and to repeat what he told you to when you get up to that mound." Steven's dark brown eye's steadied as he wiped his tears away with his baseball shirt's sleeve.

Steven's tears wiped away, he immediately looked up and stated, "When I feel down, I know God will lift me up." His mother's eyes began to water as she patted him on the back and directed his eyes towards the pitcher's mound. As he walked to the mound, his mother continued to hear him repeat what his grandpa instructed him to repeat.

With two strikes and three balls thrown awry in the bottom of the ninth inning, the crowd watched as Steven paused, knelt to one knee, muttered something and stood upright and proudly. He gazed into the eyes of the batter and shouted loud enough for the entire crowd to hear, "When I feel down, I know God will lift me up." Oddly, he held the ball like the stones his grandfather had watched him throw that sunny day only one year ago.

Steven poised himself with his gaze remaining in the batter's eyes. Before the pitch was released, he remembered his grandpa's other words of wisdom--"If you think someone is better than you, always remember that you are the only one who is thinking the other guy is."
He released the ball with a furious and awkward sidearm pitch that the "more-than-a little-bit" intimidated batter never seemingly saw curve over the middle of the plate. "You're out!" the umpire shouted and to Steven's surprise, the crowd mostly comprised of the parents of both teams, stood up and gave Steven a roaring applause. His team and the opposing team both rushed the field and carried him off the field.

Things had settled down after all of the pomp and circumstance and Steven noticed an old man walking his way. "That was a heck of a pitch you threw son," the old man stated with the same look of pride his grandpa often had shown on his face. "Sir, thanks a lot." Steven appeared confused and asked, "Sir, do I know you from somewhere?" The old man grinned, touched Steven gently on his shoulder before uttering, "No son, you don't but your grandfather did."

Steven excitingly exclaimed, "You know my grandpa?" The old man's eyes began to fill with tears as he told Steven, "Your grandfather struck me out just like you did that boy when we were about your age. He told me something I'll never forget just before I got signed on with National Baseball League." Steven's eyes lit up as he waited for what the old man would say next.

"Your grandfather told me that my greatest asset in the Big League wouldn't be my throwing or batting. He told me that if I ever thought someone was better than me, to always remember that I was the only one who thought the other guy was. What he never told me was what you shouted while standing out there on that mound. Your mother called me long distance late last night and asked that I come on down. I was feeling down on the trip to get here, but thanks to you son, God has lifted me up!"

Source: Brian G. Jett

Even the pretenders has an utility..

A man and his dog were walking along a road. The man was enjoying the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to him that he was dead. He remembered dying, and that the dog had been dead. He wondered where the road was leading them.

After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble. At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall arch that glowed in the sunlight. When he was standing before it, he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother of pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold.

He and the dog walked toward the gate, and as he got closer, he saw a man at a desk to one side. When he was close enough, he called out, "Excuse me, where are we?"

"This is Heaven, sir," the man answered.

"Wow! Would you happen to have some water?" the man asked.

"Of course, sir. Come right in, and I'll have some ice water brought right up." The man gestured, and the gate began to open.

"Can my friend," gesturing toward his dog, "come in, too?" the traveler asked.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we don't accept pets."

The man thought a moment and then turned back toward the road and continued the way he had been going.

After another long walk, and at the top of another long hill, he came to a dirt road which led through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been closed. There was no fence.

As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside, leaning against a tree and reading a book.

"Excuse me!" he called to the reader. "Do you have any water?"

"Yeah, sure, there's a pump over there" The man pointed to a place that couldn't be seen from outside the gate. "Come on in."

"How about my friend here?" the traveler gestured to the dog.

"There should be a bowl by the pump."

They went through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old-fashioned hand pump with a bowl beside it. The traveler filled the bowl and took a long drink himself, then he gave some to the dog.

When they were full, he and the dog walked back toward the man who was standing by the tree waiting for them.

"What do you call this place?" the traveler asked.

"This is Heaven," was the answer.

"Well, that's confusing," the traveler said. "The man down the road said that was Heaven, too."

"Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and pearly gates? Nope. That's Hell."

"Doesn't it make you mad for them to use your name like that?"

"No. I can see how you might think so, but we're just happy that they screen out the folks who'll leave their best friends behind."

Author Unknown.

What remains is gratitude than tragedy......

His parents acquired the washer when John Claypool was a small boy. It happened during World War II.

His family owned no washing machine and, since gasoline was rationed, they could ill afford trips to the laundry several miles away. Keeping clothes clean became a problem for young John's household.

A family friend was drafted into the service, and his wife prepared to go with him. John's family offered to store their furniture while they were away. To the family's surprise, the friends suggested they use their Bendix while they were gone. "It would be better for it to be running, " they said, "than sitting up rusting." So this is how they acquired the washer.

Young John helped with the washing, and across the years he developed an affection for the old, green Bendix. But eventually the war ended. Their friends returned. In the meantime he had forgotten how the machine came to be in their basement in the first place. When the friends came to take it away, John grew terribly upset -- and said so!

His mother, wise as she was, sat him down and said, "Wait a minute, Son. You must remember, that machine never belonged to us in the first place. That we ever got to use it at all was a gift. So, instead of being mad at it being taken away, let's use this occasion to be grateful that we had it at all."

The lesson proved invaluable. Years later, John watched his eight-year-old daughter die a slow and painful death of leukemia. Though he struggled for months with her death, John could not begin healing from the loss until he remembered the old Bendix.

"I am here to testify," he said, "that this is the only way down the mountain of loss...when I remember that Laura Lou was a gift, pure and simple, something I neither earned nor deserved nor had a right to. And when I remember that the appropriate response to a gift, even when it is taken away, is gratitude, then I am better able to try and thank God that I was ever given her in the first place."

His daughter was a gift. When he realized that simple fact, everything changed. He could now begin healing from the tragedy of her loss by focusing instead on the wonder of her life. He started to see Laura Lou as a marvelous gift that he was fortunate enough to share for a time. He felt grateful. He found strength and healing. He knew he could get through the valley of loss.

We all experience loss -- loss of people, loss of jobs, loss of relationships, loss of independence, loss of esteem, loss of things. When what you held dear can be viewed as a gift, a wonder that you had it at all, the memory can eventually become one more of gratitude than tragedy. And you will find the healing you need.

* Story from TRACKS OF A FELLOW STRUGGLER,

by John Claypool

Make those tough choices for the life you desire......

Brothers Michael and Chris were both born in the early 1960s and grew up in a mostly black neighborhood in Richmond, California, right outside of San Francisco. Both boys were well behaved in school and brought home mostly A's on their report cards all through grade school.

But coming from a working-class family with eight children, money was always tight, so the boys often had to go without. In fact, things were so tight, the two growing boys were often hungry. So they did what many boys do when they're hungry and have no food - they stole. From the time they were five until they were well out of high school, the boys stole. They stole crackers from the cupboard in the middle of the night... they stole cookies from the grocery store... and they stole sandwiches from the sandwich shop.

If it wasn't nailed down and was worth something, Michael and Chris would find a way to steal it. They even stole money from their parents from time to time. But more often than not, they stole to satisfy their hunger.

When it was time for Michael and Chris to attend high school, they were bused across town to Kennedy High School. It was during high school that something happened that made Chris decide to change his behavior. At the end of his freshman year in high school, Chris had received three A's and three F's on his report card - the first time he had failed anything in school.

Because Kennedy High School only allowed three failures over four years, one more F and Chris would be kicked out of school. That's when he made up his mind to change. Years later Chris would recall that defining moment in his life with these words:

"I sat outside my house at the beginning of that summer knowing that I was letting my chance slip away. One more F and I'd be just another high school dropout, hanging around the neighborhood, hoping to get on with the county or to get into the service.

"At the time I didn't know my brother Rusty would end up in prison... or that my brother Harold would die without having seen much of the world. I certainly didn't know what would happen to Michael. I only knew that I had to get out of there. I wanted to see San Francisco every day, to pick out my own clothes, drive my own car, and be whatever a man could hope to be, not just a black man, not just a man from the flats of Richmond. I wanted no limitations. I wanted to be whatever a man could hope to be."

Chris' decision to change his behavior wasn't an easy one. He took a lot of grief from his friends for choosing to excel in school, instead of squeaking by with C's and D's. But that decision to change took him in an entirely different direction from his brother Michael, who resisted changing his unproductive behavior.

Chris went on to graduate from high school... graduate from college... and graduate from law school. For 15 years he worked as a Deputy District Attorney in Los Angeles, California, prosecuting murderers, drug dealers, gang members and crooked cops. Today Chris is better known as Christopher. You probably recognize him by his full name - Christopher Darden, one of the lead prosecutors in the trial of the century, the O. J. Simpson trial!

What became of Christopher's brother, Michael? After high school Michael joined the army and returned to his hometown shortly after his tour of duty. Back in Richmond, Michael continued his pattern of anti-social behavior - hustling in the streets... and stealing to support himself and a growing drug habit. On November 29, 1995, Michael Darden died at the age of 42... from AIDS.

This story of triumph and tragedy serves to remind us that when it's all said and done, who we are and what we become is determined by the choices we make.

We can choose to get better... or we can choose to get bitter. Whether we make those choices to improve at age 14, like Christopher Darden... or at age 64, like Colonel Sanders, those choices have the power to dramatically increase our value in virtually everything we do.

That's what the saying "change... or be changed" is all about. Christopher Darden changed. He changed from being a criminal... to prosecuting criminals. He changed his attitude from being angry and sullen... to being open and accepting. He changed from an underachiever... to an honor student who took responsibility for his grades and his education. He changed from a disillusioned teen-ager with low self-esteem... to an optimistic young man determined to turn his dreams into reality.

His brother Michael, on the other hand, was changed. He was changed by grinding poverty... he was changed by the code of the streets ... he was changed by illegal drugs... and finally, he was changed by an insidious disease.

Christopher Darden made the tough choices... he made the changes in his life that helped him accomplish his dreams.

His brother Michael, on the other hand, took the easy way out - or at least what he thought was the easy way out. He kept hanging around the same group of loser friends... he kept practicing the same self-destructive habits. As a result of the changes they did or did not make, both men chose their fates: Christopher chose to became a successful prosecutor. And Michael chose to become just another sad story of the streets.

You have a choice. You can choose to become Michael. Or you can choose to become Christopher. You can continue to do the things that will lead to frustration and unhappiness. Or you can make the changes that help you get what you want most out of life.

Don't choose to become like so many people who COULD HAVE become a millionaire... or who COULD HAVE become happier... or who COULD HAVE become healthier... or who COULD HAVE made a contribution - but didn't. Start making the changes you need to make TODAY... so that you can become the person you want to become TOMORROW!
-----
*Excerpts from the book, "You, Inc." by Burke Hedges and Steve Price.

Compassionate connection through the wire....

When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember the polished, old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it.

Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anyone's number and the correct time.

My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy.

I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. "Information, please" I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.

A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. "Information."

"I hurt my finger..." I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.

"Isn't your mother home?" came the question.

"Nobody's home but me," I blubbered.

"Are you bleeding?" the voice asked.

"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts." "Can you open the icebox?" she asked.

I said I could.

"Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice.

After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.

Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died. I called, Information Please," and told her the sad story. She listened, and then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?"

She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul always remember that there are other worlds to sing in."

Somehow I felt better.

Another day I was on the telephone, "Information Please." "Information," said in the now familiar voice. "How do I spell fix?" I asked.

All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. "Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home and I somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me.

Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.

A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about a half-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please."

Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well. "Information."

I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?"

There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now."

I laughed, "So it's really you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?"

I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your call meant to me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls."

I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.

"Please do", she said "Just ask for Sally." Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered, "Information." I asked for Sally.

"Are you a friend?" she said.

"Yes, a very old friend," I answered.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said. "Sally had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago."

Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute, did you say your name was Paul?" "Yes." I answered.

"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you." The note said, "Tell him there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean."

I thanked her and hung up. With tears in my eyes, I walked away knowing what Sally meant.

- Paul Villard.

Osama bin Laden’s Last Will.........

In the name of Allah the merciful the forgiver,

[This is the] Will of a poor man to his god in the highest, Osama bin Mohammad bin Ladin,

Thanks be to Allah, and peace and prayers over the messenger of Allah, his family and all his companions. We implore his justice and guidance and call on him for assistance from our evil and ill deeds. He whom Allah guides, none can lead astray and he whom Allah leads astray, has no guide. And I testify that there is no god be he alone, ascribe no partners to him and I testify that Mohammad is his slave and messenger. We beg him in the highest to accept us in martyrdom along with the righteous of his worshipers and to perish us as Muslims.

Allah had commanded us that in case death approached to leave a will for both parents, relatives and all Muslims […] and whatever saddens them, saddens me and Allah attests to what I am saying.

Allah attests that the love for Jihad and death in the cause of Allah has taken over my life and the Sword Verses have penetrated every cell of my heart, “and kill all the polytheists [infidels] as they fight all of you”. And how many times I wake from my sleep and find myself reciting this holy verse. If every Muslim would ask himself why did our Ummah reach to where she is [in a state of] humiliation and defeat, his instinctual response would be, because she has clung to the pleasures of life and tossed the book of Allah [Koran] behind its back and it is the only source that has the cure and success in the here and now and the hereafter. The Jews and Christians have tempted us with the pleasures of life and its cheap delights and they invaded us with their monitory values before invading us with their armies. And we were, like women, did not react, because the love for death in the cause of Allah has departed the hearts.

My spirit and the spirits of my Jihadi brothers have been pained when we saw that our Ummah, from East to West, was watching America parcel out the worst of pain over the weak ones, from men, women and children, and the Ummah watches the bloody sight as one who watches a movie for entertainment. The worst of afflictions that besiege our Ummah is the fear of death in the cause of Allah. The [Koranic] verse has been reversed and we saw the cowardly Crusaders [Christians] and the lowly Jews become steadfast in their fighting with us and the soldiers of our Ummah raise the white flag and surrender to their enemies. Even the students of the religion [i.e Taliban = students of Islam] but a small minority stayed in the fight, while the rest surrendered or escaped before confronting the enemy. Today, the Ummah sat on our victory and the victory of the students of religion [Taliban] who established the first Islamic sharia’h compliant nation in Afghanistan. And it is sufficient to show America’s hatred for the Taliban and their fundamental laws. It is through allying with its agents in the Northern Alliance and other nations, who have enlisted their soldiers and intelligence agencies in the service of America, Brittan and the infidel West. The fundamental laws that were established by the Taliban [Students of Islam] were abolished, so she [America] abolished the veil [Hijab], beard growing and she returned the habits of emulating the blasphemers [infidels]. The Muslim scholars that guide the Ummah upon the evil path and our affliction today are those the scholars of the Ummah that have disavowed their message of guiding the Ummah, their misguidance has reached a degree that a Muslim would not believe. They [infidels] came to Afghanistan to prevent its [Muslim] scholars from destroying the pagan Buddhist [statues], however the venerated Taliban scholars repelled them and disparaged them. And the excuse of a Sheik and his companions was necessary to appease the Jews and Christians and their general opinion and they forgot Allah’s verse, “The Jews and the Christians will not be pleased with you until you follow their faith”.

These Muslim scholars betrayed their message in the service of the Ummah and its causes and allied themselves with its enemies and rejected its Jihadist path that dealt America its first historic defeat, it shall with Allah’s permission, be like the Mota raid that the messenger of Allah led and resulted in the extermination of their nation.

The third [in a series] of escalating attacks that America received, stopped New York and Washington, the first of which was the exploding of the Marines [barracks] in Lebanon and the second was exploding America’s embassy in Nairobi, from which the invasion of Somalia was launched; where 32 thousand of our brothers were killed under the banner of the UN. Despite the disaster that Allah afflicted us with, this region will lead to the extermination of America and the infidel West even after tens of years.

So, youths of the Ummah: guard death, and life shall be granted to you and listen to the few Muslim scholars who cling to jurisprudence/good judgment, segregate themselves away from the unbelievers and are faithful, animus towards those who are allied with the enemies of the Ummah who took humanity’s basal mindset, habits and perversions of the Jahiliah [time of ignorance aka pre-Islamic era] such as borrowing from banks that charge interest and disciplinary [secular] laws, relations and secular insurance and the permission of establishing political parties, and women organizations and humanitarian committees all of which are rejected “innovations” by [several] groups of Salafi scholars.

Oh Muslim scholars: today, you are a small minority. I know you by name and I read your articles and Fatwas [religious edicts]; however, I do not want to mention you by name so that I would not provide the enemies of Allah a list which they will search for and harm you during these stressful days upon us.

Oh women: beware becoming arrogant and emulating the debauchery of the West and its masculine women. Be schools for graduating men and Jihadists in the cause of Allah and guard your honor and there will be for you good recompense in the mothers of the believers.

Oh wives: may Allah grant you good tidings on my behalf. You were to me after Allah righteous backers and a specific blessing from day one. You knew that the road was planted with thorns and landmines. You left the blessings of your parents and chose to be by my side in modest living. You were ascetic with me, so, become more ascetic after me. And do not think of marrying in order to better care after our children and sacrifice and pray for them.

As for you may children: forgive me for not giving you but little of my time since I answered the call of Jihad. I carried the burden of the Muslims and the burden of their causes. I chose a path that is rife with dangers and I took unto myself the burden of toil, difficulties, treachery, betrayal and if it were not for betrayal, our condition today would have the best and likewise for wealth. I will you to obey Allah. That is the most precious commodity in life. I will you not to work in Al Qaida or the [Jihadist] front, just as our master Omar Bin Al Khatab [second Caliph] willed his son Abdullah, may Allah be pleased with them both. [Omar] forbade his son from succeeding him as caliph, “be it a good omen or not, Omar shall not benefit from it”.

My final advice is to all the Mujahideen where ever they maybe: reconstitute yourselves and do not forget until fight the Jews and the Christians and attend to purifying your ranks of the agents, lazy and scholars of evil who collaborate against the Jihad and hold the Ummah back.

Your brother, Abu Adbullah Osama bin Mohammad bin Ladin

See all there is to see ..Do you ?

Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of John Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to out-patients at the clinic.

One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man. "Why, he's hardly taller than my eight-year-old," I thought as I stared at the stooped, shriveled body. But the appalling thing was his face -- lopsided from swelling, red and raw.

Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, "Good evening. I've come to see if you've a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there's no bus til morning."

He told me he'd been hunting for a room since noon but with no success, no one seemed to have a room. "I guess it's my face... I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says with a few more treatments . . ."

For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me: "I could sleep in this rocking chair on the porch. My bus leaves early in the morning."

I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch. I went inside and finished getting supper. When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us. "No thank you. I have plenty." And he held up a brown paper bag.

When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with him a few minutes. It didn't take long time to see that this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body. He told me he fished for a living to support his daughter, her five children, and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury. He didn't tell it by way of complaint; in fact, every other sentence was preface with a thanks to God for a blessing.

He was grateful that no pain accompanied his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving him the strength to keep going. At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children's room for him. When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and the little man was out on the porch.

He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus, haltingly, as if asking a great favor, he said, "Could I please come back and stay the next time I have a treatment? I won't put you out a bit. I can sleep fine in a chair."

He paused a moment and then added, "Your children made me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children don't seem to mind. "I told him he was welcome to come again.

And on his next trip he arrived a little after seven in the morning. As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they'd be nice and fresh. I knew his bus left at 4:00 a.m. and I wondered what time he had to get up in order to do this for us.

In the years he came to stay overnight with us there was never a time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden. Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special delivery; fish and oysters packed in a box of fresh young spinach or kale, every leaf carefully washed. Knowing that he must walk three miles to mail these, and knowing how little money he had made the gifts doubly precious.

When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first morning. "Did you keep that awful looking man last night? I turned him away! You can lose roomers by putting up such people!"

Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice. But oh! If only they could have known him, perhaps their illnesses would have been easier to bear. I know our family always will be grateful to have known him; from him we learned what it was to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.

Recently I was visiting a friend who has a greenhouse, As she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all, a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket.

I thought to myself, "If this were my plant, I'd put it in the loveliest container I had!" My friend changed my mind. "I ran short of pots," she explained, "and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail. It's just for a little while, till I can put it out in the garden."

She must have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was imagining just such a scene in heaven. "Here's an especially beautiful one," God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman. "He won't mind starting in this small body."

All this happened long ago-and now, in God's garden, how tall this lovely soul must stand.

Men mostly look at the outward appearances, but When he starts to look at the heart, he becomes divine and then starts seeing things the way GOD sees.

Source: Mary Bartels Bray

Optical Illusion....

It looks like the grid in the middle is moving but it’s just an artefact of your little grey cells.

Great is the art and devotion, and not the individual......

King Akbar is well known for his love of arts and religion. One of the arts he loved was the art of music, and just like Birbal who was considered as one of the nine jewels of King Akbar's court, Tansen was one of the jewels greatly known and respected for his high level of singing capabilities. It is said and believed that there was none better than Tansen and none could compete him in the art of singing.

Once King Akbar, after listening to Tansen's music and singing, was much pleased with the great art as always, praises Tansen's art of singing and praises Tansen with respect.

He says to Tansen, 'You the best artist in the world, you are great, incomparable.'
Tansen with the gratitude replies, ' This is your opinion, there are artist in the world, who are better than I am.'

King Akbar denies his answer, he says, ' You are getting ashamed Tansen, You are best among all.'

King Akbar is seen on a walk with Birbal, Tansen and others in the gardens. He starts the conversation with Birbal and asks him the reason for his silence. Does he not agree what the king has just said?. Birbal responds that just as Tansen has said there are better artist and musicians in this world.

King Akbar says to Birbal that he likes challenges and this time his challenge was to find a better singing artist than Tansen, which according to Akbar was next to impossible. Not satisfied by giving this challenge Akbar throws his valuable ring in a dry well and asks Birbal to bring out the ring from the well, without getting down in the well and without any support.

It seems Akbar loved issuing mental or intellectual challenges to Birbal as much as Birbal loved getting them. The greatness of man is often increased while facing the challenges. All great man we know have loved challenges and not got scared away by challenges or getting themselves down with the challenges.

About finding the better artist than Tansen, he had an instant answer, he said. 'Tansen's Guru (music teacher) is one, who is better than Tansen. Tansen readily agrees and tell that his teacher or guru is on pilgrimage and will be returning after a month'.

Birbal asks the king to wait for the return of the Guru and during that time, he will find a way to get the ring out of the well. The king agrees to what Birbal has said and tells him that he had one month to complete both the challenges.

After one month, the king reminds Birbal about the two challenges. Birbal says that Guruji is back, but the king will have to visit the Guru's home to listen to his singing as the Guru sings only for God and not for anyone else.

Those who sings or are serving God in any other way do their services only for God. Deep devotion and love for God flows through them. They would not sing or do anything to please any one, not even the richest and the greatest of the kings. They sing only for the love for God and devotion for God. The claps of people does not mean much to them, what has meaning for them is the love and devotion.

King Akbar known for his greatness, does not insist on calling the Guru to his palace but agrees to ride to his Guru's home. Not only that he was too pulled towards it just by the idea of listening to better singing than that of the amazing and soul satisfying singing of Tansen.

Next morning the king, Birbal and Tansen ride deep into a green forests where the Guru lived. From a distant they even had to leave their horses to reach the hut of the Guru. The king is asked to wait outside the hut and let the Guru come outside the hut and sing for his Lord, as he would not sing for anyone else. The king respects that and agrees.

After some wait the Guru appears from his little hut and starts singing outside his hut in devotion to God. The king is totally enchanted, he had never heard anything like this before. After the magical, soul enhancing song was over, the king visits the Guru with Tansen and Birbal. He praises the Guru's art, to which, truly a mark of greatness and real humbleness, the guru says that great is art and devotion, and not the individual.

The king tries to present him with some wealth, which is also humbly and gracefully denied. The king also put forward his desire of inviting the Guru to his palace where all his needs would be satisfied and the king could also listen to his singing when wished. This too is denied by the Guru, as he would sing only for his God and that the little hut in the forest was all that he needed for his devotion, and not the palace and it's richness.

This story is continued from Akbar Birbal Tales. Tales of Akbar and Birbal are widely popular in Indian subcontinent, for the wisdom and cleverness of the Legend of Birbal and generosity and greatness of King Akbar.

What happened to the ring challenge to Birbal...?

Birbal thought for some time and said, " Jahanpanah , If all goes well, I should get the ring out by dusk. Till then, Shahenshah, my plan must remain a secret." "No dirty tricks, Birbal! said one of the courtiers who was jealous of Birbal's wit.

"I won't dare do that, Alampana! I love life, said Birbal with a smile. " Shahenshah , I suggest you post a sentry to keep a watch on what Birbal does," the courtier appealed to the emperor. The emperor agreed and ordered two guards to keep a watch over the well.


I shall start working right away, Shahenshah . By evening you'll have the ring, if all goes well! said Birbal. The emperor wished Birbal luck and walked off with the courtiers. Birbal watched till the group vanished from sight. Then, he swung into action. He noticed a small hut at some distance. He hurried to the hut and called out, Is anybody in?

An old woman came out. Politely, Birbal asked her if he could buy a little cow dung from the pile that was lying in the corner. The old woman refused to take any payment but asked Birbal to help himself to the dung. Birbal rolled the dung carefully. Then, he walked back to the well with the cake of dung and let it drop into the well right above the ring. The dung hit the mark. He then turned and looked all around. His eyes fell on a medium-sized stone. He tied a string to the stone and holding one end of the string, he aimed the stone at the ball of dung and dropped it. The stone landed on its target. Birbal's face lit up with a sense of fulfillment. He tied the end of the string in his hand to a bush next to the well. 'Stay here. I shall come back before dusk,' Birbal told the guards. He walked off, happy at the thought that the heat would help him execute his plan.

An hour before dusk, Birbal set out from his house to the well. He untied the string tied to the bush and held it firmly. Then he walked up to the wall of the well and pulled the string towards him. The stone to which the other end of the string was tied moved up. Sticking to it now was the dried ball of dung. He pulled slowly and gently till the dried ball of dung was safely in his hands. He quickly crushed the dried dung. Down fell the ring!

Birbal headed for the palace in triumph. The durbar was full. ' Shahenshah! ' Birbal bowed. 'Did you get the ring?' the Emperor asked. 'Here it is, Alampana ,' said Birbal, giving the ring to the pleased Emperor.

He narrated the details of his plan to the curious emperor who was so impressed with Birbal's intelligence that he gave him a hundred gold mohars (coins)! ' Shahenshah! In all this world, there's no ruler more kind and generous than you!' said Birbal humbly. The emperor smiled gently, 'And in all this world, there's no ruler who has a better courtier than you, Birbal!

Everyone in the world
says my Way is great,
but it seems incomparable.
It is just because it is great
that it seems incomparable:
when comparisons are long established
it becomes trivialized.

I have three treasures
that I keep and hold:
One is mercy,
the second is frugality,
the third is not presuming
to be at the head of the world.
By reason of mercy,
one can be brave.
By reason of frugality,
one can be broad,.
By not presuming
to be at the head of the world,
one can make your potential last.

Now if one were bold
but had no mercy,
if one were broad
but were not frugal,
if one went ahead
without deference,
one would die.

Use mercy in war,
and you win;
use it for defense,
and you are secure.
Those whom heaven is going to save
are those it guards with mercy.

Modern learning is superficial. Detachment from learning does not mean not learning anything at all, it means maintaining the natural essence of mind. If you give up the original natural essence of mind and seek the Way outside, there is something special called learning, which is all externally oriented. Only by detachment from this learning can you be worry free: this is attained spontaneously by following essential nature: it is not learned.

-The Essential TAO - Translated and presented by THOMAS CLEARY.

See the unseen innocence..

I am able to share with my readers a little of the magnificent work of Mitsuo Aida (1924-91), a poet and calligrapher, whose poems remind us of the importance of innocence.

Because it has lived its life intensely

the parched grass still attracts the gaze of passers-by.

The flowers merely flower,

and they do this as well as they can.

The white lily, blooming unseen in the valley,

Does not need to explain itself to anyone;

It lives merely for beauty.

Men, however, cannot accept that 'merely'.

If tomatoes wanted to be melons,

they would look completely ridiculous.

I am always amazed

that so many people are concerned

with wanting to be what they are not;

what's the point of making yourself look ridiculous?

You don't always have to pretend to be strong,

there's no need to prove all the time that everything is going well,

you shouldn't be concerned about what other people are thinking,

cry if you need to,

it's good to cry out all your tears

(because only then will you be able to smile again).

Sometimes, on TV, I see tunnels and bridges being inagurated. Usually, a lot of celebreties and local politicians stand in a line, in the centre of which is the minister or local governor. Then a ribbon is cut, and when the people in charge of the project return to their desks, they find lots of letters expressing recognition and admiration.

The people who sweated and worked on the project, who wielded pickaxes and spades, who laboured all through the summer heat or endured the winter cold in order to finish the job, are never seen; those who did not work by the sweat of their brow always seem to come off best.

I want to be someone capable of seeing the unseen faces, of seeing those who do not seek fame or glory, who silently fulfil the role life has given them.

I want to be able to do this because most important things, those that shape our existences, are precisely the ones that never show their faces.

Courtesy: Paulo Coelho in Like the Flowing River.