The content of this web site is copyright. All rights reserved. Items marked ®©™ are the intellectual property of their respective owners.		Welcome to B   O   O   K   S   T   O   R   E in Melbourne, Australia       FOOD FOR THOUGHT The Carpenter An elderly carpenter was ready to retire. He told his employer-contractor of his plans to leave the house-building business and live a more leisurely life with his wife, enjoying his extended family. They could get by. The contractor was very sorry to see his good worker go and asked him if he could build just one more house as a personal favour. The carpenter said yes, but in time it was easy to see that his heart was not in the work. He resorted to shoddy workmanship and used inferior materials. It was an unfortunate way to end a dedicated career. When the carpenter had finished his work the employer came to inspect the house. He handed the front-door key to the carpenter. "This is your house," he said, "my gift to you." The carpenter was shocked! What a shame! If he had only known he was building his own house, he would have done it differently. So it is with us. We build our lives, a day at a time, often putting less than our best into the building. Then with a shock we realise we have to live in the house we have built. If we could do it over, we would do it much differently. But we cannot go back. You are a carpenter. Each day you hammer a nail, place a board or erect a wall. "Life is a do-it-yourself project," someone has said. Your attitudes and the choices you make today build the "house" you live in tomorrow. Build wisely!! Remember..... Work like you don't need the money. Love like you've never been hurt. Dance like nobody is watching. A Great Story...and 100% True His name was Fleming, and he was a poor Scottish farmer. One day, while trying to make a living for his family, he heard a cry for help coming from a nearby bog. He dropped his tools and ran to the bog, There, mired to his waist in black muck, was a terrified boy, screaming and struggling to free himself. Farmer Fleming saved the boy from what could have been a slow and terrifying death. The next day, a fancy carriage pulled up at the Scotsman's sparse surroundings. An elegantly dressed nobleman stepped out and introduced himself as the father of the boy farmer Fleming had saved. "I want to repay you," said the nobleman. "You saved my son's life." "No, I can't accept payment for what I did," the Scottish farmer replied, waiving off the offer. At that moment the farmer's own son came to the door of the family hovel. "Is that your son?" the nobleman asked. "Yes" the farmer replied. "I'll make you a deal. Let me take him and give him a good education. If the lad is anything like his father, he'll grow to a man you can be proud of." And he did. In time, farmer Fleming's son graduated from St Mary's Hospital Medical School in London, and went on to become known throughout the world as the noted Sir Alexander Fleming, the discoverer of Penicillin. Years afterward, the nobleman's son was stricken with pneumonia. What saved him? Penicillin!!! The nobleman's name? Randolph Churchill. His son's name? Sir Winston Churchill. Relationships One of the important aspects of our relationship is that neither of us needs to be always right, or always strong, or always smart, or always first. We have enough confidence in ourselves and trust in each other that we can be our real selves at all times. –Susan Polis Schutz "Quotation used with permission of Blue Mountain Arts" The Hairdresser A woman was at her hairdresser's getting her hair styled prior to a trip to Rome. She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who responded, "Rome?" Why would anyone want to go there? It's crowded & dirty and the traffic is hopeless.You're crazy to go to Rome. So, how are you getting there?" "We're flying with Garuda," was the reply. "We got a great rate!" "Garuda?" exclaimed the hairdresser. "That's a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are useless, and they're always late. So, where are you staying in Rome?" "We'll be at this exclusive little place over on Rome's left bank called Teste..." "Don't go any further. I know that place. Everybody thinks its gonna be something special and exclusive, but it's really a dump, the worst hotel in the city! The rooms are small, the service is surly and they're overpriced. So, whatcha doing when you get there?" "We're going to go to see the Vatican and we hope to see the Pope." "That's rich," laughed the hairdresser. "You and a million other people trying to see him. He'll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this lousy trip of yours. You're going to need it." A month later, the woman again came in for a hairdo. The hairdresser asked her about her trip to Rome. "It was wonderful," explained the woman, "not only were we on time in one of Garuda's brand new planes, but it was overbooked and they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a handsome 28 year-old steward who waited on me hand and foot. And the hotel...it was great! They'd just finished a $5 million remodelling job and now it's a jewel, the finest hotel in the city. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their owner's suite at no extra charge!" "Well," muttered the hairdresser, "that's all well and good, but I know you didn't get to see the Pope." "Actually, we were quite lucky, because as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder and explained that the Pope likes to meet some of the visitors and if I'd be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me." Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand! I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me." "Oh, really...What'd he say?" He said, "Where'd you get the awful hairdo?" The Three Components of Happiness Are Having....... • Something to Do • Someone to Love • Something to look forward to —Dr Gordon Livingston MD, author of Too Soon Old, Too Late Smart The $20 Bill In the room of 200, the speaker asked, Who would like this $20 bill? Hands started going up. He said, I am going to give this $20 to one of you but first, let me do this. He proceeded to crumple the dollar bill up. He then asked, Who still wants it? Still the hands were up in the air. Well, he replied, What if I do this? And he dropped it on the ground and started to grind it into the floor with his shoe. He picked it up, now crumpled and dirty. Now who still wants it? Still the hands went into the air. My friends, we have all learned a very valuable lesson. No matter what I did to the money, you still wanted it because it did not decrease in value. It was still worth $20. Many times in our lives, we are dropped, crumpled, and ground into the dirt by the decisions we make and the circumstances that come our way. We feel as though we are worthless. But no matter what has happened or what will happen, you will never lose your value: dirty or clean crumpled or finely creased, you are still priceless to those who really care about you The worth of our lives comes not in what we do or who we know, but by WHO WE ARE. The Donkey One day a farmer's donkey fell into an abandoned well. The animal cried piteously for hours as the farmer tried to figure out what to do. Finally, he decided the animal was very old and the well needed to be filled in anyway, so it just wasn't worth retrieving the donkey. He grabbed a shovel and began shovelling dirt into the well. Realising what was happening, the donkey at first cried and wailed horribly. Then, a few shovelfulls later, he'd quietened down completely. The farmer stared down into the well, and was astounded by what he saw.... With every shovelful of dirt the donkey would shake off the dirt and take a step up onto the new layer of dirt. Pretty soon, the donkey stepped over the edge of the well and trotted off. Moral of the story: Life is going to shovel dirt on you—all kinds of dirt. The trick to getting out of your hole is to not let it bury you, but to shake it off and take a step up. Each of our troubles is like a stepping stone. Like the donkey you can get out of the deepest holes by never giving up! Simply shake it off and take a step up! Trust Your Heart Don't be afraid to reach out to something new. Go ahead, Get your hopes up. Even if things turn out differently than you imagined You will have tried, you will have learned, you will have grown. And you will never have to live with regrets. It seems to me that what wears us down the most in life aren't the chances we take but the chances we don't take, the dreams we put aside, the adventures we push away. So whatever it is you're wanting in life go for it! and always remember, no matter what, trust your heart. —Jeannie Hund The Miracle A little girl went to her bedroom and pulled a glass jelly jar from its hiding place in the closet. She poured all the change out on the floor and counted it carefully. Three times, even. The total had to be exactly perfect. No chance here for mistakes. Carefully placing the coins back in the jar and twisting on the cap, she slipped out the back door and made her way six blocks to Rexall's Drug Store with the big Red Indian Chief sign above the door. She waited patiently for the pharmacist to give her some attention but he was too busy at this moment. Tess twisted her feet to make a scuffing noise. Nothing. She cleared her throat with the most disgusting sound she could muster. No good. Finally she took a quarter from her jar and banged it on the glass counter. That did it! "And what do you want" the pharmacist asked in an annoyed tone of voice. "I'm talking to my brother from Chicago whom I haven't seen in ages," he said without waiting for a reply to his question. "Well I want to talk to you about my brother," Tess answered back in the same annoyed tone. "He's really, really sick...and I want to buy a miracle." "I beg your pardon?" said the pharmacist. "His name is Andrew, and he has something bad growing inside his head and my Daddy says only a miracle can save him now. So how much does a miracle cost?" "We don't sell miracles here, little girl. I'm sorry but I can't help you," the pharmacist said, softening a little. "Listen, I have the money to pay for it. If it isn't enough, I will get the rest. Just tell me how much it costs." The pharmacists brother was a well dressed man. He stooped down and asked the little girl, "What kind of miracle does your brother need?" "I don't know," Tess replied with her eyes welling up. "I just know he's really sick and Mommy says he needs an operation. But my Daddy can't pay for it, so I want to use my money." "How much do you have?" asked the man from Chicago. "One dollar and eleven cents," Tess answered barely audibly. "And it's all the money I have, but I can get more if I need to." "Well, what a coincidence," smiled the man. "A dollar and eleven cents–the exact price of a miracle for little brothers." He took her money in one hand and with the other he grasped her mitten and said "Take me to where you live. I want to see your brother and meet your parents. Let's see if I have the kind of miracle you need." That well dressed man was Dr Carlton Armstrong, a surgeon, specialising in neuro-surgery. The operation was completed without charge and it wasn't long until Andrew was home again and doing well. Mom and Dad were happily talking about the chain of events that had led them to this place. "That surgery," her Mom whispered, "was a real miracle. I wonder how much it would have cost?" Tess smiled. She knew exactly how much a miracle cost....one dollar and eleven cents...plus the faith of a little child. A miracle is not the suspension of natural law, but the operation of a higher law. (This is a true story) The Touch of a Master's Hand It was battered and scarred and the auctioneer thought it hardly worth his while, to waste much time with the old violin, but he held it up with a smile: "What am I bid good folks", he cried, "Who'll start the bidding for me— A dollar, a dollar, who'll make it two, two dollars and who'll make it three? Three dollars once, three dollars twice, going for three," but no— From the back of the room, a grey haired man came forward and picked up the bow, And wiping the dust from the old violin, and tightening its old loose strings, He played a melody pure and sweet as a caroling angel sings. The music ceased and the auctioneer in a voice that was quiet and low, said: "What am I bid for this old violin?" and he held it up with the bow. "A thousand dollars and who'll make it two, two thousand and who'll make it three. Three thousand once, three thousand twice, and going and gone," said he Some people cheered, and some of them cried: "We do not understand, what changed its worth?" then someone near replied: "The touch of a Master's hand!" And many a man with life out of tune, battered and scarred with sin, Is auctioned cheap by the thoughtless crowd, much like the old violin. A mess of pottage, a glass of wine, a game and he travels on; He's going once, going twice, going and almost gone. Then the Master comes and the foolish crowd never can quite understand, The worth of a soul and the change that's wrought by the touch of a Master's hand —Author Unknown The following is the philosophy of Charles Schultz, the Creator of the Peanuts comic strip (You don't need to actually answer the questions. Just read it straight through and you'll get the point.) • Name the last five Heisman trophy winners. • Name the last five winners of the Miss America contest. • Name ten people who have won the Nobel or Pulitzer Prize. • Name the last half dozen Academy Award winners for best actor and actress. • Name the last decade's worth of World Series winners. How did you do? The point is, none of us remembers most of the headliners of yesterday. These are no second-rate achievers. They are the best in their fields. But the applause dies. Awards tarnish. Achievements are forgotten. Accolades and certificates are buried with their owners. Here's another quiz. See how you do on this one: • List a few teachers who aided your journey through school. • Name three friends who have helped you through a difficult time. • Name five people who have taught you something worthwhile. • Think of a few people who have made you feel appreciated and special. • Think of five people you enjoy spending time with. Isn't that list easier? The Lesson: The people who make a difference in your life are not the ones with the best credentials, the most money, or the most awards. They are the ones who care about you most A Dream Come True In Phoenix, Arizona, a 26-year-old mother stared down at her 6 year old son, who was dying of terminal leukemia. Although her heart was filled with sadness, she also had a strong feeling of determination. Like any parent, she wanted her son to grow up and fulfill all his dreams. Now that was no longer possible. The leukemia would see to that. But she still wanted her son's dreams to come true. She took her son's hand and asked, "Billy, did you ever think about what you wanted to be once you grew up? Did you ever dream and wish what you would do with your life?" Mommy, "I always wanted to be a fireman when I grew up." Mom smiled back and said, "Let's see if we can make your wish come true." Later that day she went to her local fire department in Phoenix, Arizona, where she met Fireman Bob, who had a heart as big as Phoenix. She explained her son's final wish and asked if it might be possible to give her six-year-old son a ride around the block on a fire engine. Fireman Bob said, "Look, we can do better than that. If you'll have your son ready at seven o'clock Wednesday morning, we'll make him an honorary fireman for the whole day. He can come down to the fire station, eat with us, go out on all the fire calls, the whole nine yards! And if you'll give us his sizes, we'll get a real fire uniform for him, with a realfire hat-not a toy one -with the emblem of the Phoenix Fire Department on it, a yellow slicker like we wear and rubber boots. They're all manufactured right here in Phoenix, so we can get them fast." Three days later Fireman Bob picked up Billy, dressed him in his fire uniform and escorted him from his hospital bed to the waiting hook and ladder truck. Billy got to sit on the back of the truck and help steer it back to the fire station. He was in heaven. There were three fire calls in Phoenix that day and Billy got to go out on all three calls. He rode in the different fire engines, the paramedic's van, and even the Fire Chief's car. He was also video taped for the local news program. Having his dream come true, with all the love and attention that was lavished upon him, so deeply touched Billy that he lived three months longer than any doctor thought possible. One night all of his vital signs began to drop dramatically and the head nurse, who believed in the hospice concept that no one should die alone, began to call the family members to the hospital. Then she remembered the day Billy had spent as a fireman, so she called the Fire Chief and asked if it would be possible to send a fireman in uniform to the hospital to be with Billy as he made his transition. The Chief replied, "We can do better than that. We'll be there in five minutes. Will you please do me a favour? "When you hear the sirens screaming and see the lights flashing, will you announce over the PA system that there is not a fire? It's just the fire department coming to see one of its finest members one more time. And will you open the window to his room?" About five minutes later a hook and ladder truck arrived at the hospital and extended its ladder up to Billy's third floor open window. Sixteen firefighters climbed up the ladder into Billy's room. With his mother's permission, they hugged him and held him and told him how much they loved him. With his dying breath, Billy looked up at the Fire Chief and said, "Chief, am I really a fireman now?" "Billy, you are, and the Head Chief, Jesus, is holding your hand," the Chief said. With those words, Billy smiled and said, "I know. He's been holding my hand all day, and the angels have been singing." He closed his eyes one last time. —Author Unknown When I was given this, my instructions were to send this to at least four people that I wanted God to bless. But I decided to put it on our web site and that's how I found you. Please pass this to at least four people you want to be blessed. This story is powerful and there is nothing attached, please do not break this pattern; uplifting stories are one of the best gifts we receive. There is no cost but a lot of rewards, let's continue to uplift one another. THE CAB RIDE Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. When I arrived at 2:30 am, the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But, I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked. "Just a minute", answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940's movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware. "Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness. "It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated." "Oh, you're such a good boy", she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?" "It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly. "Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice". I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long." I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked. For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing. As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now." We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair. "How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse. "Nothing," I said. "You have to make a living," she answered. "There are other passengers," I responded. Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly. "You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you." I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life. I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life . Isn't it interesting that we're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch usunaware—beautifully wrapped in smaller ones. PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT 'YOU DID, OR SAID, BUT THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL. Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here we might as well dance. Every morning when I open my eyes, I tell myself that it is special. Every day, every minute, every breath truly is a gift.. THIS WILL MAKE YOU THINK This teenager lived alone with his father, and the two of them had a very special relationship. Even though the son was always on the bench at the football game, his father was always in the stands cheering. He never missed a game. This young man was still the smallest of the class when he entered high school. His father continued to encourage him but also made it very clear that he did not have to play football if he didn't want to. But the young man loved football and decided to hang in there. He was determined to try his best at every practice, and perhaps he'd get to play when he became a senior. All through high school he never missed a practice nor a game, but remained a bench warmer all four years. His faithful father was always in the stands, always with words of encouragement for him. When the young man went to college, he decided to try out for the football team as a "walk-on". Everyone was sure he could never make the cut, but he did. The coach admitted that he kept him on the roster because he always put his heart and soul into every practice and, at the same time, provided the other members with the spirit and hustle they badly needed. The news that he had survived the cut thrilled him so much that he rushed to the nearest phone and called his father. His father shared his excitement and was sent season tickets for all the college games. This persistent young athlete never missed practice during his four years at college, but he never got to play in the game. It was the end of his senior football season, and as he trotted on to the practice field shortly before the big play off game, the coach met him with a telegram. The young man read the telegram and became deathly silent. Swallowing hard, he mumbled to the coach, "My father died this morning. Is it all right if I miss practice today?" The coach put his arm gently around his shoulder and said, "Take the rest of the week off, son. And don't even plan to come to the game on Saturday. Saturday arrived, and the game was not going well. In the third quarter, when the team was ten points behind, a silent young man quietly slipped into the empty locker room and put on his football gear. As he ran onto the sidelines, the coach and his players were astounded to see their faithful teammate back so soon. "Coach, please let me play. I've just got to play today," said the young man. The coach pretended not to hear him. There was no way he wanted his worst player in this close playoff game. But the young man persisted, and finally feeling sorry for the kid, the coach gave in. "All right," he said. "You can go in." Before long, the coach, the players and everyone in the stands could not believe their eyes. This little unknown, who had never played before was doing everything right. The opposing team could not stop him. He ran, he passed, blocked and tackled like a star. His team began to triumph. The score was soon tied. In the closing seconds of the game, the kid intercepted a pass and ran all the way for the winning touchdown. The fans broke loose. His teammates hoisted him onto their shoulders. Such cheering you've never heard! Finally, after the stands had emptied and the team had showered and left the locker room, the coach noticed that the young man was sitting quietly in the corner all alone. The coach came to him and said, "Kid, I can't believe it. You were fantastic! Tell me what got into you? How did you do it?" He looked at the coach, with tears in his eyes, and said "Well, you knew my dad died, but did you know that my dad was blind?' The young man swallowed hard and forced a smile, "Dad came to all my games, but today was the first time he could see me play, and I wanted to show him I could do it!" SO REMEMBER RIGHT NOW: Somebody is very proud of you. Somebody is thinking of you. Somebody is caring about you. Somebody misses you. Somebody wants to talk to you. Somebody wants to be with you. Somebody hopes you are not in trouble. Somebody is thankful for the support you have provided. Somebody wants to hold your hand. Somebody hopes everything turns out all right. Somebody wants you to be happy. Somebody wants you to find him/her. Somebody wants to give you a gift. Somebody wants to hug you. Somebody thinks you ARE a gift. Somebody admires your strength. Somebody wants to protect you. Somebody can't wait to see you. Somebody loves you for who you are. Somebody treasures your spirit. Somebody is glad that you are their friend. Somebody wants to get to know you better. Somebody wants to be near you. Somebody wants you to know they are there for you. Somebody would do anything for you. Somebody wants to share their dreams with you. Somebody is alive because of you. Somebody needs your support. Somebody will cry when they read this. Somebody needs you to have faith in them. Somebody trusts you. Somebody hears a song that reminds them of you. SOMEBODY NEEDS YOU TO GIVE THIS TO THEM. "Many people will walk in and out of your life, but only true friends will leave footprints in your heart." –Author Unknown The Miracle on Highway 109 A drunk man in an Oldsmobile They said had run the light That caused the six car pileup On 109 that night. When broken bodies lay about And blood was everywhere, The sirens screamed out eulogies, For death was in the air. A mother, trapped inside her car, Was heard above the noise; Her plaintive plea near split the air: Oh, God, please spare my boys!" She fought to loose her pinned hands; She struggled to get free, But mangled metal held her fast In grim captivity. Her frightened eyes then focused On where the back seat once had been, But all she saw was broken glass and Two children's seats crushed in. Her twins were nowhere to be seen; She did not hear them cry, And then she prayed they'd been thrown free, Oh, God, don't let them die!" Then firemen came and cut her loose, But when they searched the back, They found therein no little boys, But the seat belts were intact. They thought the woman had gone mad And was travelling alone, But when they turned to question her, They discovered she was gone. Policemen saw her running wild And screaming above the noise In beseeching supplication, "Please help me find my boys! They're four years old and wear blue shirts; Their jeans are blue to match." One cop spoke up, "They're in my car, And they don't have a scratch. They said their daddy put them there And gave them each a cone, Then told them both to wait for Mom To come and take them home. But I can't find their dad. I've searched the area high and low, He must have fled the scene, I guess, and that is very bad." The mother hugged the twins and said, While wiping at a tear, "He could not flee the scene, you see, For he's been dead a year." The cop just looked confused and asked, "Now, how can that be true?" The boys said, "Mommy, Daddy came And left a kiss for you." He told us not to worry And that you would be all right, And then he put us in this car with The pretty, flashing light. We wanted him to stay with us, Because we miss him so, But Mommy, he just hugged us tight And said he had to go. He said someday we'd understand And told us not to fuss, And he said to tell you, Mommy, He's watching over us." The mother knew without a doubt That what they spoke was true, For she recalled their dad's last words, "I will watch over you." The firemen's notes could not explain The twisted, mangled car, And how the three of them escaped Without a single scar. But on the cop's report was scribed, In print so very fine, An angel walked the beat tonight On Highway 109. The Teacher 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 Xs 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 realised 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 her wrist. Teddy Stoddard stayed after school that day just long enough to say, "Mrs Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mum 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 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'd stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would soon graduate from college with the highest of honours. He assured Mrs Thompson that she was still the best and favourite 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 degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favourite 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 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". —Author Unknown How to Stay Young • Throw out nonessential numbers. This includes age, weight and height. Let the doctors worry about them. That is what you pay them for. • Keep only cheerful friends. The grouches pull you down. • Keep learning. Learn more about the computer, crafts, gardening, whatever. Never let the brain idle. "An idle mind is the devil's workshop." And the devil's name is Alzheimer's. • Enjoy the simple things. • Laugh often, long and loud. Laugh until you grasp for breath. • The tears happen. Endure, grieve, and move on. The only person who is with us our entire life, is ourselves. Be ALIVE while you are alive. • Surround yourself with what you love. Whether it's family, pets, keepsakes, music, plants, hobbies, whatever; your home is your refuge. • Cherish your health. If it is good, preserve it. If it is unstable, improve it. If it is beyond what you can improve, get help. • Don't take guilt trips. Take a trip to the mall, to the country, to the next county, even to a foreign country; but NOT to where the guilt is. • Tell the people that you love that you love them –at every opportunity AND ALWAYS REMEMBER: Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but the moments that take our breath away. Don't We All? One evening I was parked in front of the mall wiping off my car. I had just come from the car wash and was waiting for my wife to get out of work. Coming my way from across the parking lot was what society would consider a bum. From the looks of him, he had no car, no home, no clean clothes, and no money. There are times when you feel generous but there are other times that you just don't want to be bothered. This was one of the "Don't want to be bothered" times. "I hope he doesn't ask me for money," I thought. He didn't. He came and sat on the curb in front of the bus stop and he didn't look like he could have enough money to even ride the bus. After a few minutes he spoke. "That's a very nice car," he said. He was ragged but had an air of dignity around him. I said, "Thanks," and continued wiping off my car. He sat there quietly as I worked. The expected plea for money never came. As the silence between us widened something inside said, 'ask him if he needs any help.' I was sure that he would say yes, but I held true to the inner voice. "Do you need any help?" I asked. He answered in three simple but profound words that I shall never forget. We often look for wisdom in great men and women. We expect it from those of higher learning and accomplishments. I expected nothing but an outstretched grimy hand. He spoke three words that shook me. "Don't we all?" he said. I needed help. Maybe not for bus fare or a place to sleep, but I needed help. I reached in my wallet and gave him not only enough for bus fare but enough to get a warm meal and shelter for the day. Those three little words still ring true. No matter how much you have, no matter how much you have accomplished, you need help too. No matter how little you have, no matter how loaded you are with problems, even without money or a place to sleep, you can give help. Even if it's just a compliment, you can give that. You never know when you may see someone that appears to have it all. They are waiting on you to give them what they don't have. A different perspective on life, a glimpse at something beautiful, a respite from daily chaos, that only you through a torn world can see. Maybe the man was just a homeless stranger wandering the streets. Maybe he was more than that. Maybe he was sent by a power that is great and wise to minister to a soul too comfortable in themselves. Maybe God looked down, called an Angel, dressed him like a bum, then said, "Go minister to that man cleaning the car, that man needs help." "Don't We All?" Shay's Day At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves learning  disabled children, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would  never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question: "When not interfered with by outside influences, everything  nature does is done with perfection. Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do. Where is the natural order of things in my son?" The audience was stilled by the query. The father continued. "I believe that when a  child like Shay, physically and mentally handicapped comes into the world, an opportunity to realise true human nature presents itself, and it comes, in  the way other people treat that child." Then he told the following story: Shay and his father had  walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, "Do you think they'll let me play?" Shay's father knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but the father also understood that if his son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps. Shay's father approached one of the boys on the field and asked if Shay could play, not expecting much. The boy looked around for guidance and a few boys nodded approval, why not? So he took matters into his own  hands and said, "We're losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning." Shay struggled over to the team's bench put on a team shirt with a broad smile and his Father had a small tear in his eye and warmth in his heart. The boys saw the father's joy at his son being accepted. In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as his father waved to him from the stands. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat. At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game? Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible 'cause Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat  properly, much less connect with the ball.' However, as Shay stepped up to  the plate, the pitcher, recognising the other team putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least be able to make contact. The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards  Shay as the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher. The game would now be over, but the pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game. Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the head of the first baseman, out of reach of all team mates. Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, "Shay, run to first! Run to first!" Never in his life had Shay ever ran that far but made it to first base. He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.   Everyone yelled, "Run  to second, run to second!" Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to second base. By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball, the smallest guy on their team, who had a chance to be the hero for his team for the first time. He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's intentions and he too intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman's head. Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home. All were screaming, "Shay, Shay, Shay, all the way Shay" Shay reached third base, the opposing shortstop ran to help him and turned him in the direction of third base, and shouted, "Run to third! Shay, run to third" As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams and those watching were on their feet were screaming, "Shay, run home!" Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the "grand slam" and won the game for his team. "That day," said the father softly with tears now rolling  down his face, "the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world." Shay didn't make it to another summer and died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making his father so happy, and coming home and seeing his mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day! I Love You The hospital was unusually quiet that bleak January evening, quiet and still like the air before a storm. I stood in the nurses' station on the seventh floor and glanced at the clock. It was 9 P.M. I threw a stethoscope around my neck and headed for Room 712, last room on the hall. Room 712 had a new patient. Mr Williams. A man all alone. A man strangely silent about his family. As I entered the room, Mr Williams looked up eagerly, but drooped his eyes when he saw it was only me, his nurse. I pressed the stethoscope over his chest and listened. Strong, slow, even beating. Just what I wanted to hear. There seemed little indication he had suffered a slight heart attack a few hours earlier. He looked up from his starched white bed. "Nurse, would you ..." He hesitated, tears filling his eyes. Once before he had started to ask me a question, but changed his mind. I touched his hand, waiting. He brushed away a tear. "Would you call my daughter? Tell her I've had a heart attack. A slight one. You see, I live alone and she is the only family I have." His respiration suddenly speeded up. I turned his nasal oxygen up to eight liters a minute. "Of course I'll call her," I said, studying his face. He gripped the sheets and pulled himself forward, his face tense with urgency. "Will you call her right away—as soon as you can?" He was breathing fast—too fast. "I'll call her the very first thing," I said, patting his shoulder. I flipped off the light. He closed his eyes, such young blue eyes in his 50 year old face. Room 712 was dark except for a faint night light under the sink. Oxygen gurgled in the green tubes above his bed. Reluctant to leave, I moved through the shadowy silence to the window. The panes were cold. Below a foggy mist curled through the hospital parking lot. Nurse," he called, "could you get me a pencil and paper?" I dug a scrap of yellow paper and a pen from my pocket and set it on the bedside table. I walked back to the nurses' station and sat in a squeaky swivel chair by the phone. Mr Williams's daughter was listed on his chart as the next of kin. I got her number from information and dialed. Her soft voice answered. "Janie, this is Sue Kidd, a registered nurse at the hospital. I'm calling about your father. He was admitted tonight with a slight heart attack and—"No!" she screamed into the phone, startling me. He's not dying is he?" "His condition is stable at the moment," I said, trying hard to sound convincing. Silence. I bit my lip. "You must not let him die!" she said. Her voice was so utterly compelling that my hand trembled on the phone. "He is getting the very best care." "But you don't understand," she pleaded. "My daddy and I haven't spoken since my 21st birthday, we had a fight over my boyfriend. I ran out of the house. I haven't been back. All these months I've wanted to go to him for forgiveness. The last thing I said to him was, 'I hate you." Her voice cracked and I heard her heave great agonising sobs. I sat, listening, tears burning my eyes. A father and a daughter, so lost to each other. Then I was thinking of my own father, many miles away. It has been so long since I had said, "I love you." As Janie struggled to control her tears, I breathed a prayer. "Please God, let this daughter find forgiveness." "I'm coming. Now! I'll be there in 30 minutes," she said. Click. She had hung up. I tried to busy myself with a stack of charts on the desk. I couldn't concentrate. Room 712; I knew I had to get back to 712. I hurried down the hall nearly in a run. I opened the door. Mr Williams lay unmoving. I reached for his pulse. There was none. "Code 99, Room 712. Code 99. Stat." The alert was shooting through the hospital within seconds after I called the switchboard through the intercom by the bed. Mr. Williams had had a cardiac arrest. With lightning speed I leveled the bed and bent over his mouth, breathing air into his lungs (twice). I positioned my hands over his chest and compressed. One, two, three. I tried to count. At fifteen I moved back to his mouth and breathed as deeply as I could. Where was help? Again I compressed and breathed, Compressed and breathed. He could not die! "O God," I prayed. "His daughter is coming. Don't let it end this way." The door burst open. Doctors and nurses poured into the room pushing emergency equipment. A doctor took over the manual compression of the heart. A tube was inserted through his mouth as an airway. Nurses plunged syringes of medicine into the intravenous tubing. I connected the heart monitor. Nothing. Not a beat. My own heart pounded. "God, don't let it end like this. Not in bitterness and hatred. His daughter is coming. Let her find peace." "Stand back," cried a doctor. I handed him the paddles for the electrical shock to the heart. He placed them on Mr. Williams' chest. Over and over we tried. But nothing. No response. Mr Williams was dead. A nurse unplugged the oxygen. The gurgling stopped. One by one they left, grim and silent. How could this happen? How? I stood by his bed, stunned. A cold wind rattled the window, pelting the panes with snow. Outside—everywhere—seemed a bed of blackness, cold and dark. How could I face his daughter? When I left the room, I saw her against a wall by a water fountain. A doctor who had been inside 712 only moments before stood at her side, talking to her, gripping her elbow. Then he moved on, leaving her slumped against the wall. Such pathetic hurt reflected from her face. Such wounded eyes. She knew. The doctor had told her that her father was gone. I took her hand and led her into the nurses' lounge. We sat on little green stools, neither saying a word. She stared straight ahead at a pharmaceutical calendar, glass-faced, almost breakable-looking. "Janie, I'm so, so sorry," I said. It was pitifully inadequate. "I never hated him, you know. I loved him," she said. God, please help her, I thought. Suddenly she whirled toward me. "I want to see him." My first thought was, Why put yourself through more pain? Seeing him will only make it worse. But I got up and wrapped my arm around her. We walked slowly down the corridor to 712. Outside the door I squeezed her hand, wishing she would change her mind about going inside. She pushed open the door. We moved to the bed, huddled together, taking small steps in unison. Janie leaned over the bed and buried her face in the sheets. I tried not to look at her at this sad, sad good-bye. I backed against the bedside table. My hand fell upon a scrap of yellow paper. I picked it up. It read: My dearest Janie, I forgive you. I pray you will also forgive me. I know that you love me. I love you too, Daddy The note was shaking in my hands as I thrust it toward Janie. She read it once. Then twice. Her tormented face grew radiant. Peace began to glisten in her eyes. She hugged the scrap of paper to her breast. "Thank You, God," I whispered, looking up at the window. A few crystal stars blinked through the blackness. A snowflake hit the window and melted away, gone forever. Life seemed as fragile as a snowflake on the window. But thank you, God, that relationships, sometimes fragile as snowflakes, can be mended together again— but there is not a moment to spare. I crept from the room and hurried to the phone. I would call my father. I would say, "I love you." This story courtesy of http://www.homeholidaysfamilyandfun.com You Can Make a Difference A teacher decided to honour each of her seniors in High School by telling them the difference each of them had made. She called each student to the front of the class, one at a time. First, she told each of them how they had 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  blue ribbons, and instructed them to go out and spread this acknowledgment ceremony. Then they were to follow up on the results, see who honoured 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 honoured 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 for you to go out, find somebody to honour,  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, by the way, 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 take this extra ribbon, and pass it on by honouring 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, I just  wanted to sit here and, well, just 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, "Dad, earlier tonight I sat in my room and wrote a letter to you and Mom, explaining why I had killed myself, and I asked you to forgive me. I was going to commit suicide tonight after you were asleep. I just didn't think that you cared at all. The letter is upstairs. I don't think I need it after all."  His father walked upstairs and found a heartfelt letter full of anguish and pain. The boss went back to work a changed man. He was no longer a grouch, but made sure to let all of his employees know that they made a difference. The junior executive helped  several other young people with  career planning, and never forgot to let them know that they made a difference in his life—one being the boss' son. And the young boy and his classmates learned a valuable lesson,  "Who you are does make a  difference". Who YOU are DOES make a  difference, and I wanted you to know  that. Don't go for looks—they can deceive. Don't go for wealth—even that fades away. Surround yourself with people who make you smile, because it takes only a smile to make a dark day seem bright. Be with people who make your heart smile. —Author Unknown To Risk To laugh is to risk appearing a fool — Laugh anyway! To weep is to risk appearing sentimental — Don't be afraid to weep! To reach out for another is to risk being involved — Reach anyway! To expose your feelings is to risk exposing the self — Feel deeply! To place ideas and dreams before the crowd is to risk loss — Keep dreaming! To love is to risk rejection — Love! To live is to risk dying — Live! To hope is to risk despair — Never give up hope! To try all is to risk failure — Take the risk! For risk we must, because the greatest hazard of all is to risk nothing. For those who risk nothing, do nothing, have nothing — are nothing! –Francis X Maguire A Gift of Pure Love This tale of love has helped many people find happiness and build self-esteem over the years. "Can I see my bundle of joy?" the happy new mother asked, ready to pour love and affection on her new child. When the baby was nestled in her arms and she moved the fold of cloth to look upon his tiny face, she gasped. The doctor turned quickly and looked out the tall hospital window. The baby had been born without ears. Over time, it became clear that the baby's hearing was just fine. It was only his appearance that was marred.  One day he rushed home from school and flung himself into his mother's arms. She sighed deeply, recognising that his life was to be a succession of heartbreaks. He blurted out the tragedy. "A boy, a big boy...called me a freak." Surely this boy would never find peace or happiness. He developed a gift for literature and music, his solace in a hostile world. "But you might mingle with other young people," his mother told him, although she understood why he focused on solitary pursuits. The boy's father met with the family physician. Could nothing be done? "I believe I could graft on a pair of outer ears if they could be procured" the doctor advised. That's when the search began? Who would make such a sacrifice for a young man. Two years went by. Two years of searching. Two years of frustration. Then his father told him, "You are going to the hospital, son. Mother and I have someone who will donate the ears you need. But it's a secret." The operation was a brilliant success, and a new person emerged. His talents blossomed into genius, and school and college became a series of triumphs. Later he married and entered the diplomatic service.  "But I must know!" He urged his father. "Who gave so much for me? I could never do enough for him." "I do not believe you could," said the father, "but the agreement was that you are not to know...not yet."  The years kept their profound secret, but the day did come . . . one of the darkest days that ever pass through a son. He stood with his father over his mother's casket. Slowly, tenderly, the father stretched forth a hand and raised the thick, reddish-brown hair to reveal—that the mother had no outer ears. "Mother said she was glad she never let her hair be cut," he whispered gently, "and nobody ever thought mother less beautiful, did they"? Real beauty lies not in the physical appearance, but in the heart. Real treasure lies not in what can be seen, but in what cannot be seen. True love lies not in what is done and known, but in what is done but not known. —Author Unknown Family Love I ran into a stranger as he passed me by, "Oh excuse me please" was my reply, He said, "Please excuse me too, I wasn't watching out for you." We were very polite this stranger and I, We went on our way and said goodbye. But at home a different story is told, How we treat our loved ones, young and old. Later that day, while cooking a grill, My son stood beside me very still, When I turned, I nearly knocked him down, "Move out of my way" I said with a frown. He walked away, his little heart broken, I didn't realise how harshly I'd spoken. While I lay awake in bed, God's small voice came to me and said, "While dealing with a stranger, common courtesy you use, But the family you love, you seem to abuse. Go and look on the kitchen floor, You'll find some flowers there by the door, Those are the flowers he brought for you, He picked them himself–pink, yellow and blue. He stood very quietly not to spoil the surprise, You never saw the tears that filled his little eyes." By this time, I felt very small, And now my tears began to fall, I quietly went and knelt by his bed, "Wake up little one, wake up," I said, "Are these the flowers you picked for me?" He smiled, "I found them out by the tree, I picked 'em because they're pretty like you, I knew you'd like them, especially the blue." I said, "Son, I'm sorry for the way I acted today, I shouldn't have yelled at you that way." He said, "Oh Mum, that's okay, I just love you anyway.." I said, "Son, I love you too, and I do like the flowers, especially the blue." Author Unknown Not All Heroes are People James Crane worked on the 101st floor of Tower 1 of the World Trade Center in New York. He is blind so he has a golden retriever named Daisy. After the plane hit 20 stories below, James knew that he was doomed, so he let Daisy go, out of an act of love. She darted away into the darkened hallway. Choking on the fumes of the jet fuel and the smoke James was just waiting to die. About 3 minutes later, Daisy comes back along with James' boss, who Daisy just happened to pick up on floor 112. On her first run of the building, she leads James, James' boss, and about 300 more people out of the doomed building. But she wasn't through yet, she knew there were others who were trapped. So, highly against James' wishes she ran back in the building. On her second run, she saved 392 lives. Again she went back in. During this run, the building collapses. James hears about this and falls on his knees into tears. Against all known odds, Daisy makes it out alive, but this time she is carried by a firefighter. "She led us right to the people, before she got injured" the fireman explained. Her final run saved another 273 lives. She suffered acute smoke inhalation, severe burns on all four paws, and a broken leg, but she saved 967 lives. The next week, Mayor Guilaini rewards Daisy with the Canine Medal of Honor of New York. Daisy is the first civilian Canine to win such an honor. Author Unknown The Boy and the Farmer A farmer had some puppies he needed to sell. He painted a sign advertising the 4 pups and set about nailing it to a post on the edge of his yard. As he was driving the last nail into the post, he felt a tug on his overalls. He looked down into the eyes of a little boy. "Mister," he said, "I want to buy one of your puppies." "Well," said the farmer, as he rubbed the sweat from the back of his neck, "These puppies come from fine parents and cost a good deal of money." The boy dropped his head for a moment. Then reaching deep into his pocket, he pulled out a handful of change and held it up to the farmer. "I've got thirty-nine cents, is that enough to take a look?" "Sure," said the farmer. And with that he let out a whistle. "Here, Dolly!" he called. Out from the doghouse and down the ramp ran Dolly followed by four little balls of fur. The little boy pressed his face against the chain link fence. His eyes danced with delight. As the dogs made their way to the fence, the little boy noticed something else stirring inside the doghouse. Slowly another little ball appeared, this one noticeably smaller. Down the ramp it slid. Then in a somewhat awkward manner the little pup began hobbling toward the others, doing his best to catch up.... "I want that one," the little boy said, pointing to the runt. The farmer knelt down at the boy's side and said, "Son you don't want that puppy. He will never be able to run and play with you like these other dogs would." With that the little boy stepped back from the fence, reached down, and began rolling 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 back up at the farmer, he said, "You see sir, I don't run too well myself, and he will need someone who understands. With tears in his eyes, the farmer reached down and picked up the little pup. Holding it carefully he handed it to the little boy. "How much?" asked the little boy. "No charge," answered the farmer, "There is no charge for love." The world is full of people who need someone who understands. 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