What Truely Matters

[CHRISK]

A few years ago at the Seattle Special Olympics, nine contestants,all physically or mentally disabled, assembled at the starting line for the 100-yard dash. At the gun, they all started out, not exactly in a dash, but with a relish to run the race to the finish and win.

All, that is, except one boy who stumbled on the asphalt, tumbled over a couple of times and began to cry. The other eight heard the boy cry. They slowed down and looked back. They all turned around and went back. Every one of them.

One girl with Down's Syndrome bent down and kissed him and said, "This will make it better."

All nine linked arms and walked across the finish line together.

Everyone in the stadium stood, and the cheering went on for several minutes. People who were there are still telling the story. Why? Because deep down we know this one thing:

What matters in this life is more than winning for ourselves.

What truly matters in this life is helping others win, even if it means slowing down and changing our course.

[CHRISK]

the little things

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Little things can make a big difference. Enough of them can truly change the world.

A genuine smile is a little thing,and requires almost no effort.Yet it can make a big difference to the person who recieves it.

A small kindness or word of encouragement is a little thing.Yet just think of how much brighter your outlook would be if you were to give or receive several each day.

Little things can quickly combine together to have a big impact. And little things are within the reach of anyone who decides to make them happen.

even the most magnificent achievments are the results of lots of little efforts and successes, All working in the same direction. Big, Valuable and substantial things are created when you're committed to getting all the necessary little things done.

As each moment goes by,fill it with possitive,productive,and joyfull little things.They'll soon add up to something big

[CHRISK]

K i d s N e e d L o v e



A father just came home from work. His son was waiting for him at the door. As he came in, his

son asked "How much do you make an hour, daddy?" Being tired from work the man was very angry

that his son had asked him this. He said "Your mother doesn't even know that!" "But please

daddy, how much do you make an hour?" The man said "Fine, I make 25$ an hour." Hearing that

the son left the room.

After some time, his son came back to him and asked, " Daddy will you please give me 10$?"

But he was too tired to do anything. So he just told his son to leave him alone. That night

he felt bad for the way he treated his little boy. So he got out of bed and went to his

son's room. The boy was still awake. He went over to him and gave him the $10 he had asked

for. Immediately the son picked up his piggybank, took out all the money from it and kept

everything on his daddy's hand. The man didn't understand what's going on, so he asked

his son, "What's the matter son?" His son replied," Daddy I want to buy one

hour of your time......."

-=-=-=- Have you hugged and spent time with your child today? -=--==

[CHRISK]

T r u e F r i e n d s h i p



Horror gripped the heart of the World War I soldier as he saw his lifelong friend fall in battle.

Caught in a trench with continuous gunfire whizzing over his head, the soldier asked his lieutenant

if he might go out into the "No Man's Land" between the trenches to bring his fallen comrade back.

"You can go," said the Lieutenant, "but I don't think it will be worth it. Your friend is probably

dead and you may throw your own life away." The Lieutenant's words didn't matter, and the soldier

went anyway. Miraculously he managed to reach his friend, hoist him onto his shoulder, and bring

him back to their company's trench.

As the two of them tumbled in together to the bottom of the trench, the officer checked the wounded

soldier, then looked kindly at his friend. "I told you it wouldn't be worth it," he said.

"Your friend is dead, and you are mortally wounded."

"It was worth it, though, sir," the soldier said.

"How do you mean, 'worth it'?" responded the Lieutenant. "Your friend is dead!"

"Yes sir," the private answered.

"But it was worth it because when I got to him, he was still alive, and I

had the satisfaction of hearing him say, 'Jim, I knew you'd come.'"

"A true friend is the greatest of all blessings and the one which we take the least thought to acquire."

[CHRISK]

The Dog Next Door

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My 18-month-old son, Adam, called from the front porch. "Look, Mama! Doggie." I dropped what I was doing and stuck my head out the door. Brandy, our next-door neighbor's 11-year-old golden retriever, was over again. "Scat!" I said, scooping up Adam and brushing the dog hair off his T-shirt and shorts.

Brandy's owner had died about a month earlier. The woman's family emptied the house, and a real estate agent stuck a For Sale sign in the front yard. But the family had overlooked the old golden, Brandy. For weeks she'd been sniffing around the neighborhood, living on scraps and handouts.

It wasn't that I disliked dogs or anything like that. I just didn't think about them much. I never had a dog growing up and never thought to get one.

Brandy loped off and I stayed out on the porch with Adam. The phone rang. I ducked inside to take the call. When I came back out, Adam was gone. I scoured the yard, front and back, then the basketball court and public pool down the block. No trace of him. My worry built to panic. I ran home and called the police, then my husband. Please, Lord, keep Adam safe until we find him.

Police combed the neighborhood. Amid the sirens and commotion of voices, I heard another sound: a dog barking.

"It's coming from the woods," one of my neighbors said. We followed the barking to a wooded cliff overlooking a creek. There we found my son, flush up against the trunk of a tree just inches away from the edge of the cliff, fast asleep. Brandy had pressed herself against him. I picked Adam up and leaned down to pat Brandy. She sank down on her side, panting. She must have been holding Adam there for hours!

I thanked the police and brought a safe and sound Adam back to our house. Brandy too. She hesitated a moment on our doorstep, no doubt remembering the times I'd shooed her away.

"Come on, girl," I said. "This is your home now." Brandy stepped in, and once she saw she was really welcome, she eased herself onto an old throw rug in the hallway, as if she knew that spot was now hers. She closed her eyes. Her breathing deepened. Her whiskers twitched as she slept. She'd done an incredible thing and I wondered if she knew it. She might have saved my son's life. She'd certainly touched mine in a way no animal ever had. What a shame a dog like Brandy was abandoned. Were there more out there like her?

I learned about other homeless goldens and took them in, and found homes for many more. It's become a kind of calling for me. Those with disabilities -- the old, the blind, the sick -- have a special place in my heart. A place I'd never known I had until Brandy opened it.

[CHRISK]

THE STATION
By: Robert J Hastings

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Tucked away in our subconscious is an idyllic vision. We see ourselves on a long trip that spans the continent. We are traveling by train. Out the windows we drink in the passing scene of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at a crossing, of cattle grazing on a distant hillside, of smoke pouring from a power plant, of row upon row of corn and wheat, of flatlands and valleys, of mountains and rolling hillsides, of city skylines and village halls.

But uppermost in our minds is the final destination. On a certain day at a certain hour we will pull into the station. Bands will be playing and flags waving. Once we get there so many wonderful dreams will come true and the pieces of our lives will fit together like a completed jigsaw puzzle. How restlessly we pace the aisles, cursing the minutes for loitering --waiting, waiting, waiting for the station.

"When we reach the station, that will be it!" we cry. "When I’m 18." "When I buy a new 450SL Mercedes Benz!" When I put the last kid through college," "When I get a promotion." When I reach the age of retirement, I shall live happily ever after!"

Sooner or later we must realize there is no station, no one place to arrive at once and for all. The true joy of life is the trip. The station is only a dream. It constantly out-distances us.

"Relish the moment" is a good motto, especially when coupled with Psalm 118 "This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it." It isn’t the burdens of today that drive men mad. It is the regrets over yesterday and the fear of tomorrow. Regret and fear are twin thieves who rob us of today.

So, stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, climb more mountains, eat more ice cream, go barefoot more often, swim more rivers, watch more sunsets, laugh more, cry less. Life must be lived as we go along. The station will come soon enough.

[CHRISK]

A Sandpiper To Bring You Joy

She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to close in on me.

She was building a sandcastle or something and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.

"Hello," she said.

I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.

"I'm building," she said.

"I see that. What is it?" I asked, not caring.

"Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand."

That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper glided by.

"That's a Joy," the child said.

"It's a what?"

"It's a Joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy."

The bird went gliding down the beach. "Good-bye joy," I muttered to myself, "hello pain," and turned to walk on. I was depressed; my life seemed completely out of balance.

"What's your name?" She wouldn't give up.

"Robert," I answered. "I'm Robert Peterson."

"Mine's Wendy... I'm six."

"Hi, Wendy."

She giggled. "You're funny," she said.

In spite of my gloom I laughed too and walked on. Her musical giggle followed me.

"Come again, Mr. P," she called. "We'll have another happy day."

The days and weeks that followed belong to others: a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, an ailing mother. The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwater. "I need a sandpiper," I said to myself, gathering up my coat. The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly, but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed. I had forgotten the child and was startled when she appeared.

"Hello, Mr. P," she said. "Do you want to play?"

"What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.

"I don't know, you say."

"How about charades?" I asked sarcastically.

The tinkling laughter burst forth again. "I don't know what that is."

"Then let's just walk." Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face.

"Where do you live?" I asked.

"Over there." She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.

Strange, I thought, in winter. "Where do you go to school?"

"I don't go to school. Mommy says we're on vacation."

She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was on other things. When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day. Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.

Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I was in no mood to even greet Wendy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt like demanding she keep her child at home.

"Look, if you don't mind," I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, "I'd rather be alone today,"

She seems unusually pale and out of breath. "Why?" she asked.

I turned to her and shouted, "Because my mother died!" and thought, my God, why was I saying this to a little child?

"Oh," she said quietly, "then this is a bad day."

"Yes," I said, "and yesterday and the day before and-oh, go away!"

"Did it hurt? " she inquired.

'Did what hurt?" I was exasperated with her, with myself.

"When she died?"

"Of course it hurt!!!!" I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in myself. I strode off.

A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there. Feeling guilty, ashamed and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn looking young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.

"Hello," I said. "I'm Robert Peterson. I missed your little girl today and wondered where she was."

"Oh, yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy spoke of you so much. I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance, please accept my apologies."

"Not at all -- she's a delightful child," I said, suddenly realizing that I meant it. "Where is she?"

"Wendy died last week," Mr. Peterson. "She had leukemia. Maybe she didn't tell you."

Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. My breath caught.

"She loved this beach; so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no. She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days. But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly." Her voice faltered.

"She left something for you ... if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I look?"

I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something, anything, to say to this lovely young woman. She handed me a smeared envelope, with MR. P printed in bold, childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues -- a yellow beach, a blue sea, and a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed: A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY.

Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to love opened wide. I took Wendy's mother in my arms.

"I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I muttered over and over, and we wept together.

The precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six words -- one for each year of her life -- that speak to me of harmony, courage, undemanding love. A gift from a child with sea-blue eyes and hair the color of sand-who taught me the gift of love.

NOTE: The above is a true story sent out by Robert Peterson. It serves as a reminder to all of us that we need to take time to enjoy living and life and each other. "The price of hating other human beings is loving oneself less." Life is so complicated, the hustle and bustle of everyday traumas, can make us lose focus about what is truly important or what is only a monetary setback or crisis.

This weekend, be sure to give your loved ones an extra hug, and by all means, take a moment, even if it is only ten seconds, and stop and smell the roses.

[CHRISK]

The Lassie Dog
As Kevin sat intently in front of the old 19 inch Zenith
television set with rabitt ears' and poor reception, his
mother watched her little seven year boy move almost
theatrically as he cheered Lassie on. "Go get 'em girl, go
get 'em!" He'd look forward to each episode as Lassie would
save the day on each and every airing of this show.

His mother had memorized Kevin's question as it was sure to
follow at the end of every episode of "Lassie." Per usual,
he quickly spun around while sitting 'Indian Style' on the
floor and asked, "Mom?, Can I have a Lassie dog? Please
mom!?"

As she gazed into into his eager eyes she replied, "Honey,
I'd love to give you a dog like Lassie, but I've said it
before--dogs like Lassie like to be outside and run."
Desperately trying to convince him she added, "Kevin, I have
told you over and over again that our yard is too small for
a Lassie dog!"

Kevin appeared pensive for a moment and then excitingly
exclaimed, "I have an idea mom! I'll teach the Lassie dog to
stay by me all of the time so she won't get lost or hurt!"
His mother appeared surprised that Kevin could creatively
think on his feet so quickly. "That's a really neat idea
sweetheart, but Lassie is what's known as a Collie and you
can't teach a Collie to stay by your side all of the time
because they're outside dogs and I'm afraid your Lassie dog
would run away.

Do you understand what I'm saying honey?" Kevin looked down
and was clearly disappointed by what he felt was his last
ditch effort to gain his mother's favor as it would relate
to his getting his youthful mind's hero--a dog and friend
like Lassie.

Months passed and Kevin stopped asking his mother whether or
not he could get a dog like Lassie. She noticed his
increasing quietness and sadness with each passing episode
and thought back to her childhood. Her parents surprised her
one Christmas with a little scrounge mutt that she adored.

She got this ugly little dog that Christmas when she was
about her son's age and the guilt of not allowing Kevin to
have a dog to be his best friend finally got to her. One
afternoon after yet another episode of "Lassie", she
decided, right or wrong, to give in to Kevin's earlier
repeated desire to have a dog of his own. "Kevin?", she
asked, "How about us going down to the dog pound today and
getting you a dog?

The dog won't be as pretty as Lassie, but I know we can find
a dog that you'd love." Kevin's eyes lit up like a 50 watt
bulb with no lamp shade as he exclaimed, "Really mom?! Yes,
I don't care anymore about getting a Lassie dog! Can we go
now?", he enthusiastically asked. "We sure can honey! Put
your shoes on and let's go on down to the dog pound and find
you the perfect dog!" Kevin jumped up and hurriedly put his
shoes on and headed directly to the car.

Upon arriving at the dog pound, she asked the old man who
ran the shelter which dog out of all of the dogs there would
be the most loyal and well trained dog for her eager little
boy. Without a moment's pause, the man replied, "Oh, that's
an easy question to answer. Follow me back and I'll show you
the perfect dog for your son." Kevin and his mother followed
the old man back to the last cage on the right.

"There she is ma'am. This would be the dog I'd choose and
I'd already have her myself but we have a half-dozen dogs at
home and just don't have room for "Fire." She was taken back
as she looked at this homely dog with little hair as the mutt
looked like she had been badly burned. After she got over
the initial shock of such a sight, she asked, "Has this dog
been burned and are you sure this would be the right dog for
Kevin?"

The old man looked at Kevin and noticed his eyes were
misting with tears. "Oh I'd bet my life on it ma'am!", he
confidently replied. "Ma'am?", he inquired, "Did you not
hear about the dog that laid on top of the little girl
during the forest fire up on Red Bird Mountain? This was the
dog that they featured in the local paper. This rascal saved
the little girl's life and just about lost her own by
covering that little girl with her body!"

She thought for a bit and answered, "Well of course I did!
Are you telling me that this is that dog?" "Yes, it sure is.
No one has taken her because of how she looks and I would
have put her to sleep but it's hard to end a life that saved
one!", he somberly replied. "Do you want this dog Kevin?
Sounds like you'd have yourself a hero like Lassie if we
brought her home." Kevin's eyes had full-blown tears in them
now.

"I want her mom! Can we take her back with us?" She quickly
glanced at the old man who was moved to tears himself at
this point. "She's ours sweetheart."

They took "Fire" home and she never left Kevin's side and
was his constant companion--never once even attempting to
leave the yard or run out of the gate if mistakenly left
open. Every night Kevin would say his prayers when his
mother would tuck him in and he never failed to pray that
"Fire" would be healed and get her hair back.

After about five weeks, Kevin's constant prayers were
obviously being answered as the once terribly disfigured
mutt's hair rapidly began to grow back. Perhaps it was Kevin
and his mother's imagination, but the more "Fire's" hair
grew back, the more she resembled Lassie.

Kevin's mother opted to call the old man at the dog pound as
her curiosity was overwhelmingly piqued. "Hello," the old
man responded on the other end of the phone, "Corbin County
dog pound. My name is Joe and how can we help you today?"
"Hi Joe, I came in a month or so ago with my son and we got
the dog you named "Fire."

"Yes ma'am, he replied happily, "I'm glad you called...been
wondering how old "Fire" has been doing. How can I help
you?" She took a deep breath and asked, "Well Joe, I'm
curious about just one thing and thought you might know the
answer. What kind of mutt is 'Fire'?"

The old man softly chuckled before replying. "Ma'am", 'Fire'
isn't a mutt." Confused she continued, "If she's not a mutt,
what kind of dog is she?" He chuckled again and replied,
"Fire's momma' and daddy are both show dogs. 'Fire' is a
full-bred Collie."

[CHRISK]

The HaLife
The Toilet & The Toddlers


I am a mother of three girls. Getting married and having children was my childhood goal in life. By the time I had my third daughter, my middle
daughter was not quite two (but already acting two) and my oldest was three and a half. I loved them so much, yet there were some days I referred to them as "too much of a good thing."

As any mother of young children knows, when the children are quiet, they're either sleeping or in trouble. This one morning, I knew that the only sleeping child this time of day could be my baby. I was debating whether I should enjoy the silence or ruin my peace -- and the girls' fun.

Overridden by guilt, I figured I'd better go find out what those two ... blessings ... were doing. I could hear a noise. It was coming from the bathroom. As I got closer, I could see that the door was closed. I muttered, "Oh no, please not the toilet again!"

Sure enough, when I opened the door I saw Candace and Charity standing around the toilet, dipping their toothbrushes in -- and brushing their teeth! Not only that, but the toilet was unflushed!

(Hey, if you're disgusted, how would you like to have been their mother!!!)

I hardly had any words to speak. As I snatched the toothbrushes out of their hands (and flushed the toilet) I stuttered, "W-w-what are you doing?!"

Candace, my oldest, answered, "We're brushing our teeth!" They both grinned at me.

Hoping this was the only time they had ever accomplished this dreadful stunt, I asked, "You never did this before did you?" Candace answered, "Oh, we do it all the time, Mommy. We do it with yours and Daddy's toothbrush, too!"

The moral of the story: What you don't know won't hurt you; but when you do find out, it just might kill you!

This is a true story! I am writing to you as a witness -- I survived! In moments like those, it certainly helps to have a sense of humor! To quote that verse, "A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed
spirit dries up the bones." (Proverbs 17:22)

Don't be afraid to laugh at life. God wants you to be happy! Take a good dose of His medicine. Better yet, share your laughter with someone else today!
__________________

[CHRISK]

Time

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What he valued most

A young man learns what's most important in life from the guy next door.
It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man. College, girls,
career, and life itself got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear across
the country in pursuit of his dreams. There, in the rush of his busy
life, Jack had little time to think about the past and often no time to
spend with his wife and son. He was working on his future, and nothing
could stop him.

Over the phone, his mother told him, "Mr. Belser died last night. The
funeral is Wednesday." Memories flashed through his mind like an old
newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days.

"Jack, did you hear me?"
"Oh, sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It's been so long since I thought of
him. I'm sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago," Jack said.

"Well, he didn't forget you. Every time I saw him he'd ask how you were
doing. He'd reminisce about the many days you spent over 'his side of
the fence' as he put it," Mom told him.

"I loved that old house he lived in," Jack said.

"You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make
sure you had a man's influence in your life," she said.

"He's the one who taught me carpentry," he said. "I wouldn't be in this
business if it weren't for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me
things he thought were important...Mom, I'll be there for the funeral,"
Jack said.

As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his
hometown. Mr. Belser's funeral was small and uneventful. He had no
children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away.

The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to
see the old house next door one more time.

Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing
over into another dimension, a leap through space and time. The house
was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories. Every picture,
every piece of furniture....Jack stopped suddenly.

"What's wrong, Jack?" his Mom asked.

"The box is gone," he said.

"What box? " Mom asked.

"There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I
must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he'd ever tell
me was 'the thing I value most,'" Jack said.

It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered
it, except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had
taken it.

"Now I'll never know what was so valuable to him," Jack said. "I better
get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom."

It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from
work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox. "Signature required
on a package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within
the next three days," the note read.

Early the next day Jack retrieved the package. The small box was old and
looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was
difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention.

"Mr. Harold Belser" it read.

Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package. There
inside was the gold box and an envelope. Jack's hands shook as he read
the note inside.

"Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack
Bennett. It's the thing I valued most in my life." A small key was taped
to the letter. His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack
carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold
pocket watch. Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing,
he unlatched the cover.

Inside he found these words engraved: "Jack, Thanks for your time!
Harold Belser."

"The thing he valued most...was...my time."

Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and
cleared his appointments for the next two days. "Why?" Janet, his
assistant asked.

"I need some time to spend with my son," he said.

"Oh, by the way, Janet...thanks for your time!"