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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 7, 2004 13:11:21 GMT -5
The Vision of the 12 Stones cont
"The Earth Mother is pregnant. The old world and old ways are dying. A new world, with new ways, is preparing to be born." Puzzled, the brave searches himself for some kind of answer, but can find none. "What is this new way, Grandfather? How is it different from the old?" The old man taps the ground with his medicine stick and blue sparks splash out in every direction. A cascading roar echoes through the mountains and valleys. Flying across the ground, up the trees, and leaping into the air, the blue sparks search for and find twelve smooth, polished, well-rounded stones. All twelve stones are then carried in the crackling current to where the old man and brave are sitting. The stones form a circle around the fire that is burning in the midst of the brave and old man, and the dancing, crackling energy softens to a quiet glow. "Do you know what these twelve stones are, my son?" "No, Grandfather." "They are the Twelve Races, the Twelve Religions, the Twelve Paths, the Twelve Tribes of Man." Pausing a moment to let his words sink in, the old man gazes into the fire. "Ages ago, the Great Spirit scattered them to the four winds. For eons now they have grown wise and strong, but they have not united. They have held to themselves, and their own ways, as they were intended to." The old man pauses again, and then looks deeply into the brave's eyes. "But now, my son, the time has finally come for them to unite and be as one; the time has finally come for one people, one nation, one path to arise among the many."
"This is the new world and new way that is being born?" "Yes." The old man looks off into the starry sky. Then he turns back to the brave. "But it cannot be born alone. The Earth Mother, and these twelve stones, need help." "What kind of help, Grandfather?" "Someone to gather the stones together and help them learn the new way." "Who will do this great thing, Grandfather?" The old man looks back into the fire and answers, "Many will do this great thing." Then he looks kindly into the eyes of the brave. "And one of these many shall be you, my son." "But I know nothing of gathering stones, Grandfather."
"You know more than you remember, my son. Reach out and touch the stones." The brave does as he is told and as his hand approaches the stones the blue current explodes to life again. It flies back and forth forming a luminous stream between the brave and the stones. Soon all twelve stones are crackling with the blue current and the brave is shimmering from head to toe. The old man smiles and asks the brave, "What do you feel?" Astonished, the brave answers, "I feel the heart and know the way of each stone." Still shimmering with blue currents of electricity, the brave searches for a fuller answer, and then speaks again. "It is almost as if I have lived each one." The old man smiles and nods, "Yes. You are one of many who have learned the path of each stone." The brave removes his hand from the stones and the blue current dims to a glow again. "But, Grandfather, I am still a child. I do not know how to gather these stones together, nor do I know the new way you speak of." "You will learn." "How?" "There is only one way." The old man pauses and gazes towards the edge of the cliff. "You must jump, my son." "Jump? Off this cliff?!" "Yes, my son. Throw yourself off this cliff into the arms of the Great Spirit Wind. It will carry you whereyou need to go and teach you how to gather and unite the Twelve Great Stones." There is an uncomfortable silence as the Brave considers the old man's advice, and deeply seaches himself for another, less literal meaning. "If you wish to help the Earth Mother through her time of travail; if you wish to help a new world be born; if you wish to help all beings find greater happiness, there is no other way." The young brave looks trustingly into the eyes of the old man. "If you say so, Grandfather, I will jump. I will leap into the arms of the Great Spirit Wind without hesitation. I will fly like an eagle!" "No, my son, you will fall like a rock, and tumble like a wounded crow. You will be tossed and thrown about like a feather in a storm." As the brave's face begins to pale, the old Indian moves closer and puts his hand upon his shoulder. "No, no, do not let fear enter your heart. I will tell you a secret that will make you brave." "What is that, Grandfather?" "There is no bottom." "No bottom?!" "You will fall and be tossed about. You will be scratched and bruised. You will be thrown into storms and collide with things you know not of, but you will not die. No bottom will silence your quest. It is your destiny to fly!" "I am glad to hear this, Grandfather." The brave pauses a moment to collect his thoughts. "But how long must I be tossed and blown about? How long will it take me to learn to fly?" "Long enough." As the old man answers, all twelve stones begin to hum. Their strange noise ignites the blue current which then carries them to the feet of the brave. The brave looks questioningly at the old man. "They will go with you. They will teach you about the Circle of Life and remind you of your purpose." Then the wind begins to blow, the trees begin to sway, birds begin to circle overhead and a host of animals appear at the edge of the forest. The brave notices all these things and again turns to the old man for answers. "Mother Earth, and all her creatures, will pray for you. They long for the world to be made whole - and know their fate is in your hands." Overhead, clouds begin to form and take the shape of old chiefs and wise people, ancient spirit guides and powerful Kachinas. The brave watches, spellbound. "Wherever you go, they will be with you. They will share their wisdom and strength with you." Marvelling at all that has happened, the brave turns and looks gratefully into the eyes of the old man. "And you, Grandfather, you have given me these powerful visions and spoken to me of all things. I shall never forget this day." "Words and visions are inspiring and instructive. Prayers are uplifting and protective. And nothing can thstand the power of the spirit brothers and Kachinas. But by themselves, none of these things are enough for this difficult journey." Puzzled, the brave looks deeply into the old man's eyes. "What else is there, Grandfather? What else could I possibly need?" The old man pauses a moment and then smiles. His love for the brave is almost too much for the brave to bear. "You need other beings, clothed in flesh and blood like yourself, to make the journey with you." "And where shall I find these other beings?" Quietly, the old man turns and gestures out beyond the cliff's edge. "They are out there, my son, tumbling through the air like wounded crows." The young brave looks out beyond the cliff's edge and pauses. He lets the old man's words sink in. And then he answers, "Then I, too, will jump. I will join my spirit with theirs."
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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 7, 2004 14:32:44 GMT -5
A woman was asked by a co-worker, "What is it like to be a Pagan?"
The co-worker replied, "It is like being a pumpkin. The Goddess picks you from the patch, brings you in, and washes all the dirt off of you. Then She cuts off the top and scoops out all the yucky stuff. She removes the seeds of doubt, hate, greed, etc., and then She carves you a new smiling face and puts Her Light inside of you to shine for all the world to see."
This was passed on to me from another pumpkin. Now, it is your turn to pass it to a pumpkin.
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Post by TribalSpirit on Aug 7, 2004 21:07:32 GMT -5
aww i LOVE that pumpkin story!!!! how sweet.... on Samhain i will send it out to EVERYONE!!! i cldnt now i guess but idk just have more impact then i guess?
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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 8, 2004 21:48:52 GMT -5
i know i found the punkin story good too ;D
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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 8, 2004 22:01:41 GMT -5
The Troll-Tear A Children's Story for Samhain
by D. J. Conway
The night was very dark, with a Full Moon hanging in the cloud-filled sky above. The air was crisp with the feel of late Autumn and the doorway between the worlds was wide open. Carved pumpkins sat on the porches of the houses in the little town, and the laughter of children dressed in costumes could be heard from the streets.
It was a sad time for Beth as she climbed the little hill behind her house. In her arms was her cat and friend Smoky, carefully wrapped in his favorite blanket. A little grave was already dug on the hill, waiting, for Smoky had died that day.
"Do you want me to go with you?" Beth's father had asked.
"No, I want to go by myself," she answered. "I dug his grave beside MacDougal's at the top of the hill." Beth clearly remembered when their dog MacDougal had died after being hit by a car.
Beth stopped at the top of the hill and knelt beside the little grave. She carefully laid Smoky's blanket-wrapped form in the earth and covered it with dirt, laying several large rocks on the top. Then she cried and cried.
"Oh, Smoky, I miss you so much!" Beth looked up at the Moon, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Why did you die?"
"It was his time to rejoin the Mother," said a deep, gentle voice in the darkness.
"Who said that?" Beth looked around but saw no one.
"Dying is part of the cycle of life, you know." One of the boulders on the hill stirred into life.
"Who are you?" The moonlight shone down on the little woman, and Beth could see she was not human.
"I'm a troll-wife," said the creature as she came to site across from Beth. "This is a sad night for both of us, girl. I, too, came to this hill to bury a friend." The troll-wife wiped a crystal tear from her cheek. "The squirrel was very old. Still it makes me sad."
Beth stared at the troll-wife. The little woman was the color of rock in the moonlight, her hair like long strands of moss, her bright eyes like shining crystals. She wore a dress woven of oak leaves and tree bark.
"The squirrel and I lived together for a long time," the troll-wife said. " We often talked to your cat when he was hunting here on the hill. Smoky and I were friends. I shall miss him, too." The little woman patted Smoky 's grave gently, "Sleep well, little friend. When you are rested, we shall talk together again."
"But he's dead," Beth said, her voice choked with tears.
"Child, this is Samhain. Don't you know the ancient secrets of this sacred time of year?" The troll-wife motioned for Beth to come and sit beside her. "It is true that our friends have gone into a world where we can no longer physically touch them, but the Mother has given us other ways of communicating with them. We can do this any time, but the time of Samhain is the easiest."
"I don't understand how this can be done," Beth said, "or why Samhain makes it easier."
"At this time of year," the troll-wife answered, "the walls between this world and the world of souls and spirits are very thin. If we quiet and listen, we can hear our loved ones and they can hear us. We talk, not with spoken words, but with the heart and mind."
"Isn't that just imagination?" Beth looked down at Smoky's grave, tears once more coming into her eyes. "Like my thinking I can feel MacDougal get up on my bed at night like he used to?"
"Sometimes it is, but mostly it is not imagination, only our friends come to see us in their spirit bodies." The troll-wife reached up her hand and patted something Beth couldn't see on her shoulder. "Like my friend the raven. He is here now."
Beth looked hard and saw a thin form of hazy moonlight on the troll-wife's shoulder. "I've seen something like that at the foot of my bed where MacDougal used to sleep." She whispered. "I thought I was dreaming." She jumped as something nudged her arm. When she looked down, nothing was there.
The troll-wife smiled. "Close your eyes and think of MacDougal," she said. " He has been waiting a long time for you to see him."
Beth closed her eyes and, at once, the form of her little dog came into her mind. His tail wagged with happiness. She felt a wave of love come from him, and she sent her love back. Then she felt the dog lie down against her leg.
"Can I do this with Smoky?" Beth asked.
"Not yet," the troll-wife answered. "He needs to sleep a while and rest. Then he will come to you. This gives Smoky time to adjust to his new world, and you time to grieve for him. It is not wrong to grieve, but we must not grieve forever."
"I never thought of it that way," Beth said. "It's kind of like they moved away, and we can only talk to them on the phone."
"It is this way with all creatures, not just animals." The troll-wife stood up and held out an hand to Beth. "Will you join me, human girl? Although I buried my friend squirrel this night, I still must dance and sing to all my friends and ancestors who have gone on their journey into the other world. For this is a time to honor the ancestors."
Beth joined the troll-wife in the ancient slow troll dances around the top of the little hill in the moonlight. She watched quietly while the troll-wife called out troll-words to the four directions, words Beth couldn't understand. Deep in her heart the girl felt the power of the strange words and knew they were given in honor and love by the little troll-wife.
When the troll-wife was finished with her ritual, she hugged Beth. "Go in peace, human child," she said. "And remember what I have told you about the ancient secret of Samhain."
"I will," Beth answered. "Will I ever see you again?"
"Whenever the Moon is Full, I will be here," the little troll-wife said. " And especially at Samhain."
"I wish I had something to give you." Beth hugged the little woman. "You have taught me so much." She felt the tears come to her eyes again.
"Let us exchange tears for our lost friends." The troll-wife reached up a rough finder and caught a tear as it fell from Beth's eye. The tear glistened on her finger. The troll-wife gently touched her finger to her cloak, and Beth's tear shone there like a diamond in the moonlight.
Beth reached up carefully and caught one of the troll-wife's tears as it slid down her rough cheek. It turned into a real crystal in her hand.
"Remember the secret of Samhain, and remember me," the troll-wife said softly as she disappeared into the darkness. Beth walked back down the hill, the crystal clutched in her hand. Her father was waiting for her on the porch.
"Are you all right?" her father asked as he gave Beth a hug.
"I will be," she answered. She opened her hand under the porch light and saw a perfect, tear-shaped crystal lying there.
"Did you find something?" her father asked.
"A troll-tear," Beth answered, and her father smiled. For he also knew the little troll-wife and the secret of Samhain.
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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 8, 2004 23:14:49 GMT -5
Twas the evening of Samhain By Cathor Steincamp
'Twas the evening of Samhain, and all through the place were pagans preparing the ritual space. The candles were set in the corners with care, in hopes that the Watchtowers soon would be there.
We all had our robes on (as is habitual) and had just settled down and were starting our ritual when out on the porch there arose such a chorus that we went to the door, and waiting there for us were children in costumes of various kinds with visions of chocolate bright in their minds.
In all of our workings, we'd almost forgot, but we had purchased candy (we'd purchased a LOT), And so, as they flocked from all over the street, they all got some chocolate or something else sweet.
We didn't think twice of delaying our rite, Kids just don't have this much fun every night. For hours they came, with the time-honored schtick of giving a choice: a treat or a trick.
As is proper, the parents were there for the games, Watching the children and calling their names. "On Vader, On Leia, On Dexter and DeeDee, On Xena, on Buffy, Casper and Tweety! To the block of apartments on the neighboring road; You'll get so much candy, you'll have to be TOWED!"
The volume of children eventually dropped, and as it grew darker, it finally stopped. But as we prepared to return to our rite, One child more stepped out of the night.
She couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen. Her hair was deep red, and her robe, forest green with a simple gold cord tying off at the waist. She'd a staff in her hand and a smile on her face. No make-up, nor mask, or accompanying kitsch,
so we asked who she was; she replied "I'm a witch. And no, I don't fly through the sky on my broom; I only use that thing for cleaning my room. My magical powers aren't really that neat, but I won't threaten tricks; I'll just ask for a treat."
We found it refreshing, so we gave incense cones, A candle, a crystal, a few other stones, And the rest of the candy (which might fill a van). She turned to her father (a man dressed as Pan) and laughed, "Yes, I know, Dad, it's past time for bed," and started to leave, but she first turned and said "I'm sorry for further delaying your rite. Blessed Samhain to all, and a magical night."
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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 8, 2004 23:15:53 GMT -5
Subject: A letter from *Mom* and *Dad*
From: God/dess To: Our Children of Earth
Re: Idiotic Religious Rivalries
Dear Children (and believe us, that's all of you), We consider ourselves pretty patient folks. For instance, look at the Grand Canyon. It took millions of years to get it right. And about evolution? Boy, nothing is slower than designing that whole Darwinian thing to take place, cell by cell, and gene by gene.
We've been patient through your fashions, civilizations, wars and schemes, and the countless ways you take Us for granted until you get yourselves into big trouble again and again.
We want to let you know about some of the things that are starting to tick Us off.
First of all, your religious rivalries are driving Us up a wall. Enough already! Let's get one thing straight: These are YOUR religions, not Ours. We're the whole enchilada; We're beyond them all. Every one of your religions claims there is only one of Us (which by the way, is absolutely true). But in the very next breath, each religion claims it's Our favorite one.
And each claims it's scriptures were written personally by Us, and that all the other scriptures are man-made. Oy Vey. How do We even begin to put a stop to such complicated nonsense?
Okay, listen up now. We're your Father AND Mother, and We don't play favorites among Our children.
Also, We hate to break it to you, but We don't write. Our longhand is awful, and We've always been more of "doers" anyway. So ALL of your books, including those Bibles, were written by men and women. They were inspired, remarkable people, but they also made mistakes here and there. We made sure of that so that you would never trust a written word more than your own living heart.
You see, one human being to Us, even a bum on the street, is worth more than all the Holy Books in the world. That's just the kind of folks we are.
Our spirit is not a historical thing. It's alive right here, right now, as fresh as your next breath.
Holy books and religious rites are sacred and powerful, but not more so than the least of you. They were only meant to steer you in the right direction, not to keep you arguing with each other, and certainly not to keep you from trusting your own personal connection with Us.
Which brings Us to Our next point about your nonsense. You act like We need you and your religions to stick up for Us or "win souls" for Our sake. Please, don't do Us any favors. We can stand quite well on our own,thank you. We don't need you to defend Us, and We don't need constant credit. We just want you to be good to each other.
And another thing, We don't get all worked up over money or politics, so stop dragging Our names into your dramas. For example, We swear to Us smile::::, that We never threatened Oral Roberts. We never rode in any of Rajneesh's Rolls Royces. We never told Pat Robertson to run for president, and We've never, EVER had a conversation with Jim Baker, Jerry Falwell, or Jimmy Swaggart! Of course, come Judgment Day, We certainly intend to....
The thing is, We want you to stop thinking of religion as some sort of loyalty pledge to Us.
The true purpose of your religions is so that YOU can become more aware of Us, not the other way around. Believe Us, We know you already. We know what's in each of your hearts, and We love you with no strings attached.
Lighten up and enjoy Us. That's what religion is best for. What you seem to forget is how mysterious We are.
You look at the petty differences in your Scriptures and say, "Well, if THIS is the truth, then THAT can't be!" But instead of trying to figure out Our Paradoxes and Unfathomable Nature, which by the way, you NEVER will, why not open your hearts to the simple common threads in all religions.
You know what We're talking about. Love and respect everyone. Be kind, even when life is scary or confusing. Take courage and be of good cheer, for We are always with you. Learn how to be quiet, so you can hear Our still, small voice. (We don't like to shout).
Leave the world a better place by living your life with dignity and gracefulness, for you are Our Own Children. Hold back nothing from life, for the parts of you that can die surely will, and the parts that can't, won't. So don't worry, be happy. (We stole that last line from Bobby McFerrin.)
Simple stuff. Why do you keep making it so complicated? It's like you're always looking for an excuse to be upset. And We're very tired of being your main excuse. Do you think We care whether you call Us.... Yahweh, Jehovah, Allah, Diana, Wakantonka, Brahma, Cerridwen, Father, Mother, God, Goddess or even the Void of Nirvana? Do you think We care which of Our special children you feel closest to, Jesus, Mary, Buddha, Krishna, Gerald, Mohammed or any of the others? You can call Us and Our Special Ones any name you choose, if only you would go about Our business of loving one another as We love you. How can you keep neglecting something so simple?
We're not telling you to abandon your religions. Enjoy your religions, honor them, learn from them, just as you should enjoy, honor, and learn from your parents.
But do you walk around telling everyone that your parents are better than theirs? Your religion, like your parents, may always have the most special place in your hearts, We don't mind that at all. And We don't want you to combine all the Great Traditions in One Big Mess. Each religion is unique for a reason. Each has a unique style so that people can find the best path for themselves.
Know that Our Special Children, the ones that your religions revolve around, all live in the same place, (Our heart), and they get along perfectly, We assure you.
The clergy must stop creating a myth of sibling rivalry where there is none. Our blessed children of Earth, the world has grown too small for you pervasive religious bigotries and confusion. The whole planet is connected by air travel, satellite dishes, telephones, fax machines, rock concerts, diseases, and mutual needs and concerns.
Get with the program! If you really want to help, then commit yourselves to figuring out how to feed your hungry, clothe your naked, protect your abused, and shelter your poor. And just as importantly, make your own everyday life a shining example of kindness and good humor. We've given you all the resources you need, if only you abandon your fear of each other and begin living, loving and laughing together.
We're not really ticked off. We just wanted to grab your attention because We hate to see you suffer. But We have given you free will to choose your own paths, and We just want you to be happy.
In Perfect Love and Perfect Trust,
Us
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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 8, 2004 23:26:58 GMT -5
THE MOST IMPORTANT BODY PART > >My mother used to ask me what is the most important part of the body. Through the years I would take a guess at what I thought was the correct answer. When I was younger, I thought sound was very important to us as humans, so I said, "My ears, Mommy." She said, "No. Many people are deaf. But you keep thinking about it and I will ask you again soon." > >Several years passed before she asked me again. Since making my first attempt, I had contemplated the correct answer. So this time I told her, "Mommy, sight is very important to everybody, so it must be our eyes." She looked at me and told me, "You are learning fast, but the answer is not correct because there are many people who are blind." > >Stumped again, I continued my quest for knowledge and over the years, Mother asked me a couple more times and always her answer was, "No. But you are getting smarter every year, my child." > >Then last year, my grandpa died. Everybody was hurt. Everybody was crying. Even my father cried. I remember that especially because it was only the second time I saw him cry. My Mom looked at me when it was our turn to say our final good-bye to Grandpa. She asked me, "Do you know the most important body part yet, my dear?" > >I was shocked when she asked me this now. I always thought this was a game between her and me. She saw the confusion on my face and told me, "This question is very important. It shows that you have really lived in your life. For every body part you gave me in the past, I have told you were wrong and I have given you an example why. But today is the day you need to learn this important lesson." > >She looked down at me as only a mother can. I saw her eyes well up with >tears. She said, "My dear, the most important body part is your shoulder." > >I asked, "Is it because it holds up my head?" She replied, "No, it is because it can hold the head of a friend or a loved one when they cry. Everybody needs a shoulder to cry on sometime in life, my dear. I only hope that you have enough love and friends that you will always have a shoulder to cry on when you need it." > >Then and there I knew the most important body part is not a selfish one. It is sympathetic to the pain of others. > >People will forget what you said...People will forget what you did . But people will NEVER forget how you made them feel. > >The origination of this letter is unknown, but it brings a blessing to everyone who passes it on. Good friends are like stars...You don't always see them, but you always know they're there. >
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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 8, 2004 23:44:52 GMT -5
The Halloween Witch Each year they parade her about, the traditional Halloween Witch. Misshapen green face, stringy scraps of hair, a toothless mouth beneath her deformed nose. Gnarled knobby fingers twisted into a claw' protracting from a bent and twisted torso that lurches about on wobbly legs. Most think this abject image to be the creation of a prejudiced mind or merely a Halloween caricature. I disagree, I believe this to be how Witches were really seen. Consider that most Witches: were women, were abducted in the night, and smuggled into dungeons or prisons under the secrecy of darkness to be presented by light of day as a confessed Witch. Few if any saw a frightened normal looking woman being dragged into a secret room filled with instruments of torture, to be questioned until she confessed to anything suggested to her and to give names or what ever would stop the questions. Crowds saw the aberration denounced to the world as a self-proclaimed Witch. As the Witch was paraded through town en route to be burned, hanged, drowned, stoned or disposed of in various other forms of Christian love all created to free and save her soul from her depraved body the jeering crowds viewed the results of hours of torture. The face bruised and broken by countless blows bore a hue of sickly green. The once warm and loving smile gone replaced by a grimace of broken teeth and torn gums that leers beneath a battered disfigured nose. The disheveled hair conceals bleeding gaps of torn scalp from whence cruel hands had torn away the lovely tresses. Broken twisted hands clutched the wagon for support, fractured fingers with nails torn away locked like groping claws to steady her broken body. All semblance of humanity gone this was truly a demon, a bride of Satan, a Witch. I revere this Halloween Crone and hold her sacred above all. I honor her courage and listen to her warnings of the dark side of man. Each year I shed tears of respect when the mundane exhibit their symbol of Christian love. --------------------------------------------------
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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 9, 2004 0:20:27 GMT -5
The Power of Purpose author unknown There was a story, many years ago, of an elementary teacher. Her name was Mrs. Thompson. And as she stood in front of her fifth grade class on the very first day of school, she told the children a lie. Like most teachers, she looked at her students and said that she loved them all the same. But 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 didn't play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. And 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 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 quar ter full of perfume. But she stifled the children's laughter when she exclaimed, how pretty the bracelet was. She put it on and dabbed 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 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 "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 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 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 favorite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer. The letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, MD
The story doesn't end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Teddy said he'd 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 in the place of honor at the wedding 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. And 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."
Warm someone's heart today. Make a positive difference in someone's life. Pass this along and never underestimate the Power of Purpose.
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Post by KaiAidan on Aug 9, 2004 0:24:50 GMT -5
THE WOODEN BOWL
A frail old man went to live with his son, daughter-in-law, and four-year old grandson.
The old man's hands trembled, his eyesight was blurred, and his step faltered.
The family ate together at the table. But the elderly grandfather's shaky hands and failing sight made eating difficult. Peas rolled off his sthingy onto the floor.
When he grasped the glass, milk spilled on the tablecloth. The son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess. We must do something about Grandfather," said the son. I've had enough of his spilled milk, noisy eating, and food on the floor. So the husband and wife set a small table in the corner.
There, Grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed dinner.
Since Grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in a wooden bowl.
When the family glanced in Grandfather's direction, sometime he had a tear in his eye as he sat alone. Still, the only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled food.
The four-year-old watched it all in silence.
One evening before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps on the floor. He asked the child sweetly, "What are you making?"
Just as sweetly, the boy responded, "Oh, I am making a little bowl for you and Mama to eat your food when I grow up." The four-year-old smiled and went back to work. The words so struck the parents that they were speechless. Then tears started to stream down their cheeks. Though no word was spoken, both knew what must be done. That evening the husband took Grandfather's hand and gently led him back to the family table. For the remainder of his days he ate every meal with the family. And for some reason, neither husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk spilled, or the tablecloth soiled.
On a positive note, I've learned that, no matter what happens how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow.
I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights.
I've learned that, regardless of your relationship with your parents, you'll miss them when they're gone from your life.
I've learned that making a "living" is not the same thing as making a "life."
I've learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance.
I've learned that you shouldn't go through life with a catcher's mitt on both hands. You need to be able to throw something back.
I've learned that if you pursue happiness, it will elude you. But, if you focus on your family, your friends, the needs of others, your work and doing the very best you can, happiness will find you.
I've learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision.
I've learned that even when I have pains, I don't have to be one.
I've learned that every day, you should reach out and touch someone. People love that human touch -- holding hands, a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back.
I've learned that I still have a lot to learn.
I've learned that you should pass this on to everyone you care about. I just did.
Sometimes they just need a little something to make them smile.
People will forget what you said ... people will forget what you did ..but people will never forget how you made them feel.
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Post by TribalSpirit on Aug 11, 2004 17:39:16 GMT -5
Wow i LOVED the story with the twelve stones and the brave!!!! that was sooo great!!!
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