Happiness does not consist in pastimes and amusements but in virtuous activities.
~Aristotle
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Monday, March 12, 2012
The Emperor's Seed
An emperor in the Far East was growing old and knew it was time to
choose his successor. Instead of choosing one of his assistants or his
children, he decided something different.
He called young people in the kingdom together one day. He said, “It
is time for me to step down and choose the next emperor. I have decided
to choose one of you.”
The kids were shocked! But the emperor continued. “I am going to give
each one of you a seed today, one very special seed. I want you to
plant the seed, water it and come back here one year from today with
what you have grown from this one seed. I will then judge the plants
that you bring, and the one I choose will be the next emperor!”
One boy named Ling was there that day and he, like the others,
received a seed. He went home and excitedly told his mother the story.
She helped him get a pot and planting soil, and he planted the seed and
watered it carefully.
Every day he would water it and watch to see if it had grown. After
about 3 weeks, some of the other youths began to talk about their seeds
and the plants that were beginning to grow. Ling kept checking his seed,
but nothing ever grew. 3 weeks, 4 weeks, 5 weeks went by. Still
nothing.
By now, others were talking about their plants but Ling didn’t have a
plant, and he felt like a failure. 6 months went by; still nothing in
Ling’s pot. He just knew he had killed his seed. Everyone else had trees
and tall plants, but he had nothing.
Ling didn’t say anything to his friends. He just kept waiting for his
seed to grow. A year finally went by and all the youths of the kingdom
brought their plants to the emperor for inspection.
Ling told his mother that he wasn’t going to take an empty pot but
his Mother said he must be honest about what happened. Ling felt sick to
his stomach, but he knew his Mother was right.
He took his empty pot to the palace. When Ling arrived, he was amazed
at the variety of plants grown by the other youths. They were
beautiful, in all shapes and sizes. Ling put his empty pot on the floor
and many of the other kinds laughed at him. A few felt sorry for him and
just said, “Hey nice try.”
When the emperor arrived, he surveyed the room and greeted the young
people. Ling just tried to hide in the back. “My, what great plants,
trees and flowers you have grown,” said the emperor. “Today, one of you
will be appointed the next emperor!”
All of a sudden, the emperor spotted Ling at the back of the room
with his empty pot. He ordered his guards to bring him to the front.
Ling was terrified. “The emperor knows I’m a failure! Maybe he will have
me killed!”
When Ling got to the front, the Emperor asked his name. “My name is
Ling,” he replied. All the kids were laughing and making fun of him. The
emperor asked everyone to quiet down.
He looked at Ling, and then announced to the crowd, “Behold your new
emperor! His name is Ling!” Ling couldn’t believe it. Ling couldn’t even
grow his seed. How could he be the new emperor?
Then the emperor said, “One year ago today, I gave everyone here a
seed. I told you to take the seed, plant it, water it, and bring it back
to me today. But I gave you all boiled seeds, which would not grow. All
of you, except Ling, have brought me trees and plants and flowers. When
you found that the seed would not grow, you substituted another seed
for the one I gave you.
Ling was the only one with the courage and honesty to bring me a pot
with my seed in it. Therefore, he is the one who will be the new
emperor!”
(Author Unknown)
Saturday, March 10, 2012
I'm sure you got some things
You'd like to change about yourself
But when it comes to me
I wouldn't want to be anybody else
I'm no beauty queen, I'm just beautiful me
You got every right to a beautiful life, come on
Who says, who says you're not perfect
Who says you're not worth it
Who says you're the only one that's hurting
Trust me that's the price of beauty
Who says you're not pretty
Who says you're not beautiful, who says?
You'd like to change about yourself
But when it comes to me
I wouldn't want to be anybody else
I'm no beauty queen, I'm just beautiful me
You got every right to a beautiful life, come on
Who says, who says you're not perfect
Who says you're not worth it
Who says you're the only one that's hurting
Trust me that's the price of beauty
Who says you're not pretty
Who says you're not beautiful, who says?
~Who says by Selena Gomez
Friday, March 9, 2012
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Monday, March 5, 2012
The old fisherman
A sweet little anecdote.
Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to out-patients at the clinic.
One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man. "Why, he's hardly taller than my eight-year-old," I thought as I stared at the stooped, shriveled body. But the appalling thing was his face ... lopsided from swelling, red and raw. Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, "Good evening. I've come to see if you've a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there's no bus 'til morning."
He told me he'd been hunting for a room since noon but with no success. No one seemed to have a room. "I guess it's my face ... I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says with a few more treatments..."
For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me. "I could sleep in this rocking chair on the porch. My bus leaves early in the morning."
I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch. I went inside and finished getting supper. When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us. "No thank you. I have plenty." And he held up a brown paper bag.
When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with him for a few minutes. It didn't take long time to see that this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body. He told me he fished for a living to support his daughter, her five children, and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury.
He didn't tell it by way of complaint. In fact, every other sentence was preface with a thanks to God for a blessing. He was grateful that no pain accompanied his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving him the strength to keep going.
At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children's room for him. When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and the little man was out on the porch. He refused breakfast. But just before he left for his bus, haltingly, as if asking a great favor, he said, "Could I please come back and stay the next time I have a treatment? I won't put you out a bit. I can sleep fine in a chair."
He paused a moment and then added, "Your children made me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children don't seem to mind."
I told him he was welcome to come again.
On his next trip he arrived a little after seven in the morning. As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they'd be nice and fresh. I knew his bus left at 4:00 a.m. and I wondered what time he had to get up in order to do this for us.
During the years he came to stay overnight with us, there was never a time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden. Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special delivery ... fish and oysters packed in a box with fresh young spinach or kale ... every leaf carefully washed. Knowing that he must walk three miles to mail these, and knowing how little money he had made the gifts doubly precious.
When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first morning. "Did you keep that awful looking man last night? I turned him away! You can lose roomers by putting up such people!"
Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice. But oh! If only they could have known him, perhaps their illness' would have been easier to bear. I know our family will always be grateful to have known him. From him, we learned what it was to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.
Recently I was visiting a friend who has a greenhouse. As she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all ... a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket.
I thought to myself, "If this were my plant, I'd put it in the loveliest container I had!" My friend changed my mind.
"I ran short of pots," she explained," and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail. It's just for a little while, until I can put it out in the garden."
She must have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was imagining such a scene in heaven. "Here's an especially beautiful one," God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman. "He won't mind starting in this small body."
All this happened long ago ... and now, in God's garden, how tall this lovely soul must stand.
Mary Bartels Bray
Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to out-patients at the clinic.
One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man. "Why, he's hardly taller than my eight-year-old," I thought as I stared at the stooped, shriveled body. But the appalling thing was his face ... lopsided from swelling, red and raw. Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, "Good evening. I've come to see if you've a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there's no bus 'til morning."
He told me he'd been hunting for a room since noon but with no success. No one seemed to have a room. "I guess it's my face ... I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says with a few more treatments..."
For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me. "I could sleep in this rocking chair on the porch. My bus leaves early in the morning."
I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch. I went inside and finished getting supper. When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us. "No thank you. I have plenty." And he held up a brown paper bag.
When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with him for a few minutes. It didn't take long time to see that this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body. He told me he fished for a living to support his daughter, her five children, and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury.
He didn't tell it by way of complaint. In fact, every other sentence was preface with a thanks to God for a blessing. He was grateful that no pain accompanied his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving him the strength to keep going.
At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children's room for him. When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and the little man was out on the porch. He refused breakfast. But just before he left for his bus, haltingly, as if asking a great favor, he said, "Could I please come back and stay the next time I have a treatment? I won't put you out a bit. I can sleep fine in a chair."
He paused a moment and then added, "Your children made me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children don't seem to mind."
I told him he was welcome to come again.
On his next trip he arrived a little after seven in the morning. As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they'd be nice and fresh. I knew his bus left at 4:00 a.m. and I wondered what time he had to get up in order to do this for us.
During the years he came to stay overnight with us, there was never a time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden. Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special delivery ... fish and oysters packed in a box with fresh young spinach or kale ... every leaf carefully washed. Knowing that he must walk three miles to mail these, and knowing how little money he had made the gifts doubly precious.
When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first morning. "Did you keep that awful looking man last night? I turned him away! You can lose roomers by putting up such people!"
Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice. But oh! If only they could have known him, perhaps their illness' would have been easier to bear. I know our family will always be grateful to have known him. From him, we learned what it was to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.
Recently I was visiting a friend who has a greenhouse. As she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all ... a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket.
I thought to myself, "If this were my plant, I'd put it in the loveliest container I had!" My friend changed my mind.
"I ran short of pots," she explained," and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail. It's just for a little while, until I can put it out in the garden."
She must have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was imagining such a scene in heaven. "Here's an especially beautiful one," God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman. "He won't mind starting in this small body."
All this happened long ago ... and now, in God's garden, how tall this lovely soul must stand.
Mary Bartels Bray
Sunday, March 4, 2012
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