Take the son

Take the Son:

Years ago, there was a very wealthy man who, with his devoted young son,
shared a passion for art collecting. Together they traveled around the
world, adding only the finest art treasures to their collection.
Priceless works by Picasso, Van Gogh, Monet, and many others adorned the
walls of their family estate. The widowed elderly man looked on with
satisfaction as his only child became an experienced art collector. The
son's trained eye and sharp business mind caused his father to beam with
pride as they dealt with art collectors around the world.
As winter approached, war engulfed their nation, and the young man left
to serve his country. After only a few short weeks, the elderly man
received a telegram that his beloved son was missing in action. The art
collector anxiously awaited more news, fearing he would never see his
son again. Within days his fears were confirmed. The young man had died
while rushing a fellow soldier to a medic. Distraught and lonely, the
old man faced the upcoming Christmas holidays with anguish and sadness.
The joy of the season-a season that he and his son had so looked forward
to in the past-would visit his house no longer. On Christmas morning, a
knock on the door awakened the depressed old man. As he walked to the
door, the masterpieces of art on the walls only reminded him that his
son was not coming home. He opened the door and was greeted by a soldier
with a large package in his hand.
The soldier introduced himself to the old man by saying, "I was a friend
of your son. I was the one he was rescuing when he died. May I come in
for a few moments? I have something to show you." As the two began to
talk, the soldier told of how the man's son had told every one of his-and
his father's-love of fine art work. "I'm also an artist," said the
soldier, "and I want to give you this." As the old man began to unwrap
the package, paper gave way to reveal a portrait of the man's son.
Though the world would never consider it a work of genius, the painting
featured the young man's face in striking detail.
Overcome with emotion, the old man thanked the soldier, promising to
hang the portrait above the fireplace. A few hours later, after the
soldier had departed, the old man set about his task. True to his word,
the painting went above the fireplace, pushing aside thousands of dollars
worth of paintings. And then the old man sat in his chair and spent
Christmas gazing at the gift he had been given. During the days and weeks
that followed, the man learned that his son
had rescued dozens of wounded soldiers before a bullet stilled his
caring heart. As the stories of his son's gallantry continued to reach
him, fatherly pride and satisfaction began to ease his grief, as he
realized that, although his son was no longer with him, the boy's life
would live on because of those he had touched. The painting of his son
soon became his most prized possession, far eclipsing any interest in
the priceless pieces for which museums around the world clamored. He told
his neighbors it was the greatest gift he had ever received. The following
spring, the old man became ill and passed away. The art
world was in anticipation, since, with the old man's passing, and his only
son dead, those paintings would be sold at an auction. According to
the will of the old man, all of the art works would be auctioned on
Christmas Day, the way he had received his greatest gift.
The day finally arrived and art collectors from around the world gathered
to bid on some of the world's most spectacular paintings.
Dreams could be fulfilled this day; greatness could be achieved as some
could say," I have the greatest collection." The auction began with a
painting that was not on any museum list... It was the painting of the
old man's son. The auctioneer asked for an opening bid, but the room was
silent.
"Who will open the bidding with $100?" he asked. Moments passed as no
one spoke. From the back of the room came, "Who cares about that
painting? It's just a picture of his son. Let's forget it and get on to
the good ones." More voices echoed in agreement. "No, we have to sell
this one-first," replied the auctioneer. "Now who will take the son?"
Finally, a friend of the old man spoke. "Will you take $10 for the
painting? That's all I have. "Will anyone go higher?" called the
auctioneer. After more silence he said, "Going once, going twice...
Gone!" The gavel fell. Cheers filled the room and someone shouted, "Now
we can get on with it and bid on these treasures!"
The auctioneer looked at the audience and announced that the auction was
over. Stunned disbelief quieted the room. Then someone spoke up and
asked, "What do you mean it's over? We didn't come here for a portrait
of some old man's son! What about all of the other paintings? There are
millions of dollars worth of art work here. We demand an explanation!"
The auctioneer replied, "It's very simple. According to the will of the
father, whoever takes the son...gets it all."
Just as the art collectors discovered on that day...The message is still
the same...the love of the Father....a Father whose son gave his life
for others...And because of that Father's love...Whoever takes the Son
gets it all.
 

A stranger passed by

I ran into a stranger as he passed by, "Oh, excuse me Please" was my reply.
He said, "Please excuse me too; Wasn't even watching for you."

We were very polite, this stranger and I.
We went on our way and we said good-bye.
But at home a different story is told,
How we treat our loved ones, young and old.
Later that day, cooking the evening meal,
My daughter stood beside me very still.
When I turned, I nearly knocked her down.
"Move out of the way," I said with a frown.
She walked away, her little heart was broken. I didn't realize how harshly I'd spoken.

While I lay awake in bed,
God's still small voice came to me and said,
"While dealing with a stranger, common courtesy you use,
But the children you love, you seem to abuse.

Look on the kitchen floor,
You'll find some flowers there by the door.
Those are the flowers she brought for you.
She picked them herself: pink, yellow and blue.
She stood quietly not to spoil the surprise, and you never saw the tears in her eyes."

By this time, I felt very small, and now my tears began to fall.
I quietly went and knelt by her bed;
"Wake up, little girl, wake up," I said.
"Are these the flowers you picked for me?"
She smiled, "I found 'em, out by the tree.
I picked 'em because they're pretty like you.
I knew you'd like 'em, especially the blue."

I said, "Daughter, I'm sorry for the way I acted today;
I shouldn't have yelled at you that way."

She said, "Oh, Mom, that's okay. I love you anyway."
I said, "Daughter, I love you too, and I do like the flowers, especially the blue."

Are you aware that: If we die tomorrow, the company that we are working for could
easily replace us in a matter of days. But the family we left behind will feel the loss for the rest of their lives. And come to think of it, we pour ourselves more into work than to our family --an unwise investment indeed.

So what is behind the story?
You know what is the full word of family?
FAMILY= (F)ATHER (A)ND (M)OTHER, (I) (L)OVE (Y)OU!


Isn't that neat? Fill life with love and bravery and we shall live a life uncommon.

 

A touching story

After the Earthquake had subsided, when the rescuers reached the ruins of a young woman’s house, they saw her dead body through the cracks. But her pose was somehow strange that she knelt on her knees like a person was worshiping; her body was leaning forward and her two hands were supporting an object. The collapsed house had crashed her back and her head.
With many difficulties, the leader of the rescuer team put his hand through a narrow gap on the wall to reach the woman’s body. He was hoping that this woman could still be alive. However, the cold and stiff body told him that she had passed away. He and the rest of the team left this house and went to search the next collapsed building.
For some reasons, the team leader was driven by a compelling force to go back to the ruin house of the dead woman. Again, he knelt down and used his hand through the narrow cracks to search the little space under the dead body.
Suddenly, he screamed, “A child! There is a child!”
The whole team worked together, carefully they removed the piles of ruined objects around the dead woman. There was a 3 months old little boy wrapped in a flowery blanket under his mother’s dead body. Obviously, the woman had made an ultimate sacrifice to save her son. When her house was falling, she used her body to make a cover to protect her son.
The medical doctor came quickly to exam the little boy. After he opened the blanket, he saw a cell phone inside. There was a text message on the screen, it said: ”Dear baby, if you can live, always remember that I love you.”

The Teacher

 All teachers, this is directed to you! XD

Stories like this, always have a way of putting the right perspective on life.
Jean Thompson stood in front of her fifth-grade class on the very first day of school in the fall and told the children a lie. Like most teachers, she looked at her pupils and said that she loved them all the same, that she would treat them all alike. And that was impossible because there in front of her, slumped in his seat on the third row, was a little boy named Teddy Stoddard.
Mrs. Thompson had watched Teddy the year before and noticed he didn't play well with the other children, that his clothes were unkept and that he constantly needed a bath. And Teddy was unpleasant.
It got to the point during the first few months that she would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and then marking the F at the top of the paper biggest of all. Because Teddy was a sullen little boy, no one else seemed to enjoy him, either.
At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child's records and put Teddy's off until last. When she opened his file, she was in for a surprise. His first-grade teacher wrote, "Teddy is a bright, inquisitive 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, "Teddy continues to work hard but 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. He is tardy and could become a problem."
By now Mrs. Thompson realized the problem, but Christmas was coming fast. It was all she could do, with the school play and all, until the day before the holidays began and she was suddenly forced to focus on Teddy Stoddard.
Her children brought her presents, all in beautiful ribbon and bright paper, except for Teddy's, which was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper of a scissored 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 cologne. She stifled the children's laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume behind the other wrist. Teddy Stoddard stayed behind 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 speaking. Instead, she began to teach children. Jean Thompson paid particular attention to one they all called "Teddy."
As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster he responded. On days where there would be an important test, Mrs. Thompson would remember that cologne. By the end of the year he had become one of the smartest children in the class and...well, he had also become the "pet" of the teacher who had once vowed to love all of her children exactly the same.
A year later she found a note under her door, from Teddy, telling her that of all the teachers he'd had in elementary school, she was his favorite. 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 his favorite teacher of all time.
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 graduate from college with the highest of honors. He assured Mrs. Thompson she was still his favorite teacher.
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 his favorite teacher, but that now his name was a little longer. The letter was signed, Theodore F. Stoddard, M.D.
The story doesn't end there. You see, there was yet another letter that Spring. Teddy said he'd met this girl and was to be married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering...well, if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit in the pew usually reserved for the mother of the groom. And guess what, she wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. And I bet on that special day, Jean Thompson smelled just like...well, just like the way Teddy remembered his mother smelling on their last Christmas together.
THE MORAL: You never can tell what type of impact you may make on another's life by your actions or lack of action. Consider this fact in your venture thru life.

What he valued most

This story is really sweet....enjoy! :D

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!"

Author and lecturer Leo Buscaglia once talked about a contest he was asked to judge.  The purpose of the contest was to find the most caring child.  The winner was a four year old child whose next door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife.  Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman's yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there. When his Mother asked him what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy said, "Nothing, I just helped him cry." 

From: http://www.rogerknapp.com/inspire/childsdeflove.htm