Nudge the Balance

A 91-year-old woman died after living a very long dignified life. When she met God, she asked Him something that had really bothered her for a very long time. “If Man was created in God’s image, and if all men are created equal, why do people treat each other so badly?”

God replied that each person who enters our life has a unique lesson to teach us. It is only through these lessons that we learn about life, people and our relationships with God. This confused the woman, so God began to explain:

“When someone lies to you, it teaches you that things are not always what they seem. The truth is often far beneath the surface. Look beyond the masks people wear if you want to know what is in their hearts. Remove your own masks to let people know who you really are.
When someone steals from you it teaches you that nothing is forever. Always appreciate what you have. You never know when you might lose it. Never take your friends or family for granted, because today and sometimes only this very moment is the only guarantee you may have.

When someone inflicts injury upon you, it teaches you that the human state is a very fragile one. Protect and take care of your body as best as you can, it’s the one thing that you are sure to have forever.

When someone mocks you, it teaches you that no two people are alike. When you encounter people who are different from you, do not judge them by how they look or act, instead base it on the contents of what is in their hearts.

When someone breaks your heart, it teaches you that loving someone does not always mean that the person will love you back. But don’t turn your back on love, because when you find the right person, the joy that one person brings you will make up for all of your past hurts. Times a thousand fold.

When someone holds a grudge against you, it teaches you that everyone makes mistakes. When you are wronged, the most virtuous thing you can do is forgive the offender without pretense. Forgiving those who have hurt us is often the most difficult and painful of life’s experiences, but it is also the most courageous thing a person can do.

When a loved one is unfaithful to you, it teaches you that resisting temptation is Man’s greatest challenge. Be vigilant in your resistance against all temptations. By doing so, you will be rewarded with an enduring sense of satisfaction far greater than the temporary pleasure by which you were tempted.

When someone cheats you, it teaches you that greed is the root of all evil. Aspire to make your dreams come true, no matter how lofty they may be. Do not feel guilty about your success, but never let an obsession with achieving your goals lead you to engage in malevolent activities.

When someone ridicules you, it teaches you that nobody is perfect. Accept people for their merits and be tolerant of their flaws. Do not ever reject someone for imperfections over which they have no control.”

Upon hearing the Lord’s wisdom, the old woman became concerned that there are no lessons to be learned from man’s good deeds. God replied that Man’s capacity to love is the greatest gift He has. At the root of kindness and love, and each act of love also teaches us a lesson. The woman’s curiosity deepened. God, once again began to explain:

“When someone loves us, it teaches us love, kindness, charity, honesty, humility, forgiveness, acceptance, and all of these can counteract all the evil in the world. For every good deed, there is one evil deed. Man alone has the power to control the balance between good and evil, but because the lessons of love are not taught often enough, the power is too often abused.

When you enter someone’s life, whether by plan, chance or coincidence, consider what your lesson will be. Will you teach love or a harsh lesson of reality? When you die, will your life have resulted in more loving or more hurting? More comfort or more pain? More joy or more sadness? Each one of us has the power over the balance of the love in the world. Use it wisely!”

Don’t miss an opportunity to nudge the world’s scale in the right direction!

The Doll and The Rose

Another great story from my friend, Flor Estella. – r.

(Author Unknown)

I was walking around in the store, when I saw a Cashier hand this little boy some money back.  The boy couldn’t have been more than 5 or 6 years old.  The Cashier said, “I’m sorry, but you don’t have enough money to buy this doll.”

Then the little boy turned to the old woman next to him: ”Granny, are you sure I don’t have enough money?” The old lady replied: ”You know that you don’t have enough money
to buy this doll, my dear.”

Then she asked him to stay there for just 5 minutes while she went to look a round. She left quickly.  The little boy was still holding the doll in his hand.

Finally, I walked toward him and I asked him who he wished to give this doll to. “It’s the doll that my sister loved most and wanted so much for Christmas. She was sure that Santa Claus would bring it to her.”

I replied to him that maybe Santa Claus would bring it to her after all, and not to worry.
But he replied to me sadly. “No, Santa Claus can’t bring it to her where she is now. I have to give the doll to my mommy so that she can give it to my sister when she goes there.”

His eyes were so sad while saying this. “My Sister has gone to be with God . Daddy says that Mommy is going to see God very soon too, so I thought that she could take the doll with her to give it to my  sister.”

My heart nearly stopped.  The little boy looked up at me and said: “I told daddy to tell
mommy not to go yet. I need her to wait until I come back from the mall.”

Then he showed me a very nice photo of him where he was laughing.  He then told me “I want mommy to take my picture with her so she won’t forget me.”

“I love my mommy and I wish she doesn’t have to leave me, but daddy says that she has to go to be with my little sister.”

Then he looked again at the doll with sad eyes, very quietly. I quickly reached for my wallet and said to the boy. “Suppose we check again, just in case you do have enough money for the doll?”

“OK” he said, “I hope I do have enough.” I added some of my money to his without him seeing and we started to count it. There was enough for the doll and even some spare money.

The little boy said: “Thank you God for giving me enough money!”

Then he looked at me and added, “I asked last night before I went to sleep for God to make sure I had enough money to buy this doll, so  that mommy could give It to my sister. He heard me!”

“I also wanted to have enough money to buy a white rose for my mommy, but I didn’t dare to ask God for too much. But He gave me enough to buy the doll and a white rose.”

“My mommy loves white roses.”

A few minutes later, the old lady returned and I left with my basket. I finished my shopping in a totally different state from when I started. I couldn’t get the little boy out of my mind.

Then I remembered a local newspaper article two days ago, which mentioned a drunk man in a truck, who hit a car occupied by a young woman and a little girl.

The little girl died right away, and the mother was left in a critical state. The family had to decide whether to pull the plug on the life-sustaining machine, because the young woman would not be able to recover from the coma.

Was this the family of the little boy?

Two days after this encounter with the little boy, I read in the newspaper that the young woman had passed away.

I couldn’t stop myself as I bought a bunch of white roses and I  went to the funeral home where the body of the young woman was exposed for people to see and make last wishes before her burial.

She was there, in her coffin, holding a beautiful white rose in her hand with the photo of the little boy and the doll placed over her chest.

I left the place, teary-eyed, feeling that my life had been changed forever. The love that the little boy had for his mother and his sister is still, to this day, hard to imagine.

Where is God’s Perfection?

(Author Unknown)

In  Brooklyn, New York, Chush is a school that caters to learning disabled children. Some children remain in Chush for their entire school career, while others can be mainstreamed into conventional schools.

At a Chush fund-raising dinner, the father of a Chush child delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he cried out, “Where is the perfection in my son Shaya? Everything God does is done with perfection. But my child cannot understand things as other children do. My child cannot remember facts and figures as other children do. Where is God’s perfection?”

The audience was shocked by the question, pained by the father’s anguish and stilled by the piercing query. “I believe”, the father answered, “that when God brings a child like this into the world, the perfection that he seeks is in the way people react to this child.” He then told the following story about his son, Shaya.

One afternoon Shaya and his father walked past a park where some boys Shaya knew were playing baseball. Shaya asked, “Do you think they will let me play?” Shaya’s father knew that his son was not at all athletic and that most boys would not want him on their
team. But Shaya’s father understood that if his son was chosen to play it would give him a comfortable sense of belonging.

Shaya’s father approached one of the boys in the field and asked if Shaya could play. The boy looked around for guidance from his team mates.  Getting none, he took matters into his own hands and said “We are losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we’ll try to put him up to bat in the ninth inning”

Shaya’s father was ecstatic as Shaya smiled broadly. Shaya was told to put on a glove and go out to play short-center field. In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shaya’s team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shaya’s team scored again and now with two outs and the bases loaded with the potential winning run on base, Shaya was scheduled to be up. Would the team actually let Shaya bat at this
juncture and give away their chance to win the game?

Surprisingly, Shaya was given the bat. Everyone knew that it was all but impossible because Shaya didn’t even know how to hold the bat properly, let alone hit with it. However as Shaya stepped up to the plate, the pitcher moved a few steps to lob the ball in
softly so Shaya should at least be able to make contact. The first pitch came in and Shaya swung clumsily and missed. One of Shaya’s team mates came up to Shaya and together they held the bat and faced the pitcher waiting for the next pitch. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly toward Shaya. As the pitch came in, Shaya and his teammate swung the bat and together they hit a slow ground ball to the pitcher. The
pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could easily have thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shaya would have been out and that would have ended the game. Instead, the pitcher took the ball and threw it on a high arc to right field, far beyond reach of the
first baseman.

Everyone started yelling, “Shaya, run to first. Run to first.”

Never in his life had Shaya run to first. He scampered down the baseline wide-eyed and startled. By the time he reached first base, the right fielder had the ball. He could have thrown the ball to the second baseman, who would tag out Shaya, who was still running. But the right fielder understood what the pitcher’s intentions were, so he threw the ball high and far over the third baseman’s head. Everyone yelled, “Run to second, run to
second.” Shaya ran towards second base as the runners ahead of him deliriously circled the bases towards home. As Shaya reached second base, the opposing short stop ran to him,turned him in the direction of third base and shouted, “Run to third.” As Shaya
rounded third, the boys from both teams ran behind him screaming, “Shaya run home.”

And Shaya ran home. He stepped on home plate and then all 18 boys lifted him on their shoulders and made him the hero, as he had just hit a “grand slam” and won the game for his team.

“That day,” said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face,”those 18 boys reached their level of God’s perfection.”

Who I Am Makes a Difference

(Author Unknown)

A teacher in New York decided to honor each of her seniors in high school by telling them the difference they each made. Using a process developed by Helice Bridges of Del Mar, California, she called each student to the front of the class, one at a time. First she told them how the student made a difference to her and the class. Then she presented each of them with a blue ribbon imprinted with gold letters which read, “Who I Am Makes a Difference.”

     Afterwards the teacher decided to do a class project to see what kind of impact recognition would have on a community. She gave each of the students three more ribbons and instructed them to go out and spread this acknowledgment ceremony. Then they were to follow up on the results, see who honored whom and report back to the class in about a week.

     One of the boys in the class went to a junior executive in a nearby company and honored him for helping him with his career planning. He gave him a blue ribbon and put it on his shirt. Then he gave him two extra ribbons, and said, “We’re doing a class project on recognition, and we’d like you to go out, find somebody to honor, give them a blue ribbon, then give them the extra blue ribbon so they can acknowledge a third person to keep this acknowledgment ceremony going. Then please report back to me and tell me what happened.”

     Later that day the junior executive went in to see his boss, who had been noted, by the way, as being kind of a grouchy fellow. He sat his boss down and he told him that he deeply admired him for being a creative genius. The boss seemed very surprised. The junior executive asked him if he would accept the gift of the blue ribbon and would he give him permission to put it on him. His surprised boss said, “Well, sure.” The junior executive took the blue ribbon and placed it right on his boss’s jacket above his heart. As he gave him the last extra ribbon, he said, “Would you do me a favor? Would you take this extra ribbon and pass it on by honoring somebody else? The young boy who first gave me the ribbons is doing a project in school and we want to keep this recognition ceremony going and find out how it affects people.”

     That night the boss came home to his 14-year-old son and sat him down. He said, “The most incredible thing happened to me today. I was in my office and one of the junior executives came in and told me he admired me and gave me a blue ribbon for being a creative genius. Imagine. He thinks I’m a creative genius. Then he put this blue ribbon that says ‘Who I Am Makes A Difference’ on my jacket above my heart. He gave me an extra ribbon and asked me to find somebody else to honor. As I was driving home tonight, I started thinking about whom I would honor with this ribbon and I thought about you. I want to honor you. “My days are really hectic and when I come home I don’t pay a lot of attention to you. Sometimes I scream at you for not getting good enough grades in school and for your bedroom being a mess, but somehow tonight, I just wanted to sit here and, well, just let you know that you do make a difference to me. Besides your mother, you are the most important person in my life. You’re a great kid and I love you!”

     The startled boy started to sob and sob, and he couldn’t stop crying. His whole body shook. He looked up at his father and said through his tears, “I was planning on committing suicide tomorrow, Dad, because I didn’t think you loved me. Now I don’t need to.”

 

Reflections of a Mother

(Author Unknown) 

I gave you life, but cannot live it for you.

I can teach you things, but I cannot make you learn.

I can give you directions, but I cannot be there to lead you.

I can allow you freedom, but I cannot account for it.

I can take you to church, but I cannot make you believe.

I can teach you right from wrong, but I cannot always decide for you.

I can buy you beautiful clothes, but I cannot make you beautiful inside.

I can offer you advice, but I cannot accept it for you.

I can give you love, but I cannot force it upon you.

I can teach you to share, but I cannot make you unselfish.

I can teach you respect, but I cannot force you to show honor.

I can advise you about friends, but cannot choose them for you.

I can advise you about sex, but I cannot keep you pure.

I can tell you the facts of life, but I can’t build your reputation.

I can tell you about drink, but I can’t say “no” for you.

I can warn you about drugs but I can’t prevent you from using them.

I can tell you about lofty goals, but I can’t achieve them for you.

I can teach you about kindness, but I can’t force you to be gracious.

I can warn you about sins, but I cannot make you moral.

I can love you as a child, but I cannot place you in God’s family.

I can pray for you, but I cannot make you walk with God.

I can teach you about Jesus, but I cannot make Jesus your Lord.

I can tell you how to live, but I cannot give you eternal life.

I can love you with unconditional love all of my life . . . and I will!!!
Always, Mom

Faith and Deeds

(Author Unknown)

     I am a mother of three (ages 14, 12, 3), and have recently completed my college degree. The last class I had to take was Sociology. The teacher was absolutely inspiring with the qualities that I wish every human being had been graced with. Her last project of the term was called “Smile. “

     The class was asked to go out and smile at three people and document their reaction. I am a very friendly person and always smile at everyone and say, hello, anyway… so, I thought, this would be a piece of cake, literally. Soon after we were assigned the project, my husband, youngest son, and I went out to McDonald’s, one crisp March morning. It was just our way of sharing special play time with our son.

     We were standing in line, waiting to be served, when all of a sudden everyone around us began to back away, and then even my husband did. I did not move an inch… an overwhelming feeling of panic welled up inside of me as I turned to see why they had moved. As I turned around I smelled a horrible “dirty body” smell… and there standing behind me were two poor men.

     As I looked down at the short gentleman, close to me, he was “smiling.” His beautiful sky blue eyes were full of God’s light as he searched for acceptance. He said, “Good day” as he counted the few coins he had been clutching. The second man fumbled with his hands as he stood behind his friend. I realized the second man was mentally deficient and the blue eyed gentle man was his salvation. I held my tears… as I stood there with them.

     The young lady at the counter asked them what they wanted. The man doing the ordering said, “Coffee is all Miss.” — because that was all they could afford. To sit in the restaurant and warm up, they had to buy something… hey, they just wanted to be warm. Then I really felt it… the compulsion was so great I almost reached out and embraced the little man with his blue eyes. That is when I noticed all eyes in the restaurant were set on me… judging my every action.

     I smiled and asked the young lady behind the counter to give me two more breakfast meals on a separate tray. I then walked around the corner to the table that the men had chosen as a resting spot. I put the tray on the table and laid my hand on the blue eyed gentleman’s cold hand. He looked up at me, with tears in his eyes, and said, “Thank you.” I leaned over, began to pat his hand and said, “I did not do this alone for you… God is here working through me to give you hope.”

      I started to cry as I walked away to join my husband and son. When I sat down my husband smiled at me and said, “That is why God gave you to me honey… to give me hope.” We held hands for moment and at that time we knew that only because of the Grace of God that we had been given, that we were able to give. We are not church goers but we are believers. That day showed me the pure Light of God’s sweet love.

     I returned to college, on the last evening of class, with this story in hand. I turned in “my project” and the instructor read it… then she looked up at me and said, “may I share this?” I slowly nodded as she got the attention of the class. She began to read, and that is when I knew that we, as human beings and being part of God, share the need to help people and be helped.

     In my own way I had touched the people at McDonald’s, my husband, son, instructor, and every soul that shared the classroom on the last night I spent as a college student. I graduated with one of the biggest lessons I would ever learn… UNCONDITIONAL ACCEPTANCE. Much love and compassion is sent to each and every person who may read this. Learn how to LOVE PEOPLE AND USE THINGS — NOT LOVE THINGS AND USE PEOPLE. If this true story has touched you in any way, please share it with a friend, so we all can better practice the love that Jesus Christ taught us.

Lessons Learned

(Author Unknown) 

One day, the father of a very wealthy family took his son on a trip to the country with the express purpose of showing him how poor people live.

They spent a couple of days and nights on the farm of what would be considered a very poor family.

On their return from their trip, the father asked his son, “How was the trip?”

“It was great, Dad.”

“Did you see how poor people live?” the father asked.

“Oh yeah,” said the son.

“So, tell me, what did you learn from the trip?” asked the father.

The son answered:  “I saw that we have one dog and they had four.   We have a pool that reaches to the middle of our garden and they have a creek that has no end.  We have imported lanterns in our garden and they have the stars at night.  Our patio reaches to the front yard and they have the whole horizon. 

“We have a small piece of land to live on and they have fields that go beyond our sight. 

“We have servants who serve us, but they serve others.  We buy our food, but they grow theirs. 

“We have walls around our property to protect us, they have  friends to protect them.”

The boy’s father was speechless.

Then his son added,  “Thanks Dad for showing me how poor we are.”

Just a Mom

(Author Unknown) 

A woman,  renewing her driver’s license at the County   Clerk ’s office was asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation. She hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself.  ”What I mean  is,” explained the recorder, “do you have a job or are you just a……?”

“Of course I have a job,” snapped the woman.  ”I’m a Mom.”
 
“We don’t  list ‘Mom’ as an occupation, ‘housewife’ covers it,” said the recorder emphatically.

I forgot all  about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our own Town Hall.

The Clerk  was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient and  possessed of a high sounding title like, “Official Interrogator” or “Town Registrar.”

 ”What is your occupation?” she probed.  What made me say it? I do not know.  The words simply popped out.

“I’m a  Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations.”  
 
The clerk  paused, ball-point pen frozen in midair and
looked up as though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly emphasizing the most significant words.

Then I  stared with wonder as my pronouncement was written, in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire.

 ”Might I ask,” said the clerk  with new interest, “just what you do in your field?”

Coolly,  without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself  reply, “I have a continuing program of research, (what  mother doesn’t) in the laboratory and in the field, (normally I would have said indoors and out). I’m working  for my Masters, (first the Lord and then the whole family) and already have four credits (all daughters). Of course,  the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities, (any mother care to disagree?) and I often work 14 hours a day, (24 is more like it).

But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the  rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money.”

 There was an  increasing note of respect in the clerk’s voice as she completed the form, stood up and personally ushered me to the door.
 
As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by  my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants — ages 13, 7, and 3. Upstairs I  could hear our new experimental model, (a 6 month old  baby) in the child development program, testing out a new vocal pattern.

I felt I had scored a beat on bureaucracy! And I had  gone on the official records as someone more distinguished and  indispensable to mankind than “just another Mom.”   Motherhood!

Praying Hands

(Author Unknown) 

     Back in the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Nuremburg, lived a family with eighteen children. Eighteen! In order merely to keep food on the table for this mob, the father and head of the household, a goldsmith by profession, worked almost eighteen
hours a day at his trade and any other paying chore he could find in the neighborhood.

     Despite their seemingly hopeless condition, two of Albrecht Durer the Elder’s children had a dream. They both wanted to pursue their talent for art, but they knew full well that their father would never be financially able to send either of them to Nuremburg to study at the Academy.

     After many long discussions at night in their crowded bed, the two boys finally worked out a pact. They would toss a coin. The loser would go down into the nearby mines and, with his earnings, support his brother while he attended the academy. Then, when that brother who won the toss completed his studies, in four years, he would support the other brother at the academy, either with sales of his artwork or, if necessary, also by laboring in the mines.

     They tossed a coin on a Sunday morning after church. Albrecht Durer won the toss and went off to Nuremberg.

     Albert went down into the dangerous mines and, for the next four years, financed his brother, whose work at the academy was almost an immediate sensation. Albrecht’s etchings, his woodcuts, and his oils were far better than those of most of his professors,
and by the time he graduated, he was beginning to earn considerable fees for his commissioned works.

     When the young artist returned to his village, the Durer family held a festive dinner on their lawn to celebrate Albrecht’s triumphant homecoming. After a long and memorable meal, punctuated with music and laughter, Albrecht rose from his honored position at the head of the table to drink a toast to his beloved brother for the years of sacrifice that had enabled Albrecht to fulfill his ambition. His closing words were, “And now, Albert, blessed brother of mine, now it is your turn. Now you can go to Nuremberg  to pursue your ream, and I will take care of you.”

     All heads turned in eager expectation to the far end of the table where Albert sat, tears streaming down his pale face, shaking his lowered head from side to side while he sobbed and repeated, over and over, “No …no …no …no.”

     Finally, Albert rose and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He glanced down the long table at the faces he loved, and then, holding his hands close to his right cheek, he said softly, “No, brother. I cannot go to  Nuremberg.  It is too late for me. Look what four years in the mines have done to my hands! The bones in every finger have been smashed at least once, and lately I have been suffering from arthritis so badly in my right hand that I cannot even hold a glass to return your toast, much less make delicate lines on parchment or canvas with a pen or a brush. No, brother … for me it is too late.”

     More than 450 years have passed.

     By now, Albrecht Durer’s hundreds of masterful portraits, pen and silver-point sketches, watercolors, charcoals, woodcuts, and copper engravings hang in every great museum in the world, but the odds are great that you, like most people, are familiar with only one of Albrecht Durer’s works. More than merely being familiar with it, you very well may have a reproduction hanging in your home or office.

     One day, to pay homage to Albert for all that he had sacrificed, Albrecht Durer painstakingly drew his brother’s abused hands with palms together and thin fingers stretched skyward. He called his powerful drawing simply “Hands,” but the entire world almost immediately opened their hearts to his great masterpiece and renamed his tribute of love “The Praying Hands.”

     The next time you see a copy of that touching creation, take a second look. Let it be your reminder, if you still need one, that no one – no one – - ever makes it alone!

     God Bless Albert and Albrecht Durer.

     Blessings, too, on those who sacrifice so that another may succeed. And blessings on those who truly appreciate the sacrifices made by others on their behalf.

The Wooden Bowl

This Story of Encouragement was sent to me by friend, Flor Estella. She is the Coordinator of RCIA at Detroit’s St. Gabriel Church.

-r.    

The Wooden Bowl

(Author Unknown)

     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 spoon 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 father,” 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 in when I grow up.” The four-year-old smiled and went back to work.

     The words so struck the parents so 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.