(1) The Starfish
(2) The Hospital Room
(3) All The Good Things
(4) Cookies
(5) The Fence
Once upon a time there was a wise man who
used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on
the beach before he began his work. One day he was walking along
the shore. As he looked down the beach, he saw a human figure moving
like a dancer. He smiled to himself to think of someone who would
dance to the day. So he began to walk faster to catch up. As
he got closer, he saw that it was a young man and the young man wasn't
dancing, but instead he was reaching down to the shore, picking up something
and very gently throwing it into the ocean.
As he got closer he called out, "Good morning!
What are you doing?" The young man paused, looked up and replied,
"Throwing starfish in the ocean."
"I guess I should have asked, why are you
throwing starfish in the ocean?"
"The sun is up, and the tide is going out,
and if I don't throw them in they'll die."
"But, young man, don't you realize that
there are miles and miles of beach, and starfish all along it. You
can't possibly make a difference!"
The young man listened politely. Then
bent down, picked up another starfish and threw it into the sea,
past the breaking waves and said, "It made a difference for that one."
Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the
same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour
each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next
to the room's only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat
on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives
and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military
service, where they had been on vacation. And every afternoon when the
man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing
to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.
The man in the other bed began to live for
those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened
by all the activity and color of the world outside. The window overlooked
a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children
sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers
of every color of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape, and
a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance. As the man
by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other
side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.
One warm afternoon the man by the window
described a parade passing by. Although
the other man couldn't hear the band - he
could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed
it with descriptive words. Then unexpectedly, a sinister thought entered
his mind. Why should the other man alone experience all the pleasures of
seeing everything while he himself never got to see anything? It didn't
seem fair. At first thought the man felt ashamed. But as the days passed
and he missed seeing more sights, his envy eroded into resentment and soon
turned him sour. He began to brood and he found himself unable to sleep.
He should be by that window - that thought, and only that thought now controlled
his life.
Late one night as he lay staring at the
ceiling, the man by the window began to cough. He was choking on the fluid
in his lungs. The other man watched in the dimly lit room as the struggling
man by the window groped for the button to call for help. Listening from
across the room he never moved, never pushed his own button which would
have brought the nurse running in. In less than five minutes the coughing
and choking stopped, along with that the sound of breathing. Now there
was only silence-deathly silence.
The following morning the day nurse arrived
to bring water for their baths. When she found the lifeless body of the
man by the window, she was saddened and called the hospital attendants
to take it away. As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked
if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the
switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone. Slowly,
painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at
the world outside. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it all himself.
He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed.
It faced a blank wall.
The man asked the nurse what could have
compelled his deceased roommate who had
described such wonderful things outside
this window. The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even
see the wall. She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."
Epilogue. . . .
You can interpret the story in any way you
like. But one moral stands out:
There is tremendous happiness in making
others happy, despite our own situations. Shared grief is half the sorrow,
but happiness when shared, is doubled. If you want to feel rich, just count
all of the things you have that money can't buy.
He was in the first third grade class I taught
at Saint Mary's School in Morris, Minn. All 34 of my students were dear
to me, but Mark Eklund was one in a million. Very neat in appearance, but
had that happy-to-be-alive attitude that made even his occasional mischievousness
delightful.
Mark talked incessantly. I had to remind
him again and again that talking without permission was not acceptable.
What impressed me so much, though, was his sincere response every time
I had to correct him for misbehaving - "Thank you for correcting me, Sister!"
I didn't know what to make of it at first, but before long I became accustomed
to hearing it many times a day.
One morning my patience was growing thin
when Mark talked once too often, and then I made a novice-teacher's mistake.
I looked at Mark and said, "If you say one more word, I am going to tape
your mouth shut!" It wasn't ten seconds later when Chuck blurted out, "Mark
is talking again." I hadn't asked any of the students to help me watch
Mark, but since I had stated the punishment in front of the class, I had
to act on it.
I remember the scene as if it had occurred
this morning. I walked to my desk, very deliberately opened by drawer and
took out a roll of masking tape. Without saying a word, I proceeded to
Mark's desk, tore off two pieces of tape and made a big X with them over
his mouth. I then returned to the front of the room. As I glanced at Mark
to see how he was doing, he winked at me. That did it!! I started laughing.
The class cheered as I walked back to Mark's desk, removed the tape, and
shrugged my shoulders.
His first words were, "Than you for correcting
me, Sister."
At the end of the year, I was asked to teach
junior-high math. The years flew by, and before I knew it Mark was in my
classroom again. He was more handsome than ever and just as polite. Since
he had to listen carefully to my instruction in the "new math," he did
not talk as much in ninth grade as he had in third. One Friday, things
just didn't feel right. We had worked hard on a new concept all week, and
I sensed that the students were frowning, frustrated with themselves -
and edgy with one another.
I had to stop this crankiness before it
got out of hand. So I asked them to list the names of the other students
in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name.
Then I told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each
of their classmates and write it down. It took the remainder of the class
period to finish their assignment, and as the students left the room, each
one handed me the papers. Charlie smiled.
Mark said, "Thank you for teaching me, Sister.
Have a good weekend." That Saturday, I wrote down the name of each student
on a separate sheet of paper, and I listed what everyone else had said
about that individual. On Monday I gave each student his or her list. Before
long, the entire class was smiling. "Really?" I heard whispered. "I never
knew that meant anything to anyone!" "I didn't know others liked me so
much."
No one ever mentioned those papers in class
again. I never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents,
but it didn't matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students
were happy with themselves and one another again.
That group of students moved on. Several
years later, after I returned from vacation, my parents met me at the airport.
As we were driving home, Mother asked me the usual questions about the
trip -the weather, my experiences in general. There was a lull in the conversation.
Mother gave Dad a side-ways glance and simply says, "Dad?" My father cleared
his throat as he usually did before something important. "The Eklunds called
last night," he began. "Really?" I said. "I haven't heard from them in
years. I wonder how Mark is." Dad responded quietly. "Mark was killed in
Vietnam," he said. "The funeral is tomorrow, and his parents would like
it if you could attend."
To this day I can still point to the exact
spot on I-494 where Dad told me about Mark.
I had never seen a serviceman in a military
coffin before. Mark looked so handsome, so mature. All I could think at
that moment was - Mark, I would give all the masking tape in the world
if only you would talk to me.
The church was packed with Mark's friends.
Chuck's sister sang "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." Why did it have
to rain on the day of the funeral? It was difficult enough at the graveside.
The pastor said the usual prayers, and the bugler played taps.
One by one those who loved Mark took a last
walk by the coffin and sprinkled it with holy water. I was the last one
to bless the coffin. As I stood there, one of the soldiers who acted as
pallbearer came up to me. "Were you Mark's math teacher?" he asked. I nodded
as I continued to stare at the coffin. "Mark talked about you a lot," he
said.
After the funeral, most of Mark's former
classmates headed to Chuck's farmhouse for lunch. Mark's mother and father
were there, obviously waiting for me. "We want to show you something,"
his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket. "They found this on
Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it." Opening the
billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had
obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times.
I knew without looking that the papers were
the ones on which I had listed all the good things each of Mark's classmates
had said about him.
"Thank you so much for doing that," Mark's
mother said. "As you can see, Mark treasured it." Mark's classmates started
to gather around us. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, "I still
have my list. It's in the top drawer of my desk at home." Chuck's wife
said, "Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album." "I have mine too,"
Marilyn said. "It's in my diary." Then Vicki, another classmate, reached
into her pocketbook,took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled
list to the group. "I carry this with me at all times," Vicki said without
batting an eyelash. "I think we all saved our lists."
That's when I finally sat down and cried.
I cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again.
THE END
The purpose of this letter is to encourage
everyone to compliment the people you love and care about. We often tend
to forget the importance of showing our affections and love. Sometimes
the smallest of things, could mean the most to another. I am asking you,
to please send this letter around and spread the message and encouragement,
to express your love and caring by complimenting and being open with communication.
The density of people in society is so thick that we forget that life will
end one day. And we don't know when that one day will be. So please, I
beg of you, to tell the people you love and care for, that they are special
and important. Tell them, before it is too late.
A woman was waiting at an airport one night,
with several long hours before her flight.
She hunted for a book in the airport shops.
Bought a bag of cookies and found a place to drop. She was engrossed in
her book but happened to see that the man sitting beside her, as bold as
could be, grabbed a cookie or two from the bag in between, which she tried
to ignore to avoid a scene. So she munched the cookies and watched the
clock, as the gutsy cookie thief diminished her stock. She was getting
more irritated as the minutes ticked by, thinking, "If I wasn't so nice,
I would blacken his eye."
With each cookie she took, he took one too,
when only one was left, she wondered what he would do. With a smile on
his face, and a nervous laugh, he took the last cookie and broke it in
half.
He offered her half, as he ate the other,
she snatched it from him and thought... oooh, brother. This guy has some
nerve and he's also rude, why he didn't even show any gratitude!
She had never known when she had been so
galled, and sighed with relief when her flight was called. She gathered
her belongings and headed to the gate, refusing to look back at the thieving
ingrate. She boarded the plane, and sank in her seat, then she sought her
book, which was almost complete. As she reached in her baggage, she gasped
with surprise, there was her bag of cookies, in front of her eyes. If mine
are here, she moaned in despair, the others were his, and he tried to share.Too
late to apologize, she realized with grief, that she was the rude one,
the ingrate, the thief.
How many times in our lives have we absolutely
known that something was a certain way, only to discover later that what
we believed to be true ... was not??
There was a little boy with a bad temper.
His father gave him a bag of nails and told him that every time he lost
his temper, to hammer a nail in the back fence. The first day the boy had
driven 37 nails into the fence. Then it gradually dwindled down. He discovered
it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails into the fence.
Finally the day came when the boy didn't
lose his temper at all. He told his father about it and the father suggested
that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was
able to hold his temper.
The days passed and the young boy was finally
able to tell his father that all the nails were gone.
The father took his son by the hand and
led him to the fence. He said, "You have done well, my son, but look at
the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same."
When you say things in anger, they leave
a scar just like this one. You can put a knife in a man and draw it out.
It won't matter how many times you say I'm sorry, the wound is
still there.
**A verbal wound is just as bad as a physical
one.**