The Decision
I was on a week long journey on the Amazon River.
The rainforest was being destroyed, and I wanted to see it before man made a wreck of it. I lived on a riverboat and took long journeys into the jungle.
We were on our way back to the riverboat on a small overloaded outboard powered boat.We had just come out of the jungle in a small village and several of the villagers were on the boat with us. The boat was built to hold a dozen people. There were 20 on the boat. U.S. Coast Guard regulations didn't apply in the Amazon.
I was standing along with several others at the front of the boat because there were no seats left. In the middle of the river, another boat came towards us; I assumed to pickup or heaven forbid, drop off additional passengers.
They were coming fast, a little too fast. The driver of the other boat didn't slow down fast enough; and instead of pulling up beside us, he drove headlong into the front of the boat.
I saw it coming. “This can't be,” I thought as I mentally plotted his course and speed and kind of knew he wasn't going to make the turn. It's a sinking feeling when you just know you're going to be in an accident.
The boat hit us with a loud “BAM!” I don't remember whether I was thrown or just jumped but the next thing I knew I was in the Amazon River.
The boat that hit us was swerving wildly as a spinning propeller churned the water. I wasn't exactly sure where I was going but I knew one thing for sure, I didn't need to be anywhere near that spinning propeller. I knew that could chop you up faster than the “Whopper Chopper” as seen on TV.
I looked around and saw our riverboat sitting what looked a quarter of a mile away.
I wasn't sure whether both boats would sink, and I sure couldn't get back in the boat at the moment. Life often presents you with two very unpleasant choices. Neither is particularly desirable but you have to choose. To not choose is even worse.
Swim for the riverboat or wait and hope both boats don't sink?
I started swimming.
As I swam I felt my boots dragging me under. I had just come out of the jungle and I had on thick hiking boots. “I've got to take these clothes off,” I thought and I stopped to ditch the boots and whatever else I needed to take off to be able to swim.
As I turned around the sight sent a chill through me. It wasn't the boots dragging me under.
A woman was holding on to me!
Our eyes locked as I saw the terrible fear in her eyes. I had not noticed her because everything was a loud roar of engines, propellers, shouting people, and churning water. It was a mess.
She desperately held on to me with one hand. I am a good swimmer, but I've never had lifeguard training.
Why was the woman holding on with only one hand?
Because in the other arm she held a little baby.
I faced one of the toughest decisions of my life and I had to make it in an instant.
If I shook this lady loose both she and her child could die. If I allowed her to hang on, all three of us could die.
It was one of those instances when everything you really are, everything you believe, all of the real character within, is called to the carpet, and it is called in an instant.
You don't have time to consult your mother, you don't have time to put it to the committee, you don't have time to ask your best friend, you have to make a decision, and you've got to do it NOW!
I started swimming with the lady and her baby in tow.
After what seemed like an agonizing eternity, I remember reaching the ladder of the riverboat. I did not have the strength to pull up on the ladder. My arms were like jelly as the three of us just held on. I held on to the ladder, the woman held on to me and her child.
Men from the riverboat finally pulled us up to safety.
I left my camera in the river but the picture of that moment did not require film for it to be forever burned in my mind's eye.
All of us at some point will face such decisions. We will face a situation where to save another, we must put ourselves or our resources at risk.
That is the decision that sooner or later you will have to make.
That is the decision but then that is the faith.
Reflecting Back
Ralph Marston
This day will reflect back to you the thoughts and feelings you have about how it is going. The world will reflect back to you the expectations you have of how it will be.
The people you encounter will reflect your attitude back to you. The situations you come across will reflect your own perspective back to you.
The shortcomings you notice in others are reflecting similar things within yourself. The beauty you see around you is a reflection of the beauty that is a part of you.
The problems you encounter out there can be most effectively addressed by first considering what they reflect within you. The opportunities out there can best be grasped by first connecting with the part of you that they reflect.
Be your best, and life will be too. Live with integrity, a generous spirit, a positive enthusiasm, and the world will reflect it all back to you.
What you experience is a reflection of who you are. Nurture the value and goodness inside you, and the reflection will be magnificent indeed.
START OVER!
Author Unknown
When you've trusted God and walked his way
When you've felt his hand lead you day by day
But your steps now take you another way…
START OVER!
When you've made your plans and they've gone awry
When you've tried your best and there's no more try
When you've failed yourself and you don't know why…
START OVER!
When you've told your friends what you plan to do
When you've trusted them and they didn't come through
And you're all alone and it's up to you…
START OVER!
When you've failed your kids and they're grown and gone
When you've done your best but it's turned out wrong
And now your grandchildren come along…
START OVER!
When you've prayed to God so you'll know his will
When you've prayed and prayed and you don't know still
When you want to stop cause you've had your fill…
START OVER!
When you think you're finished and want to quit
When you've bottomed out in life's deepest pit
When you've tried and tried to get out of it…
START OVER!
When the year has been too long and successes few
When December comes and you're feeling blue
God gives a January just for you…
START OVER!
Starting over means “Victories Won”
Starting over means “A Race Well Run”
Starting over means “God's Will Done”
Don't just sit there…
START OVER!
The Old Man and His Dog
Catherine Moore
“Watch out! You nearly broad-sided that car!” My father yelled at me. “Can't you do anything right?”
Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.
“I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving.” My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.
Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back.
At home I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?
Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon. He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.
The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.
Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing.
At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived.
But something inside Dad died.
His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctors orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.
My husband, Rick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust.
Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Rick. We began to bicker and argue.
Alarmed, Rick sought out our pastor and explained the situation.
The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind. But the months wore on and God was silent.
A raindrop struck my cheek. I looked up into the gray sky. Somewhere up there was “God.” Although I believe a Supreme Being had created the universe, I had difficulty believing that God cared about the tiny human beings on this earth. I was tired of waiting for a God who did not answer.
Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it. The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem in vain to each of the sympathetic voices that answered.
Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, “I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article.”
I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.
I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs—all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons, too big, too small, too much hair.
As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down.
It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was a caricature of the breed. Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.
I pointed to the dog. “Can you tell me about him?” The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement.
“He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow.” He gestured helplessly.
As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror. “You mean you're going to kill him?”
“Ma'am,” he said gently, “that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog.”
I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision.
“I'll take him,” I said.
I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch.
“Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!” I said excitedly.
Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. “If I had wanted a dog I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it.” Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.
Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples. “You'd better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!”
Dad ignored me.
“Did you hear me, Dad?” I screamed.
At those words Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.
Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was on his knees hugging the animal. It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship.
Dad named the pointer Cheyenne. Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.
Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends.
Then late one night I was startled to feel Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night.
I woke Rick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene; but his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.
Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Rick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.
The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church.
The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. “Be not forgetful to entertain strangers…”
“I've often thanked God for sending that angel,” he said.
For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article…
Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. His calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father…and the proximity of their deaths.
And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers after all.
The Awakening
Unknown
A time comes in your life when you finally get it, when, in the midst of all our fears and insanity, you stop dead in your tracks and somewhere the voice inside your head cries out "ENOUGH!"
Enough fighting and crying or struggling to hold on. And, like a child quieting down after a blind tantrum, your sobs begin to subside, you shudder once or twice, you blink back your tears and begin to look at the world through new eyes. This is your awakening.
You realize it's time to stop hoping and waiting for something to change or for happiness, safety, and security to come galloping over the next horizon.
You come to terms with the fact that you are neither Prince Charming nor Cinderella. And that, in the real world, there aren't always fairy tale endings (or beginnings, for that matter). And that any guarantee of "happily ever after" must begin with you—and in the process, a sense of serenity is born of acceptance.
You awaken to the fact that you are not perfect and that not everyone will always love, appreciate, or approve of who or what you are...and that's OK. They are entitled to their own views and opinions. And you learn the importance of loving and championing yourself—and in the process, a sense of new-found confidence is born of self-approval.
You stop complaining and blaming other people for the things they did to you (or didn't do for you) and you learn that the only thing you can really count on is the unexpected. You learn that people don't always say what they mean or mean what they say, and that not everyone will always be there for you, and that it's not always about you. So you learn to stand on your own and to take care of yourself—and in the process, a sense of safety and security is born of self-reliance.
You stop judging and pointing fingers and you begin to accept people as they are and overlook their shortcomings and human frailties—and in the process, a sense of peace and contentment is born of forgiveness.
You realize that much of the way you view yourself and the world around you is as a result of all the messages and opinions that have been ingrained into your psyche. And you begin to sift through all the junk you've been fed about how you should behave, how you should look, how much you should weigh, what you should wear, what you should do for a living, how much money you should make, what you should drive, how and where you should live, who you should marry, the importance of having and raising children, and what you owe your parents, family, and friends.
You learn to open up to new worlds and different points of view. And you begin reassessing and redefining who you are and what you really stand for. You learn the difference between wanting and needing and you begin to discard the doctrines and values you've outgrown, or should never have bought into to begin with—and in the process, you learn to go with your instincts.
You learn that it is truly in giving that we receive. And that there is power and glory in creating and contributing and you stop maneuvering through life merely as a "consumer" looking for your next fix. You learn that principles such as honesty and integrity are not the outdated ideals of a by-gone era but the mortar that holds together the foundation upon which you must build a life.
You learn that you don't know everything, it's not your job to save the world, and that you can't teach a pig to sing. You learn to distinguish between guilt and responsibility and the importance of setting boundaries and learning to say, "NO."
You learn that the only cross to bear is the one you choose to carry and that martyrs get burned at the stake. Then you learn about love. How to love, how much to give in love, when to stop giving, and when to walk away. You learn to look at relationships as they really are and not as you would have them be.
You stop trying to control people, situations, and outcomes. And you learn that alone does not mean lonely.
You also stop working so hard at putting your feelings aside, smoothing things over, and ignoring your needs.
You learn that feelings of entitlement are perfectly OK, and that it is your right to want things and to ask for the things you want—and that sometimes it is necessary to make demands.
You come to the realization that you deserve to be treated with love, kindness, sensitivity, and respect—and you won't settle for less. And you learn that your body really is your temple. And you begin to care for it and treat it with respect. You begin to eat a balanced diet, drink more water, and take more time to exercise.
You learn that being tired fuels doubt, fear, and uncertainty so you take more time to rest. And, just as food fuels the body, laughter fuels our soul. So you take more time to laugh and to play. You learn that, for the most part, you get in life what you believe you deserve—and that much of life truly is a self-fulfilling prophecy.
You learn that anything worth achieving is worth working for and that wishing for something to happen is different from working toward making it happen. More importantly, you learn that in order to achieve success you need direction, discipline, and perseverance. You also learn that no one can do it all alone—and that it's OK to risk asking for help.
You learn the only thing you must truly fear is the greatest robber baron of all: FEAR itself. You learn to step right into and through your fears because you know that whatever happens you can handle it and to give in to fear is to give away the right to live life on your own terms. And you learn to fight for your life and not to squander it living under a cloud of impending doom.
You learn that life isn't always fair, you don't always get what you think you deserve, and that bad things sometimes happen to unsuspecting, good people. On these occasions you learn to not personalize things. You learn that God isn't punishing you or failing to answer your prayers. It's just life happening. And you learn to deal with evil in its most primal state—the ego.
You learn that negative feelings such as anger, envy, and resentment must be understood and redirected or they will suffocate the life out of you and poison the universe that surrounds you. You learn to admit when you are wrong and to build bridges instead of walls.
You learn to be thankful and to take comfort in many of the simple things we take for granted, things that millions of people upon the earth can only dream about: a full refrigerator, clean running water, a soft warm bed, a long hot shower. Slowly, you begin to take responsibility for yourself by yourself and you make yourself a promise to never betray yourself and to never, ever settle for less than your heart's desire.
And you hang a wind chime outside your window so you can listen to the wind. And you make it a point to keep smiling, to keep trusting, and to stay open to every wonderful possibility.
Finally, with courage in your heart and God by your side, you take a stand, you take a deep breath, and you begin to design as best you can the life you want to live.
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