I’M FLYING

Once upon a time there was a little boy who was raised in an orphanage.

The little boy had always wished that he could fly like a bird. It was very difficult for him to understand why he could not fly. There were birds at the zoo that were much bigger than he, and they could fly. "Why can't I?" he thought. "Is there something wrong with me?" he wondered.

There was another little boy who was crippled. He had always wished that he could walk and run like other little boys and girls. "Why can't I be like them?" he thought.

One day the little orphan boy, who had wanted to fly like a bird, ran away from the orphanage. He came upon a park where he saw the little boy, who could not walk or run, playing in the sandbox.

He ran over to the little boy and asked him if he had ever wanted to fly like a bird.

"No," said the little boy who could not walk or run. "But I have wondered what it would be like to walk and run like other boys and girls."

"That is very sad," said the little boy who wanted to fly. "Do you think we could be friends?" he said to the little boy in the sandbox.

"Sure," said the little boy.

The two little boys played for hours. They made sand castles and made really funny sounds with their mouths. Sounds which made them laugh real hard. Then the little boy's father came with a wheelchair to pick up his son. The little boy who had always wanted to fly ran over to the boy's father and whispered something into his ear.

"That would be OK," said the man.

The little boy who had always wanted to fly like a bird ran over to his new friend and said, "You are my only friend and I wish that there was something that I could do to make you walk and run like other little boys and girls. But I can't. But there is something that I can do for you."

The little orphan boy turned around and told his new friend to slide up onto his back. He then began to run across the grass. Faster and faster he ran, carrying the little crippled boy on his back. Faster and harder he ran across the park. Harder and harder he made his legs travel. Soon the wind just whistled across the two little boys' faces.

The little boy's father began to cry as he watched his beautiful little crippled son flapping his arms up and down in the wind, all the while yelling at the top of his voice,

"I'M FLYING, DADDY. I'M FLYING!"

NORMA AND THE GOOD THINGS

In Madrid lives Norma, a very special Brazilian lady. The Spanish call her ‘the rocking grandma’. She is over sixty and works in various places, organizing promotions, parties and concerts.

She was once asked where she got all her energy from.

‘I have a magic calendar. If you like, I can show it to you.’

She picked up an old, much scribbled-upon calendar.

‘Right, today is the day they discovered a vaccine against polio,’ she said.’ We must celebrate that, because life is beautiful.’

On each day of the year, Norma had written down something good that had happened on that date.

For her, life was always a reason to be happy.

JOHN F KENNEDY’S HIGH VISION—‘WE CHOOSE TO GO TO THE MOON’

In a speech to a Houston College in September 1962, President John F. Kennedy delivered his memorable ‘We choose to go to the Moon’ address, stating that humankind will be on the moon before the end of the decade.

The speech had strong tones of national one-upmanship and the need to put stakes in space before other countries do but it also demonstrates the power of a grand vision.

He said: “But why, some say, the moon? Why choose this as our goal? And they may well ask why climb the highest mountain? Why, 35 years ago, fly the Atlantic? Why does Rice play Texas?”

“We choose to go to the moon. We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard, because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one which we intend to win, and the others, too….”

“Many years ago the great British explorer George Mallory, who was to die on Mount Everest, was asked why did he want to climb it. He said, ‘Because it is there.’”

“Well, space is there, and we're going to climb it, and the moon and the planets are there, and new hopes for knowledge and peace are there. And, therefore, as we set sail we ask God's blessing on the most hazardous and dangerous and greatest adventure on which man has ever embarked.”

OH! TO HEAR A HUMAN VOICE By Max Lucado, Outlive Your Life

If a voice could be a season, hers was springtime.

"Hello," she sang. "Thank you for calling."

I needed a kind welcome. The sky was pouring buckets of rain. Lightning had caused blackouts, and storms were jamming the traffic. News reports were telling drivers to stay off the roads. But I had a flight to catch.

So I called the airlines. They would know if the flight was late or canceled. "They would be the calm within the storm. And for a butterfly's blink of a moment, she was. "Hello, thank you for calling ..."

But then it came. Before I could thank her in return, the voice continued, "For quality assurance this call may he monitored ..." Not again.

Ancient sailors feared falling off the edge of the earth. Our pioneering forefathers dreaded blinding blizzards. The first missionaries to Africa sliced trails into dense forests. But none of our ancestors faced what you and I face: the Bermuda Triangle called computerized telephone service.

"Press one," she said, "for domestic flights."

"Press two for international."

"Press three if you know your flight number and the name of your congressman.

"Press four if you are a frequent flier in the central time zone with no children."

"Press five if the nine digits of your Social Security number total more than sixty ..."

It was all I could do to keep up! I finally pressed a number, and wouldn't you know it. I committed the equivalent of telephone harakiri. I was put on hold. For the foreseeable future I would be trapped in the underground cable cavern, doomed to spend hours listening to Kenny G and Barry Manilow.

Oh to have heard a human voice. To have spoken to a real person. To have received a human greeting. Is it just me, or is human contact going the way of the snow leopard?

There was a time when every activity spurred a conversation. Service your car; greet the attendant. Deposit a check at the bank; chat with the teller about the weather. Buy a gift, and speak with the salesclerk. Not now. You can gas up with a credit card, make deposits online, and order a gift over the Internet. You can cycle through a day of business and never say hello.

Call us a fast society, an efficient society, but don't call us a personal society. Our society is set up for isolation. We wear earbuds when we exercise. We communicate via e-mail and text messages. We enter and exit our houses with gates and garage-door openers. Our mantra: "I leave you alone. You leave me alone."

EVERY PLACE SHOULD HAVE A RECOMBOBULATION AREA

Recombobulation Area

After travelers go through the security scanners at Milwaukee’s Mitchell International Airport they are greeted with a sign inviting them to use their Recombobulation Area. It is nothing special—only a patch of carpet with a few chairs—but it is the thought that counts.

Meaning

Why does your word processor put a squiggley red line underneath the word ‘recombobulation? Mainly, because it is not a word, or not yet. Recombobulation is about restoring all that occurs when we suffer from discombobulation which this word processor also doesn’t recognize. Discombobulation is defined in more authoritative dictionaries as: Becoming upset, confused, bewildered, an embarrassing feeling that leaves a person confused, frustrated.

Discombobulation

In short, discombobulation is the feeling we often experience when we go through airport scanners after taking off our belt, shoes and other garments and are then frisked, prodded and poked. You know the feeling? That’s discombobulation.

Recombobulation is a Gift

So what a gift to be able to take your shoes and belt and other personal items and sit down and be recombobulated. What a wonderful gift at the Milwaukee airport! What an apt word to describe the putting together that one needs at airports, shopping malls and after negotiating busy roads.

Create Recombobulation Areas

Recombobulation Areas. Why restrict these only to airports? Create a recombobulation area at your work, at your shop, in your place of worship, at your school and in your home.

Make Recombobulation Times

Take the recombobulation idea further and create some recombobulation time in the midst of your busy day, as a preventative measure against discombobulation or especially after you have been chronically discombobulated!

AS CLOSE AND UNOBTRUSIVE AS THAT

A West Indian woman in a London flat was told of her husband’s death in a street accident. The shock of grief stunned her like a blow, she sank into a corner of the sofa and sat there rigid and unhearing. For a long time her terrible tranced look continued to concern and embarrass the family, friends and officials who came and went.

Then the schoolteacher of one of her children, an Englishwoman, called and, seeing how things were, went and sat beside her. Without a word she threw an arm around the tight shoulders, clasping them with her full strength. The white cheek was thrust hard against the brown. Then as the unrelenting pain seeped through to her the newcomer’s tears began to flow, falling on their two hands linked in the woman’s lap.

For a long time that was all that was happening. And then at last the West Indian woman started to sob. Still not a word was spoken and after a little while the visitor got up and went, leaving her contribution to help the family meet its immediate needs.

That is the embrace of God, his kiss of life. That is the embrace of his mission and our intercession. And the Holy Spirit is the force in the straining muscles of an arm, the film of sweat between pressed cheeks, the mingled wetness on the back of clasped hands. He is as close and unobtrusive as that, and as irresistibly strong.

FINDING FATHER BENJAMIN

Unfavorable winds blow a ship off course, and when they do, the sailors spot uncharted islands. They see half a dozen mounds rising out of the blue South Seas waters. The captain orders the men to drop anchor and goes ashore. He is a robust man with a barrel chest, full beard, and curious soul. 

On the first island he sees nothing but sadness. Underfed children. Tribes inconflict. No fanning or food development, no treatment for the sick, and no schools. Just simple, needy people.

The second and following islands reveal more of the same. The captain sighs at what he sees. "This is no life for these people." But what can he do?

Then he steps onto the last and largest island. The people are healthy and well fed. Irrigation systems nourish their fields, and roads connect the villages. The children have bright eyes and strong bodies. The captain asks the chief for an explanation. How has this island moved so far ahead of the others?

The chief, who is smaller than the captain but every bit his equal in confidence, gives a quick response: "Father Benjamin. He educated us in everything from agriculture to health. He built schools and clinics and dug wells."

The captain asks, "Can you take me to see him?”

The chief nods and signals for two tribesmen to join him. They guide the captain over a jungle ridge to a simple, expansive medical clinic. It is equipped with clean beds and staffed with trained caretakers. They show the captain the shelves of medicine and introduce him to the staff. The captain, though impressed, sees nothing of Father Benjamin. He repeats his request. "I would like to see Father Benjamin. Can you take me to where he lives?"

The three natives look puzzled. They confer among themselves. After several minutes the chief invites, "Follow us to the other side of the island." They walk along the shoreline until they reach a series of fishponds. Canals connect the ponds to the ocean. As the tide rises, fish pass from the ocean into the ponds. The islanders then lower canal gates and trap the fish for harvest. Again the captain is amazed. He meets fishermen and workers, gatekeepers and net casters. But he sees nothing of Father Benjamin. He wonders if he is making himself clear.

"I don't see Father Benjamin. Please take me to where he lives."

The trio talks alone again. After some discussion the chief offers, "Let's go up the mountain." They lead the captain up a steep, narrow path. After many twists and turns the path deposits them in front of a grass-roofed chapel. The voice of the chief is soft and earnest. "He has taught us about God."

He escorts the captain inside and shows him the altar, a large wooden cross, several rows of benches, and a Bible.

"Is this where Father Benjamin lives?" the captain asks.

The men nod and smile.

"May I talk to him?"

Their faces grow suddenly serious. "Oh, that would be impossible."

“Why?”

"He died many years ago."

The bewildered captain stares at the men. "I asked to see him, and you showed me a clinic, some fish farms, and this chapel. You said nothing of his death."

"You didn't ask about his death," the chief explains. "You asked to see where he lives. We showed you."

WEARING A DIFFERENT SHIRT

A woman from Detroit once shared: “I’m working with children who are dying of leukemia. I was working with Jim who was eleven years old and Jim got very sick and he said, ‘When I die, cast my ashes on Lake Michigan.’”

“Well Jim died and his parents and Charlie, Jim’s five year old brother, went out on Lake Michigan. They had a nice, old, green boat with a motor and they cast Jim’s ashes.”

“Jim’s mother said, ‘Look at that butterfly! Isn’t that colourful? That’s Jim!’”

“They went out again and the Mother said, ‘Oh, it’s a monarch butterfly. It’s Jim!’”

“Another time they were on the beach and Charlie, the five year old had a stick and Charlie was stirring up the sand and an old grey moth flew up and he said, ‘Look! That’s Jim but he’s wearing a different shirt!’”

“What an image for death—wearing a different shirt!”

This story was told on National Public Radio and Jim’s Dad called and he said, ‘You know, when Charlie said, He’s wearing a different shirt, that was the beginning of a long process of healing."

THE LAW OF THE HARVEST

It was reputed that a very wise old man who lived on a hilltop overlooking the beautiful city of Venice, Italy, could answer any question anyone might ask him. Two local boys figured they could trick him, so they caught a bird and took it to the wise sage.

"Tell us," they asked, "is the bird in our hand dead or alive?"

The wise man replied, "Son, if I say the bird is alive, you will close your hands and crush it to death. Or, if I say the bird is dead, you will open your hands and it will fly away. You see, son, in your hands you hold the power of life and death."

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And so it is with life. Whether we succeed or fail, live a meaningful or empty life, it's all in our hands! For whatever we sow we reap.

SHACKLES

The highly competent and capable senior manager in a multinational company explained how he valued people’s appreciation.

“That helps me do my work well. When my boss is happy with me it makes my day. If he is upset or angry I am down all day. It’s the same story at home.”

“You have mortgaged your freedom for the appreciation of other people,” warned the teacher. “You can’t live your life based on the reassurance you find in the eyes of another person and still hope to be happy.”

FOCUS

One day some visitors talked about a common friend who was given six months to live and four years later was still alive but a very changed man.

The Teacher noted that contemplation of one’s death can give one a radically new perspective on life. “A driver’s mind gets very focused when he realizes he is being followed by a police car!”

MEMORY

In a very respectable hotel an old fellow in charge of the cloak room had been in the job for years and never bothered to give a ticket when coats were handed over to him.

A reporter got interested in him and asked the manager how the old man was able to keep track of so many courts without dockets.

“Oh, don’t worry about old Ted. He’s been doing that job for years, Never had a complaint,” said the manager.

The reporter decided to put him to the test on the next busy Saturday night. When leaving he asked for his coat and when he received one, he said, “How do you know if this is my coat?”

“I don’t,” replied Ted.

“Then why did you give it to me?” asked the reporter with a hint of triumph.

“Because that’s the coat you gave to me, sir,” said Ted.

THE REFLECTION

There was a king who presented his daughter with a beautiful diamond necklace. The necklace was stolen and his people in the kingdom searched everywhere but could not find it. The king then asked them all to search for it and put a reward for Rs. 50,000 for anyone who found it.

One day, a clerk was walking home along a river next to an industrial area. This river was completely polluted and filthy and smelly. As he was walking, the clerk saw a shimmering in the river and when he looked, he saw the diamond necklace. He decided to try and catch it so that he could get the Rs. 50,000 reward.

He put his hand in the filthy, dirty river and grabbed at the necklace, but some how missed it and didn't catch it. He took his hand out and looked again and the necklace was still there. He tried again. This time he walked in the river and dirtied his pants in the filthy river and put his whole arm in to catch the necklace.

But strangely, he still missed the necklace! He came out and started walking away, feeling depressed. Then again, he saw the necklace, right there. This time he was determined to get it, no matter what. He decided to plunge into the river. Although it was disgusting, he plunged in and searched everywhere for the necklace. Yet one more time, he failed. This time he was really bewildered and came out feeling very depressed that he could not get the necklace that would get him Rs. 50,000.

Just then, a saint who was walking by, saw him, and asked him what the matter was. The clerk didn't want to share the secret with the saint, thinking he might take the necklace for himself, so he refused to tell him anything.

The saint could see this man was troubled. Being compassionate, he again asked the clerk to tell him the problem and promised that he would not tell anyone about it. The clerk mustered some courage and decided to put some faith in the saint. He told him about the necklace and how he tried and tried to catch it, but kept failing.

The saint then told him that perhaps he should try looking upward, toward the branches of the tree, instead of in the filthy river. The clerk looked up and true enough, the necklace was dangling on the branch of a tree. He had been trying to capture a mere reflection of the real necklace all this time.

DIFFERENCE

Plutarch tells the story of Alexander the Great who came upon Diogenes looking attentively at a heap of human bones.

“What are you looking for?” asked Alexander.

“Something that I cannot find,” said the philosopher.

“And what is that?”

“The difference between your father’s bones and those of his slaves.”

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The following are just as indistinguishable: Catholic bones from Protestant bones. Hindu from Muslims bones, Arab bones from Israeli bones, Russian bones from American bones.

The enlightened fail to see the difference even when the bones are clothed in flesh!

TIME IS PRECIOUS

There was a crowd in the doctor’s waiting room: An elderly gentleman rose and approached the receptionist. “Madam,” he said courteously, “my appointment was for ten o’clock and it is almost eleven now. I cannot wait any longer. Would you kindly give me an appointment for another day?”

One woman in the crowd leaned over to another and said, “He must be at least eighty years old. What sort of urgent business can he have that he cannot afford to wait?”

The man overheard the whispered remark. He turned to the lady, bowed and said, “I am eighty-seven years old, lady. Which is precisely the reason why I cannot afford to waste a single minute of the precious time I have left.”

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The enlightened do not waste a minute because they have understood the relative unimportance of everything they do.

STAYING USEFUL

An eighty-five-year-old woman was being interviewed on her birthday. What advice would she have for people her age, the reporter asked.

“Well,” said the old dear, “at our age it is very important to keep using all our potential or it dries up. It is important to be with people and, if it is at all possible to earn one’s living through service. That’s what keeps us alive and well.”

“May I ask what exactly you do for a living at your age?”

“I look after an old lady in my neighbourhood,” was her unexpected, delightful reply.

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Love heals everyone —both those who receive it and those who give it.

A USELESS LIFE

A farmer got so old that he couldn't work the fields anymore. So he would spend the day just sitting on the porch. His son, still working the farm, would look up from time to time and see his father sitting there. "He's of no use any more," the son thought to himself, "he doesn't do anything!" 

One day the son got so frustrated by this, that he built a wood coffin, dragged it overto the porch, and told his father to get in. Without saying anything, the father climbed inside. After closing the lid, the son dragged the coffin to the edge of the farm where there was a high cliff. 

As he approached the drop, he heard a light tapping on the lid from inside the coffin. He opened it up. Still lying there peacefully, the father looked up at his son. "I know you are going to throw me over the cliff, but before you do, may I suggest something?" 

"What is it?" replied the son. 

"Throw me over the cliff, if you like," said the father, "but save this good wood coffin. Your children might need to use it."

JUMPING THE GUN

A fourteen-year old boy announced at dinner one evening that he had been chosen to teach his class the next day. His father who was an expert in Instructional Methods for the military seized this wonderful occasion to give his son the benefit of his own training and experience.

“This is the way we go about it in the army, son,” he said. “We first choose objectives made up of action, situation and level of performance. Now decide ahead of time what ACTION you want your students to per­form, in what SITUATION you want them to perform it and. finally HOW WELL you wish them to perform. And remember, all education must be directed at performance, performance, performance.”

The boy wasn’t impressed. All he said was, “It won’t work, Dad.”

“Of course it will. It always works. Why would it no! work?”

“Because,” said the young fellow. “I’m supposed to give a class on sex.”

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We must be careful of deciding ahead of time what the other is talking about!

ATTITUDE

Traveller; “What kind of weather are we going to have today?”

Shepherd: “The kind of weather I like.”

“How do you know it will be the kind of weather you like?”

“Having found out, sir, that I cannot always get what I like, I have learnt always to like what I get. So I am quite sure we will have the kind of weather I like.”

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Happiness and unhappiness are in the way we meet events, not in the nature of those events themselves.

PENALTY

A school teacher was ticketed for running a stop light and told to appear in traffic court the next Monday. She went to court immediately an appealed to the judge to handle her case right then, explaining that she was a teacher and had to teach on Monday

"A school-teacher, eh?" the magistrate said, "Your presence in my courtroom fulfills a lifetime ambition of mine. I want you to sit down at this table and write 500 times, 'I will stop at the red light'."