THIEF!
I remember as a small child when we would have these gatherings
with either family or friends. Invariably someone would come
up and mention my "cuteness" and ask, "What are you going to be
when you grow up?"
Well, it started out being a cowboy or some super hero. Later
it was fireman, policeman, lawyer... As I grew older my dreams
of the future changed. When, at last, I was in college, I was
asked, "What will you major in?" Another question designed to
find out what I would be when I "grew up."
By then I had my heart set on becoming a preacher as my father
before me. So I studied and prepared for that life. I reached
success in that endeavor. I was preaching nearly full-time for
much of my adult life. Physical disability keeps me from plying
my trade full-time anymore, but I still am called upon to preach
here and there. I am content that I could realize my dream and
perhaps have a positive influence on someone's life. My kids
are now reaching their dreams and it thrills me to watch them
achieve their goals.
However, for many, there is a "thief" which goes around stealing
our dreams and robbing us of the necessary mental state to attain
our goals.
Sometimes, the thief will come as a parent, a relative, a friend
or a co-worker, but the greatest thief is, so many times, just
ourselves.
We find ourselves just about reaching the pinnacle, and this
"small" voice inside says, "You'll never make it." "You can't
possibly do this." "Very few have ever done this successfully."
And on and on the "small" voice predicts some kind of
failure. Failure, though, is exactly how dreams are realized.
It is one of the most important tools we have, because it teaches
us invaluable lessons. And, when we learn these lessons well, we
are poised and ready for success, which is probably just around
the corner.
The message I always gave my children was, you are capable of
doing anything your heart desires. You are smart enough,
good-looking enough, strong enough, and worthy of reaching the
stars. The human spirit is indomitable. Remember the saying,
"If you can conceive it, and your heart can believe it, you can
achieve it."
There are no "overnight" successes, but with perseverance, it
will come. Imagine yourself in the life you dream of living.
Then in your heart, believe it will happen for you, as it has
for others. Then work, work, work, work. You get the picture.
So, be true to your dream, and don't let anyone steal it from
you -- especially yourself. You can do anything your heart
desires, so don't give up or give in. Let the dream in you live.
Larry Harp
Sioux Indian Story
"My grandfather took me to the fish pond on the farm
when I was about seven, and he told me to throw a
stone into the water. He told me to watch the circles
created by the stone.Then he asked me to think of
myself as that stone person.
"You may create lots of splashes in your life but the
waves that come from those splashes will disturb the
peace of all your fellow creatures," he said.
"Remember that you are responsible for what you put
in your circle and that circle will also touch many other
circles. You will need to live in a way that allows the
good that comes from your circle to send the peace of
that goodness to others. The splash that comes from
anger or jealousy will send those feelings to other circles.
You are responsible for both."
That was the first time I realized each person creates
the inner peace or discord that flows out into the world.
We cannot create world peace if we are riddled with
inner conflict, hatred, doubt, or anger. We radiate the
feelings and thoughts that we hold inside, whether we
speak them or not. Whatever is splashing around inside
of us is spilling out into the world, creating beauty or
discord with all other circles of life.
- Unknown
Red Marbles
During the waning years of the depression
in a small southeastern Idaho community,
I used to stop by Brother Miller's roadside stand for
farm-fresh produce as the season made it available.
Food and money were still extremely scarce and bartering was used,
extensively. One particular day Brother Miller was bagging some early
potatoes for me.
I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean,
hungrily appraising a basket of freshly picked green peas.
I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green
peas.
I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.
Pondering the peas I couldn't help overhearing the conversation
between Brother Miller and the ragged boy next to me.
"Hello Barry, how are you today?"
"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas......
sure look good."
"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"
"Fine. Gittin' stronger alla'time."
"Good. Anything I can help you with "
"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."
"Would you like to take some home?"
"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."
"Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?"
"All I got's my prize aggie ? best taw around here."
"Is that right? Let me see it."
"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."
"I can see that. Hmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go
for red.
Do you have a red one like this at home?"
"Not 'zackley . . . but, almost."
"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and
next trip this way let me look at that red taw."
"Sure will. Thanks, Mr. Miller."
Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me.
With a smile she said: "There are two other boys like him in our
community; all three are in very poor circumstances.
Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes or
whatever.
When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do,
he decides he doesn't like red after all and
he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble
or an orange one, perhaps."
I left the stand, smiling to myself, impressed with this man.
A short time later I moved to Utah but I never forgot the story of
this man, the boys and their bartering.
Several years went by each more rapid than the previous one.
Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho
community and while I was there learned that Brother Miller had died.
They were having his viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to
go, I agreed to accompany them.
Upon our arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives
of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could. Ahead of
us in line were three young men.
One was in an Army uniform and the other two wore
short haircuts, dark suits and white shirts,
obviously potential or returned missionaries.
They approached Mrs. Miller, standing smiling and composed,
by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed
her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket.
Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one,
each young man stopped briefly and placed his
own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket.
Each left the mortuary, awkwardly, wiping his eyes.
Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller.
I told her who I was and mentioned the story she had told me about the
marbles. Eyes glistening she took my hand and led me to the casket.
"This is an amazing coincidence," she said. "Those three young men,
that just left, were the boys I told you about. They just told me
how they appreciated the things Jim "traded" them.
Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or
size... they came to pay their debt. We've never had a great deal
of the wealth of this world," she confided, "but, right now,
Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho."
With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased
husband. Resting underneath were three, magnificently shiny, red
marbles.
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