Thought for the day
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Rushing Through Life?
In The Book of Virtues, William I. Bennett tells a story called "The Magic Thread." In this French tale we read of Peter, a boy who is strong and able yet sadly flawed by an attitude of impatience. Always dissatisfied with his present condition, Peter spends his life daydreaming about the future.
One day while wandering in the forest, Peter meets a strange, old woman who gives him a most tantalizing opportuÂnity? The chance to skip the dull, mundane moments of life. She hands Peter a silver ball from which a tiny, gold thread proÂtrudes. "This is your life thread," she explains. "Do not touch it and time will pass normally But if you wish time to pass more quickly, you have only to pull the thread a little way and an hour will pass like a second. But I warn you, once the thread has been pulled out, it cannot be pushed back in again."
This magical thread seems the answer to all of Peter's probÂlems. It is just what he has always wanted. He takes the ball and runs home.
The following day in school Peter has his first opportunity
to put the silver ball to use. The lesson is dragging, and the teacher scolds Peter for not concentrating. Peter fingers the silver ball and gives the thread a slight tug. Suddenly the teacher disÂmisses the class, and Peter is free to leave school. He is overÂjoyed! How easy his life will now be. From this moment, Peter begins to pull the thread a little every day
But soon Peter begins to use the magic thread to rush through larger portions of life. Why waste time pulling the thread just a little every day when he can pull it hard and comÂplete school altogether? He does so and finds himself out of school and apprenticed in a trade. Peter uses the same techÂnique to rush through his engagement to his sweetheart. He cannot bear to wait months to marry her, so he uses the gold thread to hasten the arrival of his wedding day
Peter continues this pattern throughout his life. When hard, trying times come, he escapes them with his magic thread. 'When the baby cries at night, when he faces financial struggles, when he wishes his own children to be launched in careers of their own, Peter pulls the magic thread and bypasses the disÂcomfort of the moment.
But sadly, when he comes to the end of his life, Peter realizes
the emptiness of such an existence. By allowing impatience and discontentment to rule him, Peter has robbed himself of life~ richest moments and memories. With only the grave to look forward to, he deeply regrets ever having used the magic thread.
In introducing this story, Mr. Bennett insightfully comÂments, "Too often, people want what they want (or what they think they want, which is usually "happiness" in one form or another) right now. The irony of their impatience is that only by learning to wait, and by a willingness to accept the bad with the good, do we usually attain those things that are truly worthÂwhile." -
Today i also learn something...
which i will keep to myself...
but it is just another important lesson of life... -
A Spark Of inspiration
At the prodding of my friends, I am writing this story.
My name is Mildred Hondorf.I am a former elementary school music teacher from DeMoines, Iowa. I've always supplemented my income by teaching piano lessons-something I've done for over 30 years. Over the years I found that children have many levels of musical ability. I've never had the pleasure of having a protege though I have taught some talented students. However I've also had my share of what I call "musically challenged" pupils.
One such student was Robby. Robby was 11 years old when his mother (a single mom) dropped him off for his first piano lesson. I prefer that students begin at an earlier age, which I explained to Robby. But Robby said that it had always been his mother's dream to hear him play the piano. So I took him as a student. Well, Robby began with his piano lessons and from the beginning I thought it was a hopeless endeavor. As much as Robby tried, he lacked the sense of tone and basic rhythm needed to excel.
But he dutifully reviewed his scales and some elementary pieces that I require all my students to learn. Over the months he tried and tried while I listened and cringed and tried to encourage him. At the end of each weekly lesson he'd always say, "My mom's going to hear me play someday."
But it seemed hopeless. He just did not have any inborn ability. I only knew his mother from a distance as she dropped Robby off or waited in her aged car to pick him up. She always waved and smiled but never stopped in. Then one day Robby stopped coming to our lessons. I thought about calling him but assumed, because of his lack of ability, that he had decided to pursue something else. I also was glad that he stopped coming. He was a bad advertisement for my teaching!
Several weeks later I mailed to the student's homes a flyer on the upcoming recital. To my surprise Robby (who received a flyer) asked me if he could be in the recital. I told him that the recital was for current pupils and because he had dropped out he really did not qualify. He said that his mom had been sick and unable to take him to piano lessons but he was still practicing. "Miss Hondorf...I've just got to play!" he insisted.I don't know what led me to allow him to play in the recital. Maybe it was his persistence or maybe it was something inside of me saying that it would be all right.
The night for the recital came. The high school gymnasium was packed with parents, friends and relatives. I put Robby up last in the program before I was to come up and thank all the students and play a finishing piece. I thought that any damage he would do would come at the end of the program and I could always salvage his poor performance through my "curtain closer."
Well, the recital went off without a hitch. The students had been practicing and it showed. Then Robby came up on stage. His clothes were wrinkled and his hair looked like he had run an eggbeater through it. "Why didn't he dress up like the other students?" I thought. "Why didn't his mother at least make him comb his hair for this special night?"
Robby pulled out the piano bench and he began.I was surprised when he announced that he had chosen Mozart's Concerto #21 in C Major. I was not prepared for what I heard next. His fingers were light on the keys, they even danced nimbly on the ivories. He went from pianissimo to fortissimo...from allegro to virtuoso. His suspended chords that Mozart demands were magnificent! Never had I heard Mozart played so well by people his age.
After six and a half minutes he ended in a grand crescendo and everyone was on their feet in wild applause. Overcome and in tears I ran up on stage and put my arms around Robby in joy "I've never heard you play like that Robby! How'd you do it?" Through the microphone Robby explained: "Well Miss Hondorf...remember I told you my mom was sick? Well, actually she had cancer and passed away this morning. And well....she was born deaf so tonight was the first time she ever heard me play. I wanted to make it special."
There wasn't a dry eye in the house that evening. As the people from Social Services led Robby from the stage to be placed into foster care, I noticed that even their eyes were red and puffy and I thought to myself how much richer my life had been for taking Robby as my pupil.
No, I've never had a prodigy but that night I became a protege... of Robby's. He was the teacher and I was the pupil. For it is he that taught me the meaning of perseverance and love and believing in yourself and maybe even taking a chance in someone and you don't know why. This is especially meaningful to me since after serving in Desert Storm Robby was killed in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P.Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City in April of 1995, where he was reportedly.... playing the piano.
And now, a footnote to the story. If you are thinking about forwarding this message, you are probably thinking about which people on your address list aren't the "appropriate" ones to receive this type of message. The person who sent this to you believes that we can all make a difference. We all have thousands of opportunities a day to help realize our life's plan. So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice: Do we pass along a spark of inspiration? Or do we pass up that opportunity, and leave the world a bit colder in the process? -
Peter only think about his own happiness, he always try to skip things which gives him troubles, which makes him bored.. by doing this, life is meaningless..
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How Could You?
WHEN I WAS A PUPPY I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend. Whenever I was "bad," you'd shake your finger at me and ask "How could you?" - but then you'd relent and roll me over for a bellyrub.
My housetraining took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together. I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed, listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs," you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.
Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love.
She, now your wife, is not a "dog person" - still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy. Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a "prisoner of love."
As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them, especially their touch - because your touch was now so infrequent - and I would have defended them with my life if need be.
I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams. Together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway. There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the subject. I had gone from being your dog to "just a dog," and you resented every expenditure on my behalf.
Now you have a new career opportunity in another city and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made the right decision for your "family," but there was a time when I was your only family.
I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said "I know you will find a good home for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog or cat, even one with "papers."
You had to pry your son's fingers loose from my collar as he screamed "No, Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!" And I worried for him and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life. You gave me a goodbye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too.
After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked "How could you?"
They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you - that you had changed your mind - that this was all a bad dream...or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me. When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited.
I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room. A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table, rubbed my ears and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood.
She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured "How could you?"
Perhaps because she understood my dogspeak, she said "I'm so sorry." She hugged me and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself - a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place. With my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not meant for her. It was you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of. I will think of you and wait for you forever.
May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty. -
Read a similiar story...but it was about a little gal and a man at the beach and the gal was suffering from cancer or something, plotwise its the same
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Lose or Win
A girl lost her favourite watch and she was very unhappy, she
even fall sick because of that.
The priest came to visit her while she was sick and asked
her,"If one day you accidentally dropped one hundred thousand dollars, would you accidentally dropped another two hundred thousand dollars again?"
The girl replied,"Of course not."
The priest said again,"If that is the case, why did you let
yourself lose two weeks of happiness after you have lost your watch? And also went on to let yourself lose two weeks of health?"
The girl was suddenly enlightened and jumped out of bed.
She said,"You are right. I refuse to lose more than what I did. From today onwards, I will earn back the money I need to buy myself another watch."
Life is full of winning and losing and also full of challenges.
It doesn't matter if you lose, if you live for yourself, then that
is truly LIFE.
Some people refuse to accept the truth and to start again,
thus they end up losing more and more in life and end up nothing can be done to bring back what they lost.
If you are losing in your life now, don't continue letting yourself lose more than what you did. Put a stop to that situation and do not be afraid to start from scatch. -
A Spark Of inspiration
what a touching story, Robby played the piano so well just to let her mother listen, but her mother is deaf.
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How Could You?
So many sad stories, the life of a dog..
i always wanted a dog but my parents disallow as they know i won't take care of it. This is a nice story, talking about the life of a dog, when it's young.. when the master is lonely, the dog is like a wife to him, and when the master got a mate and his own career, he starts to neglect this cute little dog and in the end, have to abandon it due to the family moving to a new estate that doesn't allow dogs.. [/b]