Spring Forever In My Heart

By Bob Perks

 

"I can't believe it. These blooms have lasted so long this year," my wife said.

"I hadn't really thought about it, but you are right. As much as I love Lilacs, they come and go so fast," I said.

It has been incredibly exciting this year here in my back-yard. Our Lilac tree has produced the most blooms I have ever seen. The scent is so wonderful that I spend a lot of time just standing on our small deck breathing it all in.

Many of the branches are hollow and cracked leaving me to believe it has seen many Springs. A few winters ago one of the biggest branches crashed to the ground under the weight of melting snow. It broke my heart. I guess I wasn't expecting much from the old thing this year. But it is magnificent!

Since we have been experiencing so much rain lately the flowers have become heavier. The once tall bush seems to be under a lot of pressure. I can relate to that. There are big gaps because the branches are lower.

Sadly, today I noticed the first bunch of flowers turning brown. It won't be long until they are all gone. But here's what I've learned from it.

Some people are like fragrant flowers. They come into our lives ever so briefly and leave behind a scent that remains embedded in our being. They brighten your day by just having had contact with them even if for a moment. If kindness would have scent it would remind you of them.

Like when I smell pine, all the best Christmas memories rush through mymind. When I smell roses I think of romantic, moon filled evenings.

Some people, having given so much to you, remain a part of who you are forever. You cannot possibly go through a day without thinking about them. Their beautiful spirit gently nudges your heart each time you hear their name. The very thought of them stirs within your soul like the sweet fragrance of a thousand roses.

Loved ones who have passed on, having given their lives to you, having stayed in bloom through a life time of eternal Spring, are like these Lilacs. Although my heart is saddened having discovered that they are dying, I will not remember them that way. I will forever see a thousand blooms each time I think of them. In the coldest, darkest days of the winter of my life, the memory of them will get me through it all. Even the slightest fragrance, a wisp of "almost there again," will bring a smile to my face and my heart will pound remembering the love.

Oh God, thank you not only for the beauty of the people you bring into mylife, but for the lingering fragrance and everlasting memories of ever having loved them at all.

Loving them and believing in you, means I will have "spring forever in myheart."

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Bob's signature story, "I Wish You Enough,"has been released by Thomas Nelson Publishers and features a collection of his stories based on theeight wishes expressed in the original story. His inspiring true stories are based on the people he meets in his travels. Bob's unique perspective on life makes him "the philosopher of everyday moments."

 

For more information visit his website at: http://www.IWishYouEnough.com  or email Bob your comments to perksblog@hotmail.com 

Appreciate the help of others...

One young academically excellent person went to apply for a managerial position in a big company.

He passed the first interview, the director did the last interview, made the last decision.

The director discovered from the CV that the youth's academic achievements were excellent all the way, from the secondary school until the postgraduate research, never had a year when he did not score.

The director asked, "Did you obtain any scholarships in school?" the youth answered "none".

The director asked, " Was it your father who paid for your school fees?" The youth answered, "My father passed away when I was one year old, it was my mother who paid for my school fees.

The director asked, " Where did your mother work?" The youth answered, "My mother worked as clothes cleaner. The director requested the youth to show his hands. The youth showed a pair of hands that were smooth and perfect.

The director asked, " Have you ever helped your mother wash the clothes before?" The youth answered, "Never, my mother always wanted me to study and read more books. Furthermore, my mother can wash clothes faster than me.

The director said, "I have a request. When you go back today, go and clean your mother's hands, and then see me tomorrow morning.*

The youth felt that his chance of landing the job was high. When he went back, he happily requested his mother to let him clean her hands. His mother felt strange, happy but with mixed feelings, she showed her hands to the kid.

The youth cleaned his mother's hands slowly. His tear fell as he did that. It was the first time he noticed that his mother's hands were so wrinkled, and there were so many bruises in her hands. Some bruises were so painful that his mother shivered when they were cleaned with water.

This was the first time the youth realized that it was this pair of hands that washed the clothes everyday to enable him to pay the school fee. The bruises in the mother's hands were the price that the mother had to pay for his graduation, academic excellence and his future.

After finishing the cleaning of his mother hands, the youth quietly washed all the remaining clothes for his mother.

That night, mother and son talked for a very long time.

Next morning, the youth went to the director's office.

The Director noticed the tears in the youth's eyes, asked: " Can you tell me what have you done and learned yesterday in your house?"

The youth answered, " I cleaned my mother's hand, and also finished cleaning all the remaining clothes'

The Director asked, " please tell me your feelings."

The youth said, Number 1, I know now what is appreciation. Without my mother, there would not the successful me today. Number 2, by working together and helping my mother, only I now realize how difficult and tough it is to get something done. Number 3, I have come to appreciate the importance and value of family relationship.

The director said, " This is what I am looking for to be my manager.
I want to recruit a person who can appreciate the help of others, a person who knows the sufferings of others to get things done, and a person who would not put money as his only goal in life. You are hired.

Later on, this young person worked very hard, and received the respect of his subordinates. Every employee worked diligently and as a team. The company's performance improved tremendously.

Motivation for Today...

There is no scarcity of opportunity to make a living at what you love; there’s only a scarcity of resolve to make it happen.

~Wayne Dyer

FOUR LESSONS

By Charmaine R. Velasco

When I became pregnant with our first child in 2002, my husband and I were inundated with advice and old wives tales. I recall my aunts saying, "You can tell whether you're having a girl if you're carrying high." Or was it "low?" We had a boy. Two of them. One is now six years old and the other is four.

Then I read an article somewhere claiming, "Don't lift your arms up too high, or you might overstretch the umbilical cord and choke the baby." I practiced prenatal yoga stretching. The downward facing dog did wonders for my aching sides. Also, I am happy to tell you that both of my boys did not choke from the umbilical cord in vitro. They did have the occasional hiccups, however.

Advice was taken with grace, some with gritted teeth and some with genuine gratitude. What no one shared with us during my time of prenatal bliss were the post-partum events, which I was not prepared for. These occurrences span from the newborn phase through Kindergarten. I'll just share with you my top four lessons in the school of parenting.

Lesson one, I was clueless as to how much discomfort was involved, down there. Note that this is after giving birth. I naively thought that the birthing process alone was the most painful part. The swelling and soreness after the baby was born were highly unexpected. Let's just say that ice packs and an inflatable doughnut were my best friends forever, well, at least for a week or so.

Lesson two, the popular nursery rhyme along the lines of, "Snips of snails and puppy dog's tails, that's what little boys are made of" is a slanderous lie. Most of the little boys I have come across are sweet and sensitive children, including my own. They actually cry more than my two-year-old niece when injured. My niece just gets right back to playing without so much as a whimper. 

Meanwhile, our boys are milking the soothing process for as long as possible, just so they can get unlimited hugs from Mama. Also, if you've ever seen my sisters and me fighting as kids, the "sugar and spice and all things nice" phrase was not the most accurate description of us.

Lesson three, Cain and Abel suffered sibling rivalry before the birth of Christ. I highly doubt that this biblical archetype of brotherhood dispute will go away anytime in the near future. When my two sons fight, luckily, they don't hit each other. Instead, they are the tattletale cops for everything that the other one does. The younger one is the Chief of Police in this department. 

Now I know why my mother would get so upset after walking into one of our childhood war zones. You get protective of each child when one hurts the other. Being a referee in this sport is like being a criminal judge for both parties.

Lesson four, the bittersweetness we experienced when our firstborn sauntered through Kindergarten was met with confidence, yet trepidation. Our son matured from a tender preschooler to an official big boy with big boy buddies who love Star Wars. The connection with father and son changed too. Our Kindergartner went from kisses to high fives at morning drop off. Then the emotional pull from each song recital was enough to make me long for those zombie-like nights of nursing at a fuzzy three o'clock in the morning.

As our boys grow older, I am aware that there will be more lessons to learn from. These four are just the beginning of a series of triumphs and challenges. I am quite sure that there will be more suggestions, solicited or unsolicited. In the meantime, I will continue to cry at school concerts and at each time an entire book is read without too much help from Mama and Papa.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Charmaine R. Velasco and her husband Allen, have been happily married for 12 years. They were high school best friends so, really, they've been together for about 20 years. They have two beautiful and sweet boys ages 6 and 4. Charmaine is a Certified Family Manager Coach, as well as a writer, photographer, and editor. You can contact her atcharmaine@thebalancednest.com

Think About.........

It is easy to sit up and take notice.  What is difficult is getting up and taking action.

~Al Batt 

MY FATHER

By Barbara Springthorpe

Today, April 12, 2009, is the 21st anniversary of my father's death. It seems amazing to me. As one who has lived through it, I can tell you that grief does ease up after awhile. As we know, it never goes away (and that's a good thing), but it does get easier.



When I played guitar and piano (neither very well, by the way, and that's the truth, not false humility), I wrote a song about my father - I was remembering how, when I was in second grade, he took me to a Rosary and Benediction service every night at our parish church during the month of May. It was quite a privilege for me because my father almost always worked two jobs and hardly had any time to spend with just 1 of his 6 kids.

His was a deep, steady faith, but not a showy one. I slowly realized after his death that he had taught me by example, the most powerful way to learn. As I was writing it, I also realized it was about my mother. Neither of them was perfect, no one is, but they were good people.

One thing I didn't learn from them was self-confidence. It has taken me years to even tell people about writing music, but today seems like an appropriate day to share the lyrics with you.


Did you know that I was watching you for all those years?


Did you know that I was learning from you silently to care?


I took the gifts you gave me from your heart and made them mine.


I claimed them for my own life, ties that will always bind.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Barbara Springthorpe submitted this remembrance of her father.

Please, Daddy, Don't Do That Again!

By Tim Wright

When my son was only about three years old, he and his sisters were playing a game that involved chasing each other though the house with loud giggles of laugher erupting every few minutes whenever one of them came close to tagging one of their siblings.

The giggles were interrupted suddenly by a loud crash followed by a blood-curdling cry of pain. I jumped to my feet and ran to the living room where the apparent mishap had occurred. My son had come around the corner too fast and had fallen head first into the corner of a table. I quickly picked him up from the floor where he was lying and held him in my arms both to comfort him and to examine the wound. Streams of blood gushed from his forehead.

By the time we reached the emergency room, his tears had subsided a bit, but I was nervously anticipating the slight trauma still ahead of us. After examining my son's forehead, the doctor confirmed that he would need to stitch the wound in order for it to heal properly. The good news was that the cut would require only one stitch. The bad news was that the doctor planned to do it without any anesthesia. "We can stick him once or we can stick him twice," the doctor informed me.

I was then told that giving him a shot to anesthetize the area would be just as painful and traumatic as giving him the single stitch. The shot would then have to be followed by a second "stick" to actually stitch up the wound. I reluctantly agreed with the doctor and opted for the single "stick".

I encouraged my son that he was being a "brave little boy" as the doctors and I gently strapped a restraining device around his tiny body to keep him from thrashing around on the table during the procedure.

Inside, I was fighting back tears as he looked at me with frightened, but trusting eyes. "Keep looking at Daddy," I encouraged him. "You're being a very brave little boy." His huge eyes remained locked on mine as the doctor gently washed out the cut and prepared to stitch the wound shut.

"Okay, here we go," the doctor said quietly. "It should be quick." "Keep looking at me," I said, trying to smile and draw his trusting eyes into mine. "Daddy's right here." With precision and swiftness, the doctor quickly stabbed the curved needle into the swollen flesh near the cut on my son's forehead. My son's eye's widened as he gasped in pain. Then in a whimpering voice that carried the sweetness and innocence that only a three year-old can summon, he looked up at me and said, "Please don't do that again, Daddy."

My heart broke. How do you explain to your three year-old son that the pain he is experiencing-the pain that, in his mind at least, was caused by me-was inflicted with love, with a desire and design to bring healing? Oddly enough, that is one of my most precious memories of my son's early childhood. The procedure was over almost as quickly as it had begun and, after a few hours, my son had returned to giggling with his sisters. (Running in the house, however, was forever banned from that point onward.)

His trust and sweet response to the ordeal continues to pierce my heart with love for him. This episode is also a reminder for me of our heavenly Father's love and care for us and for those around us who may be experiencing a painful season in life.

In my mind's eye, I can envision God holding us as our Father whenever we're hurting and telling us to keep our eyes on Him and to trust Him, even if we don't understand why things are happening to us. When we're tempted to blame Him for our pain or to cry out, "Please don't do that again, Daddy," we can take comfort in knowing that He is very near to us, that He loves us and to trust that, even though we may not always understand, there is a higher purpose at work in everything that happens to us.

So keep your eyes on Him. Trust Him. He's holding you and healing you. He will never let you go. Know, too, that giggling-or however you experience joy-will soon be a part of your life again.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Tim Wright, Ph.D. http://www.godcenteredwealth.com Tim Wright is a freelance writer and internet entrepreneur living in Virginia. He can be reached at timowri@gmail.com