I was driving home from a meeting this evening about 5, stuck in traffic on Colorado Blvd., and the car started to choke and splutter and die. I barely managed to coast, cursing, into a gas station, glad only that I would not be blocking traffic and would have a somewhat warm spot to wait for the tow truck.
Before I could make the call, I saw a woman walking out of the quickie mart building, and it looked like she slipped on some ice and fell into a gas pump, so I got out to see if she was okay When I got there, it looked more like she had been overcome by sobs than that she had fallen; she was a young woman who looked really haggard with dark circles under her eyes. She dropped something as I helped her up, and I picked it up to give it to her. It was a nickel.
At that moment, everything came into focus for me: the crying woman, the ancient Suburban crammed full of stuff with 3 kids in the back (1 in a car seat), and the gas pump reading $4.95.
I asked her if she was okay and if she needed help, and she just kept saying 'I don't want my kids to see me crying!', so we stood on the other side of the pump from her car. She said she was driving to California and that things were very hard for her right now. So I asked, 'And you were praying?' That made her back away from me a little, but I assured her I was not a crazy person and said, 'He heard you, and He sent me.'
I took out my card and swiped it through the card reader on the pump so she could fill up her car completely, and while it was fuelling, walked to the next door McDonald's and bought 2 big bags of food, some gift certificates for more, and a big cup of coffee. She gave the food to the kids in the car, who attacked it like wolves, and we stood by the pump eating fries and talking a little.
She told me her name, and that she lived in Kansas City. Her boyfriend left 2 months ago and she had not been able to make ends meet. She knew she wouldn't have money to pay the rent on Jan 1st, and finally, in desperation, had called her parents, with whom she had not spoken in about 5 years. They lived in California and said she could come live with them and try to get on her feet there. So she packed up everything she owned in the car. She told the kids they were going to California for Christmas, but not that they were going to live there.
I gave her my gloves, a little hug and said a quick prayer with her for safety on the road. As I was walking over to my car, she said, 'So, are you like an angel or something?'
This definitely made me cry. I said, 'Sweetie, at this time of year angels are really busy, so sometimes God uses regular people.'
It was so incredible to be a part of someone else's miracle. And of course, you guessed it, when I got in my car it started right away and got me home with no problem. I'll put it in the shop tomorrow to check, but I suspect the mechanic won't find anything wrong.
Sometimes the angels fly so close enough to you that you can hear the flutter of their wings...
~ Author Unknown
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"…we can feel the real joy of giving when we're doing something for others knowing that we're simply doing it for ourselves - we're doing it for our own joy."
~ Author Unknown
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Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
2010-51 - Wild Flowers…
Each spring brings a new blossom of wildflowers in the ditches along the highway I travel daily to work.
There is one particular blue flower that has always caught my eye. I've noticed that it blooms only in the morning hours, the afternoon sun is too warm for it. Every day for approximately two weeks, I see those beautiful flowers.
This spring, I started a wildflower garden in our yard. I can look out of the kitchen window while doing the dishes and see the flowers. I've often thought that those lovely blue flowers from the ditch would look great in that bed alongside other wildflowers. Every day I drove past the flowers thinking, "I'll stop on my way home and dig them." Gee, I don't want to get my good clothes dirty..." Whatever the reason, I never stopped to dig them.
One day on my way home from work, I was saddened to see that the highway department had mowed the ditches and the pretty blue flowers were gone. I thought to myself, "Way to go, you waited too long. You should have done it when you first saw them blooming this spring.
"A week ago we were shocked and saddened to learn that my oldest sister-in-law has a terminal brain tumor. She is 20 years older than my husband and unfortunately, because of age and distance, we haven't been as close as we all would have liked. I couldn't help but see the connection between the pretty blue flowers and the relationship between my husband's sister and us. I do believe that God has given us some time left to plant some wonderful memories that will bloom every year for us.
And yes, if I see the blue flowers again, you can bet I'll stop and transplant them to my wildflower garden.
Brenda Urbanek
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“There are a million ways to lose a work day, but not even a single way to get one back”
~Tom DeMarco and Timothy Lister
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There is one particular blue flower that has always caught my eye. I've noticed that it blooms only in the morning hours, the afternoon sun is too warm for it. Every day for approximately two weeks, I see those beautiful flowers.
This spring, I started a wildflower garden in our yard. I can look out of the kitchen window while doing the dishes and see the flowers. I've often thought that those lovely blue flowers from the ditch would look great in that bed alongside other wildflowers. Every day I drove past the flowers thinking, "I'll stop on my way home and dig them." Gee, I don't want to get my good clothes dirty..." Whatever the reason, I never stopped to dig them.
One day on my way home from work, I was saddened to see that the highway department had mowed the ditches and the pretty blue flowers were gone. I thought to myself, "Way to go, you waited too long. You should have done it when you first saw them blooming this spring.
"A week ago we were shocked and saddened to learn that my oldest sister-in-law has a terminal brain tumor. She is 20 years older than my husband and unfortunately, because of age and distance, we haven't been as close as we all would have liked. I couldn't help but see the connection between the pretty blue flowers and the relationship between my husband's sister and us. I do believe that God has given us some time left to plant some wonderful memories that will bloom every year for us.
And yes, if I see the blue flowers again, you can bet I'll stop and transplant them to my wildflower garden.
Brenda Urbanek
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“There are a million ways to lose a work day, but not even a single way to get one back”
~Tom DeMarco and Timothy Lister
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Tuesday, November 30, 2010
2010-49 - Quite a Character…
I can remember when I was a child in grade school, my parents would attend the PTA meetings. I stayed at home shaking in my boots, fearful of what my teachers had to say about me. I don't know why. Most of the time when they returned home, my father would say, "I asked how you were doing in class. She said 'Bob's a charmer.'" I'd smile and sigh with relief.
"You're quite a character, Bob," my mother would tell me. So, for most of my life I thought being a character was the most important thing.
Then one day when I had been much too long in adulthood, I heard someone talk about my reputation. It wasn't very flattering. Most likely truthful to some extent, but not something I'd want my parents to hear at PTA. Being a charmer doesn't always work for good. I also discovered that being a character isn't as good as having character. Being a character is like being a clown, an actor of sorts. Having character involves morals and ethics.
During a discussion I was involved with one day, a man made a very strong point. One that lit the fire and sparked the desire for me to make changes in my life. He quoted Dale Carnegie, "Be more concerned with your character than your reputation, because your character is what you really are, while your reputation is merely what others think you are."
That was it. If one focuses on their character, one need not worry about their reputation. Reputation is someone's interpretation of who they think you are. How they see you is based on their judgments, prejudices, and personal experiences. Like all other views and opinions in life, it all comes down to the way you see it, the way I see it and the way it is.
~ Bob Perks
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“The measure of a man's real character is what he would do if he knew he never would be found out.”
Thomas Babington Macaulay
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"You're quite a character, Bob," my mother would tell me. So, for most of my life I thought being a character was the most important thing.
Then one day when I had been much too long in adulthood, I heard someone talk about my reputation. It wasn't very flattering. Most likely truthful to some extent, but not something I'd want my parents to hear at PTA. Being a charmer doesn't always work for good. I also discovered that being a character isn't as good as having character. Being a character is like being a clown, an actor of sorts. Having character involves morals and ethics.
During a discussion I was involved with one day, a man made a very strong point. One that lit the fire and sparked the desire for me to make changes in my life. He quoted Dale Carnegie, "Be more concerned with your character than your reputation, because your character is what you really are, while your reputation is merely what others think you are."
That was it. If one focuses on their character, one need not worry about their reputation. Reputation is someone's interpretation of who they think you are. How they see you is based on their judgments, prejudices, and personal experiences. Like all other views and opinions in life, it all comes down to the way you see it, the way I see it and the way it is.
~ Bob Perks
==========
“The measure of a man's real character is what he would do if he knew he never would be found out.”
Thomas Babington Macaulay
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Tuesday, November 23, 2010
2010-48 - Run With Intent…
Fred Lebow once complained to his doctor that he lacked energy. His doctor advised him to take up running in order to increase his stamina. He fell in love with it! He was 39 years old when he entered his first race - and did horribly. He beat only one other contestant - a 72-year-old man. But he loved it!
Fred decided what he really wanted to do - and he did it in his spare time. He joined the New York Road Runners Club and organized New York City's first marathon race. But what Fred truly wanted to do, even more than run, was to bring people together. And that is what he did. He believe that anybody should be able to run - people of all ages, any background, professional or amateur, and of any country. Today, more than 28,000 people of all backgrounds and nationalities compete in the NYC Marathon.
Not everyone in New York was excited about people running through their neighbourhoods. Fred was approached by a youth gang that warned him that nobody had better run through their turf. "That's great," Fred enthused. "I need someone to protect the runners in your area, and you look like just the fellows to do it." He gave them each a hat, shirt and jacket and that year, when the marathon went through their neighbourhood, these young men proudly guarded the runners along their way.
Fred decided what was truly important to him and he found a way to do it. He lived with intent. That single decision made his life remarkably different.
In 1990, Fred Lebow found he had a brain tumour. In 1992 he ran his final race. He crossed the finish line holding the hand of his friend and Norwegian Olympic medallist, Grete Waitz. A bronze statue was created of Fred in his running clothes, checking his watch. It is now placed at the finish line of every race. Fred died in 1994. But as one sports writer said, "Fate handed him a short race. With his gall, with his love of life, Fred Lebow turned it into a marathon."
Fred would say that it's not about how long you live, but how you run the race of life. Do you run it with intent?
~ Steve Goodier
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"The man who is intent on making the most of his opportunities is too busy to bother about luck."
B. C. Forbes
==========
Fred decided what he really wanted to do - and he did it in his spare time. He joined the New York Road Runners Club and organized New York City's first marathon race. But what Fred truly wanted to do, even more than run, was to bring people together. And that is what he did. He believe that anybody should be able to run - people of all ages, any background, professional or amateur, and of any country. Today, more than 28,000 people of all backgrounds and nationalities compete in the NYC Marathon.
Not everyone in New York was excited about people running through their neighbourhoods. Fred was approached by a youth gang that warned him that nobody had better run through their turf. "That's great," Fred enthused. "I need someone to protect the runners in your area, and you look like just the fellows to do it." He gave them each a hat, shirt and jacket and that year, when the marathon went through their neighbourhood, these young men proudly guarded the runners along their way.
Fred decided what was truly important to him and he found a way to do it. He lived with intent. That single decision made his life remarkably different.
In 1990, Fred Lebow found he had a brain tumour. In 1992 he ran his final race. He crossed the finish line holding the hand of his friend and Norwegian Olympic medallist, Grete Waitz. A bronze statue was created of Fred in his running clothes, checking his watch. It is now placed at the finish line of every race. Fred died in 1994. But as one sports writer said, "Fate handed him a short race. With his gall, with his love of life, Fred Lebow turned it into a marathon."
Fred would say that it's not about how long you live, but how you run the race of life. Do you run it with intent?
~ Steve Goodier
==========
"The man who is intent on making the most of his opportunities is too busy to bother about luck."
B. C. Forbes
==========
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
2010-47 - From Spark To Flame…
When my now 19 year old daughter was in Grade 3, all of Mrs. Mathews' students were given a small pot with a bean seed to plant. Green string beans it seems are pretty hardy and the perfect seed to use when promoting green thumbs in young children.
Once the bean plants had sprouted and flowered, their teacher allowed the kids to carefully transfer the precious cargo from school to home. Once home, Shanna scouted around for the perfect location and settled on a sunny south window sill and then proudly declared, "Soon I can feed the whole family!"
Shanna's sisters were envious and even our cat looked intrigued which should have been a warning to me because when I woke up the next morning, I saw that the bean plant had been maliciously ripped from its pot. It's leaves were frayed and it was quite unrecognizable from the day before. The plant, it seemed, was a goner.
I dreaded what I had to tell Shanna but as I gently began to explain that the bean plant had to be put in the compost, her reaction was not what I expected. She said, "Everything will be okay Mom, the plant will get better."
Without wasting a second in thought she secured the first aid kit from the bathroom returning with gauze, a tongue depressor, bandages and a deep belief that the pathetic looking, near-dead bean plant would live, thrive and even produce food!
I had mixed emotions knowing that she was postponing the plants inevitable trip to the compost bin but I went along with it and helped her wrap bandages. Days later, to my absolute surprise, the bean plant was standing tall and looking perky. It was also amazing to see that the one and only bean, had become plump almost completely masking the claw marks that had scarred it.
Just one week later we were able to take the bandages off and again we barely found evidence of an attack and there was even a new sliver of green where a second bean was forming. Back to the window sill it went but this time we built a fortress of heavy books to keep it safe until our day of bounty.
I set the table beautifully with all the fanfare of a Thanksgiving dinner. The beans were carefully divided by 5, which awarded each person 2 small pieces, claw marks and all. They turned out to be the best green beans I had ever eaten!
My daughter never quite understood my exuberance over the significance of the beans. In my work as a youth motivator I am brought together with kids and teens that all desperately need people to believe in them. Now, more than ever, no matter what I have been told about a child or a teen and their behaviour, I see everyone, no exceptions, with the same eyes and heart that my daughter used on her broken, beaten up bean plant.
I wonder if it's a coincidence that later that same week, I stumbled upon a most appropriate quote by Italian Poet Dante (1265-1351): "From a little spark, may burst a mighty flame."
~ Monique Howat
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