BEYOND FORGIVENESS
Alexandra Stoddard has a good one today in her Grace Notes: "Don't fight back. It's better to go for a long walk than raise your blood pressure. You are in control of how you respond to the behavior of others, not how well or badly others behave." Reminds me of the song, "The Gambler"--"You've got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run." But what happens if you can't walk or run away?

Doctors are taught to handle difficult patients by pausing and acknowledging their own anger, listening to the negativity, and then empathizing with the person, which doesn’t mean agreeing with them, but rather offering understanding, compassion, and sympathy. We can do the same.

I think for me one of life's hardest lessons has been to know when to stand and fight and when "to accept whatever is," surrender, and get on with my life. I'm still learning.

HELPING OTHERS
Before we can help others, we first have to SEE the need. If my neighbor falls in his house, I can't know he needs help. We would know nothing about Haiti's earthquake if the media didn't show us.

Secondly, we have to UNDERSTAND the need. If my neighbor manages to hobble out of his house and stands by the road waving his hand, I may think he's just saying hello. An earthquake is obvious, but the problems caused by desertification in Africa or deforestation in South America may not be.

Thirdly, we have to KNOW what to do and BE ABLE to do it. I can call 911 for my neighbor, but how to help people in the Philippines threatened by a volcano may be beyond my ability to do more than pray for them.

But if we CAN do something, it becomes our human responsibility to DO it whether it is for our neighbor or someone halfway across the planet.

APPLESAUCE
We've all heard the saying, "When life hands you lemons, make lemonade." The truth is that rarely does anyone hand them to us. We pick up most of those lemons ourselves, reaching for what we think are golden apples.

As children, all of us have dreams and preconceptions of what life will be like. Sooner or later in life, our dreams are shattered. We find out that the apples are not golden and that no one will hand them to us on a sterling silver platter, but that we must go out and gather our own apples off the ground.

On top of that they are rarely pretty like the ones in the produce aisle, but are small and hard and warty, and that the worms and squirrels have gotten there first.

We have to remember the old saying that the worms and squirrels always choose the sweetest apples, even as we pare and core those apples and cut away the worm holes and squirrel-chewed parts.

But if we do that and add sugar from our own store of happiness and a bit of spice out of our own creativity, whether cinnamon, nutmeg, or cloves--each of us has his own ideas, talents, and strengths--and if we stand patiently at the hot stove and stir, we can make wonderful applesauce. We can share that applesauce with others or use it to make cakes or just eat it plain and fresh, cold or warm, with a sprinkle of freshly ground nutmeg.

Or we can spend life chewing on wormy apples.

The choice is ours.

Choose happiness!

TEAM PLAYERS
While watching football and basketball games on TV, I noticed that the true team player comforts the player who failed to catch the ball or to score and encourages him or her. This keeps the teammate from focusing so much on their failure that they mess up the next time too.

Too many jobs, schools, and families foster a spirit of blame and competition, in which the "team" member who succeeds is the one who puts down the others or who, at least, doesn't help them.

A spirit of helpful cooperation and support helps the whole team, whether it's in a game or on a job. Why then do we see so much emphasis on competition within the group? The ones we're supposed to be competing against are the OTHER team or our business RIVALS, not our own people.

MY GIFT?
Over and over we are told to witness for Jesus. I'm sorry, but I'm just not very good at that sort of thing. I have no great testimony to give. I never took drugs or drank or smoked or caroused. I've led a very quiet life, although I'm sure I've given my guardian angel some gray hairs (Do angels get gray hair? :-) ). If he thought he was getting a nice quiet librarian-type who liked to write stories, he was in for a big surprise. Or two. I can hardly go five minutes without getting into trouble.

But I do want to be a part of the work God is doing. I do want to serve Him. I do want Him to widen my world. I do want to see others as He sees them, to help others, and to share His love with them.

I pray about this and tell Him that I want to serve Him, and I cry because I always mess it up when I try to speak of the Gospel.

The other day when I prayed, I asked Him to give me the words to say. And it suddenly dawned on me that my gift for sharing is in the inspirations He gives me, the "revelations" I receive now in my morning quiet times and have throughout my life, not in the way of "spreading of the Gospel" by buttonholing strangers on the street as I had supposed.

In my stories and my poems and in such a way as this one, lie my talents.

We all have differing abilities. We are what we are--what He made us, each of us fashioned in a unique way with individual needs and strengths, dreams and hopes, talents and gifts.

PROTECTED
Psalm 36:7-9 (New Living Translation)

7. How precious is your unfailing love, O God!
All humanity finds shelter
in the shadow of your wings.
8. You feed them from the abundance of your own house,
letting them drink from your river of delights.
9. For you are the fountain of life,
the light by which we see.

Sometimes, if you have no one to run to, you can feel God's hands on your shoulders, His arms around you, His love enfolding you. He is always there, but if we are depending on others or distracted by our challenges, we won't recognize His touch.

The Light of God surrounds us.
The Love of God enfolds us.
The Power of God protects us.
The Presence of God watches over us.
Wherever we are, God is.
(--James Dillet Freeman, Unity's Prayer of Protection)

EAGLES AND SPARROWS
Eagles! Beautiful eagles. Royalty of the skies, kings of the mountain crags. Freedom incarnate.

Almost all of us desire to see eagles soar above the valley. Our spirits lift with them. At times we wish we too could fly with them.

If you can't see eagles, watch the seagulls flying above the grocery store parking lot and remember Jonathan Livingston Seagull. No seagulls where you live? Watch the sparrows flitting outside your window.

Do we want to be eagles among men and women? Too bad we can't all be eagles, flying high. But if we can't, we can be the best sparrows we can be and remember God watches over sparrows, too. Jesus asked, "Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings and not one of them shall fall on the ground or is forgotten before God, your Father? Fear not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows." (Matt. 10:29 & 31 and Lk. 12:6 & 7)

Actually, Jesus' comment on eagles was less than flattering. "For wheresoever the carcass is, there will the eagles be gathered together." (Matt. 24:28 and Lk. 17:37)

CITY LIGHTS
The evening news on New Year's Eve showed scenes of New York City: the lights like stars shining, the red and white ribbons of traffic, the people on the streets; and I was touched, not by their humanity but by their individuality. The mass of darkness and lights, of offices and apartments, where each light has an on-off switch, each window someone who looks out--at sunlight, at storms, at night--and sighs or cries or smiles. I will never look at New York City, or any city, quite the same way again.

LIGHTS
by Diana Carolyn Ice

Lights, millions of lights,
Lighted squares and rectangles,
Dots and points of light,
White lights, green lights, red lights.
The City at night.

On the streets cars glide silently,
Trucks and busses roar,
Families window shop;
A girl runs to catch up to Mommy and Daddy;
A man takes his son’s hand;
Two lovers stop and laugh, then hurry on;
A couple hails a cab; another boards a bus.
People hurry across a street.
Each one has a past, a hope, a dream.
Some have a future; some have none.
Each has a face, a place they call a home,
Whether halfway up a skyscraper,
Or miles away across a bridge, down long dark roads,
Or a cardboard box under that bridge’s northern pier.
But it is home to them.

Look at their faces. They feel, they hurt, they love,
They smile, they cry, they pray, they wonder why.

How could you not love them?