TWINKIES AND ROOT BEER

A little boy wanted to meet God.  He knew it was a long trip to where God lived, so he packed his suitcase with Twinkies and a six-pack of root beer and he started his journey. When he had gone about three blocks, he met an elderly man.  The man was sitting in the park just feeding some pigeons. The boy sat down next to him and opened his suitcase.  He was about to take a drink from his root beer when he noticed that the man looked hungry, so he offered him a Twinkie.  The man gratefully accepted it and smiled at boy.  His smile was so pleasant that the boy wanted to see it again, so he offered him a root beer. Again, the man smiled at him.  The boy was delighted!  They sat there all afternoon eating and smiling, but they never said a word.

As it grew dark, the boy realized how tired he was and he got up to leave, but before he had gone more than a few steps, he turned around, ran back to the man, and gave him a hug.  The man gave him his biggest smile ever.

When the boy opened the door to his own house a short time later, his mother was surprised by the look of joy on his face.  She asked him, "What did you do today that made you so happy?"  He replied, "I had lunch with God."  But before his mother could respond, he added, "You know what? God's got the most beautiful smile I've ever seen!"

Meanwhile, the elderly man, also radiant with joy, returned to his home.  His son was stunned by the look of peace on his face and he asked," Dad, what did you do today that made you so happy?" He replied, "I ate Twinkies in the park with God."  However, before his son responded, he added," You know, he's much younger than I expected."

Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.  People come into our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.  We can embrace all equally!

DANIEL THE CAT

GREENDALE, Wis. (AP) — In a reversal of fortunes, a once-unwanted cat has come to the rescue of an animal shelter in need of a new home.  However, this orange-and-white tabby named Daniel is no typical cat.  He has a near-record 26 toes, a phenomenon that is helping the nonprofit Milwaukee Animal Rescue Center raise money to relocate to a new building.  Normal cats have 18 toes, but Daniel has two extra on each foot due to a genetic mutation called polydactylism.

Officials at the center found out their rent at a Milwaukee-area mall was being doubled on January 1.  So, the shelter is buying a new building and is seeking small donations of $26 — or $1 per toe.  They've collected enough so far to secure the financing with about $80,000 raised since October 24, but they hope to raise $120,000 by December 23 so they can become even more financially stable.  About $50,000 of the money raised has come from $26 donations.

"I've always been a firm believer that everything happens for a reason and this is definitely the case," said Amy Rowell, owner of Milwaukee Animal Rescue Center in Greendale.  She found Daniel in October at animal control when she went to pick up another cat.  As she bent down to that cat's cage, Daniel stuck his paw out and poked her head.  "He was very clearly saying, `I need to be rescued.  I'd like to be your friend, please pay attention to me,'" she said.  "And when a sign is that obvious, we tend to not ignore it."  The shelter takes in animals that might otherwise be euthanized.

Daniel was originally going to be adopted out, but Rowell has decided to keep him as a shelter mascot.  Daniel's 26 toes — two shy of the Guinness World Records number— don't seem to affect his cat activities.  "He runs and he plays and he climbs, he uses a scratching post.  He seems to be not bothered by it at all," Rowell said.

WHAT LOVE MEANS TO A CHILD

A group of professional people posed this question to a group of 4 to 8 year-olds:  "What does love mean?"  The answers they got were broader and deeper than anyone could have imagined.  See what you think.

"Love is what makes you smile when you're tired."  Terri - age 4

"Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK."  Danny - age 7

"Love is when you kiss all the time.  Then when you get tired of kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more.  My Mommy and Daddy are like that.  They look gross when they kiss."  Emily - age 8

"Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen."  Bobby - age 7

"If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate,"  Nikka - age 6

"Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday."  Noelle - age 7

"Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well."  Tommy - age 6

"During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared.  I looked at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling.  He was the only one doing that.  I wasn't scared anymore."  Cindy - age 8

'My mommy loves me more than anybody.  You don't see anyone else kissing me to sleep at night."  Clare - age 6

"Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken."  Elaine - age 5

"Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford."  Chris - age 7

"Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day."  Mary Ann - age 4

"I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones."  Lauren - age 4

"When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you."  Karen - age 7

"Love is when Mommy sees Daddy on the toilet and she doesn't think it's gross."  Mark - age 6

"You really shouldn't say 'I love you' unless you mean it.  But if you mean it, you should say it a lot.  People forget."  Jessica - age 8

And the final one:  Author and lecturer Leo Buscaglia once talked about a contest he was asked to judge.  The purpose of the contest was to find the most caring child.  The winner was a four-year-old child whose next door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife.  Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman's yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there.  When his Mother asked what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy said, "Nothing, I just helped him cry."

THE POWER OF WORDS

An elderly man sits on the sidewalk of a busy urban street.  Beside him is a sign written on cardboard flattened from a big box, which says, "I'm blind.  Please help."  He has a tin can into which a few coins are tossed by passersby.  Some teen aged girls laugh and joke nearby.

A well dressed professional woman walks by, stops, looks at the man and the sign.  She picks up his sign, and while he feels her shoes to try to connect with someone paying attention to him, she turns the sign over, takes a marker out of her purse and writes on the other side, then sets the sign back down beside the man.  After she leaves, more people come by and many many more coins are tossed into his tin can.  

Later in the day the woman returns.  He feels her shoes and knows it is the same woman who stopped earlier, and he asks her, "What did you do to my sign?"  She says, "I wrote the same but different words."

The words she wrote:  "It's a beautiful day and I can't see it."

Change your words, change your world.

THE POOR AND THE RICH

One day a very wealthy man made arrangements for his son to spend time at a farm.  His express purpose was to show the boy how poor people must live.  On his return, he asked his son, "How was the trip?"  "It was great, Dad."  "Did you see how poor people live?"  "Oh, yeah," said the son.  "So, tell me, what did you learn?"

The son answered:  "I saw the we have one dog and they had four.  We have a pool that reaches to the middle of our garden and they have a creek that has no end.  We have imported lanterns in our garden and they have the stars at night.  Our patio reaches to the front yard and they have the whole horizon.  We have a small piece of land to live on and they have fields that go beyond our sight.  We have servants who serve us, but they serve others, people and animals.  We buy our food but they grow theirs.  We have walls around our property to protect us.  They have friends to protect them."

The boy's father was speechless.  Then his son added, "Thanks, Dad, for showing me how poor we are."

Isn't perspective a wonderful thing?  What would happen if we all gave thanks for everything we have, instead of worrying about what we don't have?

THE SPARROW AT STARBUCKS

It was chilly in Manhattan but warm inside the Starbucks shop on 51st Street and Broadway, just a skip up from Times Square.  Early November weather in New York City holds only the slightest hint of the bitter chill of late December and January, but it's enough to send the masses crowding indoors to vie for available space and warmth.  For a musician, it's the most lucrative Starbucks location in the world, I'm told, and consequently the tips can be substantial if you play your tunes right.

Apparently, we were striking all the right chords that night, because our basket was almost overflowing.  It was a fun, low-pressure gig - I was playing keyboard and singing backup for my friend who also added rhythm with an arsenal of percussion instruments.  We mostly did pop songs from the '40s to the '90s with a few original tunes thrown in.  During our emotional rendition of the classic, "If You Don't Know Me by Now," I noticed a lady sitting in one of the lounge chairs across from me. She was swaying to the beat and singing along.  After the tune was over, she approached me.  "I apologize for singing along on that song.  Did it bother you?" she asked.

"No," I replied.  "We love it when the audience joins in.  Would you like to sing up front on the next selection?"  To my delight, she accepted my invitation.  "You choose," I said.  "What are you in the mood to sing?"  "Well. ... do you know any hymns?"  Hymns?  This woman didn't know who she was dealing with.  I cut my teeth on hymns.  Before I was even born, I was going to church.  I gave our guest singer a knowing look.  "Name one."  "Oh, I don't know.  There are so many good ones.  You pick one."  "Okay," I replied.  "How about 'His Eye is on the Sparrow'?"

My new friend was silent, her eyes averted.  Then she fixed her eyes on mine again and said, "Yeah. Let's do that one."  She slowly nodded her head, put down her purse, straightened her jacket and faced the center of the shop.  With my two-bar setup, she began to sing, "Why should I be discouraged?  Why should the shadows come?"

The audience of coffee drinkers was transfixed.  Even the gurgling noises of the cappuccino machine ceased as the employees stopped what they were doing to listen.  The song rose to its conclusion.  "I sing because I'm happy; I sing because I'm free.  For His eye is on the sparrow And I know He watches me."

When the last note was sung, the applause crescendoed to a deafening roar that would have rivaled a sold-out crowd at Carnegie Hall.  Embarrassed, the woman tried to shout over the din, "Oh, y'all go back to your coffee!  I didn't come in here to do a concert!  I just came in here to get somethin' to drink, just like you!"  But the ovation continued.  I embraced my new friend.  "You, my dear, have made my whole year! That was beautiful!"

"Well, it's funny that you picked that particular hymn," she said.  "Why is that?"  "Well . .." she hesitated again, "that was my daughter's favorite song."  "Really!" I exclaimed.  "Yes," she said, and then grabbed my hands.  By this time, the applause had subsided and it was business as usual.  "She was 16. She died of a brain tumor last week."

I said the first thing that found its way through my stunned silence.  "Are you going to be okay?"  She smiled through tear-filled eyes and squeezed my hands.  "I'm gonna be okay. I've just got to keep trusting the Lord and singing his songs, and everything's gonna be just fine."  She picked up her bag, gave me her card, and then she was gone.

TANK

They told me the big black Lab's name was Reggie, as I looked at him lying in his pen.  The shelter was clean, no-kill, and the people really friendly.  I'd only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open.  Everyone waves when you pass them on the street.  But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn't hurt.  Give me someone to talk to.  And I had just seen Reggie's advertisement on the local news.  The shelter said they had received numerous calls right after, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn't look like "Lab people," whatever that meant.  They must've thought I did.

But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys almost all of which were brand new tennis balls, his dishes, and a sealed letter from his previous owner.  See, Reggie and I didn't really hit it off when we got home.  We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told me to give him  to adjust to his new home).  Maybe it was the  fact that I was trying to adjust, too.  Maybe we were too much alike.  For some reason, his stuff (except for the tennis balls --- he wouldn't go anywhere without two stuffed in his mouth) got tossed in with all of my other unpacked boxes.  I guess I didn't really think he'd need all his old stuff, that I'd get him  new things once he settled in.  But it became pretty clear pretty soon that he wasn't going to.  I tried the normal commands the shelter told me he knew, ones like "sit" and "stay" and "come" and "heel", and he'd follow them - when he felt like it.  He never really seemed to listen when I called his name --- sure, he'd look in my direction after the fourth or fifth time I said it, but then he'd just go back to doing whatever.  When I'd ask again, you could almost see him sigh and then grudgingly obey.  This just wasn't going to work.  He chewed a couple of shoes and some unpacked boxes.  I was a little too stern with him and he resented it, I could tell.  The friction got so bad that I couldn't wait for the two weeks to be up, and when it was, I was in full-on search mode for my cell phone amid all of my unpacked stuff.  I remembered leaving it on the stack of boxes for the guest room, but I also mumbled, rather cynically, that the "damn dog probably hid it on me."  Finally I found it, but before I could punch up the shelter's number, I also found his pad and other toys from the shelter...I tossed the pad in Reggie's direction and he snuffed it and wagged, some of the most enthusiasm I'd seen since bringing him home.  But then I called, "Hey, Reggie, you like that?  Come here and I'll give you a treat."  Instead, he sort of glanced in my direction --- maybe "glared" is more accurate -- and then gave a discontented sigh and flopped down .... with his back to me.

Well, that's not going to do it either, I thought.  And I punched the shelter phone number.  But I hung up when I saw the sealed envelope.  I had completely forgotten about that, too.  "Okay, Reggie,"  I said out loud, "Let's see if your previous owner has any advice."

____________ _________ _________ _________


To Whoever Gets My Dog:

Well, I can't say that I'm happy you're reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie's new owner. I'm not even happy writing it.  If you're reading this, it means I just got back from my last car ride with my Lab after dropping him off at the shelter.  He knew something was different.  I have packed up his pad and toys before and set them by the back door before a trip, but this time... it's like he knew something was wrong.  And something is wrong...which is why I have to go to try to make it right.  So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help you bond with him and he with you.

First, he loves tennis balls.  The more the merrier.  Sometimes I think he's part squirrel, the way he hordes them.  He always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there.  Hasn't done it yet.  Doesn't matter where you throw them, he'll bound after it, so be careful - really don't do it by any roads.  I made that mistake once, and it almost cost him dearly.  Next, commands.  Maybe the shelter staff already told you, but I'll go over them again:  Reggie knows the obvious ones --- "sit,"  "stay,"  "come," "heel."  He knows hand signals: "back" to turn around and go back when you put your hand straight up; and "over" if you put your hand out right or left.  "Shake" for shaking water off, and "paw" for a high-five.  He does "down" when he feels like lying down --- I bet you could work on that with him some more.  He knows "ball" and "food" and "bone" and "treat" like  nobody's business.  I trained Reggie with small food treats.  Nothing opens his ears like little pieces of hot dog.  Feeding schedule:  twice a day, once about seven in the morning, and again at six in the evening.  Regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand.  He's up on his shots.  Call the clinic on 9th Street and update his info with yours; they'll make sure to send you reminders for when he's due.  Be forewarned:  Reggie hates the vet.

Good luck getting him in the car.  I don't know how he knows when it's time to go to the vet, but he knows.  Finally, give him some time.  I've never been married, so it's only been Reggie and me for his whole life.  He's gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can.  He sits well in the backseat, and he doesn't bark or complain.  He just loves to be around people, and me most especially.  Which means that this transition is going to be hard, with him going to live with someone new.  And that's why I need to share one more bit of info with you.... His name's not Reggie.  I don't know what made me do it, but when I dropped him off at the shelter, I told them his name was Reggie.  He's a smart dog, he'll get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt.  But I just couldn't bear to give them his real name. For me to do that, it seemed so final, that handing him over to the shelter was as good as me admitting that I'd never see him again.  And if I end up coming back, getting him, and tearing up this letter, it means everything's fine.  But if someone  else is reading it, well ... well it means that his new owner should know his real name.  It'll help you bond with him.  Who knows, maybe you'll even notice a change in his demeanor if he's been giving you problems.

His real name is "Tank".  Because that is what I drive.  Again, if you're reading this and you're from the area, maybe my name has been on the news.  I told the shelter that they couldn't make "Reggie" available for adoption until they received word from my company commander.  See, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could've left Tank with ... and it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq , that they make one phone..call the shelter ... in the "event" ... to tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption.  Luckily, my colonel is a dog guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed.  He said he'd do it personally.  And if you're reading this, then he made good on his word.

Well, this letter is getting downright depressing, even though, frankly, I'm just writing it for my dog.  I couldn't imagine if I was writing it for a wife and kids and family ... but still, Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family.  And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he loved me.  That unconditional love from a dog is what I take with me to Iraq as an inspiration to do something selfless, to protect innocent people from anyone who would do terrible things.  If I have to give up Tank in order to do it, I am glad to have done so.  He is my example of service and of love.  I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades.  All right, that's enough.  I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter.  I don't think I'll say another good-bye to Tank, though.  I cried too much the first time.  Maybe I'll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth.  Good luck with Tank.  Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight - every night - from me.

Thank you,

Paul Mallory
____________ _________ _________ _______

I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope.  Sure I had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even new people like me.  Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the Silver Star when he gave his life to save three buddies.  Flags had been at half-mast all summer.  I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the dog.  "Hey, Tank," I said quietly.  The dog's head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright.  "C'mere boy."  He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor.  He sat in front of me, his head tilted, searching for the name he hadn't heard in months.  "Tank," I whispered.  His tail swished.  I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him.  I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my face into his scruff and hugged him.  "It's me now, Tank, just you and me.  Your old pal gave you to me."  Tank reached up and licked my cheek.  "So whatdaya say we play some ball?" His ears perked again.  "Yeah?  Ball?  You like that? Ball?"  Tank tore from my hands and disappeared in the next room.  And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.

THINGS HAPPEN FOR A REASON

by Pastor Rob Reid

The brand new pastor and his wife, newly assigned to their first ministry to reopen a church in suburban Brooklyn, arrived in early October excited about their opportunities.  When they saw their church, it was very run down and needed much work.  They set a goal to have everything done in time to have their first service on Christmas Eve.

They worked hard, repairing pews, plastering walls, painting, etc, and on December 18 were ahead of schedule and just about finished.  On December 19 a terrible driving rainstorm hit the area and lasted for two days.  On the 21st, the pastor went over to the church.  His heart sank when he saw that the roof had leaked, causing a large area of plaster about 20 feet by 8 feet to fall off the front wall of the sanctuary just behind the pulpit, beginning about head high.

The pastor cleaned up the mess on the floor, and not knowing what else to do but postpone the Christmas Eve service, headed home.  On the way he noticed that a local business was having a flea market-type sale for charity, so he stopped in.  One of the items was a beautiful, handmade, ivory-colored, crocheted tablecloth with exquisite work, fine colors and a Cross embroidered right in the center.  It was just the right size to cover the hole in the front wall.  He bought it and headed back to the church.   

By this time it had started to snow.  An older woman running from the opposite direction was trying to catch the bus.  She missed it.  The pastor invited her to wait in the warm church for the next bus 45 minutes later.  She sat in a pew and paid no attention to the pastor while he got a ladder and hangers to put up the tablecloth as a wall tapestry.  The pastor could hardly believe how beautiful it looked and it covered up the entire problem area.  Then he noticed the woman walking down the center aisle.  Her face was like a sheet.  "Pastor," she asked, "where did you get that tablecloth?"  The pastor explained.  The woman asked him to check the lower right corner to see if the initials, EBG were crocheted into it there.  They were.  These were the initials of the woman, and she had made this tablecloth 35 years before, in Austria.  The woman could hardly believe it as the pastor told how he had just gotten "The Tablecloth".  The woman explained that before WW II she and her husband were well-to-do people in Austria.  When the Nazis came, she was forced to leave.
Her husband was going to follow her the next week.  He was captured, sent to prison and never saw her husband or her home again.

The pastor wanted to give her the tablecloth, but she made the pastor keep it for the church.  The pastor insisted on driving her home.  That was the least he could do.  She lived on the other side of Staten Island and was only in Brooklyn for the day for a housecleaning job.

What a wonderful service they had on Christmas Eve.  The church was almost full.  The music and the spirit were great.  At the end of the service, the pastor and his wife greeted everyone at the door and many said that they would return.  One older man, whom the pastor recognized from the neighborhood continued to sit in one of the pews and stare, and the pastor wondered why he wasn't leaving.  The man asked him where he got the tablecloth on the front wall because it was identical to one that his wife had made years ago when they lived in Austria before the war and how could there be two tablecloths so much alike?  He told the pastor how the Nazis came, how he forced his wife to flee for her safety and he was supposed to follow her, but he was arrested and put in a prison.  He never saw his wife or his home again all the 35 years between.   

The pastor asked him if he would allow him to take him for a little ride.  They drove to Staten Island and to the same house where the pastor had taken the woman three days earlier.  He helped the man climb the three flights of stairs to the woman's apartment, knocked on the door and he saw the greatest Christmas reunion he could ever imagine.

LITTLE BOY'S EXPLANATION OF GOD

This was written by an 8-year-old named Danny Dutton, who lives in Chula Vista, California.  He wrote it for his third grade homework assignment, to "Explain God."  That he had such an assignment, in California, and someone published it, is a miracle!

EXPLANATION OF GOD:
"One of God's main jobs is making people.  He makes them to replace the ones that die, so there will be enough people to take care of things on earth.  He doesn't make grownups, just babies.  I think because they are smaller and easier to make.  That way he doesn't have to take up his valuable time teaching them to talk and walk.  He can just leave that to mothers and fathers.

"God's second most important job is listening to prayers.  An awful lot of this goes on, since some people, like preachers and things, pray at times beside bedtime.  God doesn't have time to listen to the radio or TV because of this.  Because he hears everything, there must be a terrible lot of noise in his ears, unless he has thought of a way to turn it off.

"God sees everything and hears everything and is everywhere which keeps Him pretty busy.  So you shouldn't go wasting his time by going over your mom and dad's head asking for something they said you couldn't have.

"Atheists are people who don't believe in God.  I don't think there are any in Chula Vista.  At least there aren't any who come to our church.

"Jesus is God's Son.  He used to do all the hard work, like walking on water and performing miracles and trying to teach the people who didn't want to learn about God.  They finally got tired of him preaching to them and they crucified him.  But he was good and kind, like his father, and he told his father that they didn't know what they were doing and to forgive them and God said O.K.

"His dad (God) appreciated everything that he had done and all his hard work on earth so he told him he didn't have to go out on the road anymore.  He could stay in heaven.  So he did.  And now he helps his dad out by listening to prayers and seeing things which are important for God to take care of and which ones he can take care of himself without having to bother God.  Like a secretary, only more important.

"You can pray anytime you want and they are sure to help you because they got it worked out so one of them is on duty all the time.  You should always go to church on Sunday because it makes God happy, and if there's anybody you want to make happy, it's God!  Don't skip church to do something you think will be more fun like going to the beach.  This is wrong.  And besides the sun doesn't come out at the beach until noon anyway.

If you don't believe in God, besides being an atheist, you will be very lonely, because your parents can't go everywhere with you, like to camp, but God can.  It is good to know He's around you when you're scared, in the dark or when you can't swim and you get thrown into real deep water by big kids.  But...you shouldn't just always think of what God can do for you.  I figure God put me here and he can take me back anytime he pleases.

And...that's why I believe in God."

TEACH YOUR KIDS THE THRILL OF GIVING BACK

Redbook, January 2012, by Jihan Thompson

1)  Set the right example and volunteer with your child.  "If you want kids to understand the importance of helping others, you need to be hands-on," says Joy Harn, President of the South Coast Chapter of National Charity League Inc., a mother-daughter volunteer organization.  Joy was a member as a teen with her own mom, and now she takes part with daughters Hailey, 16 and Hannah, 14.  "It's been great to see how their priorities have shifted," Joy says.  "They get that the cost of some pricey outfit will go to better use feeding a family for a week."

2)  Encourage your kids to start a jeans drive at school and rally classmates to give pairs they've outgrown that are still in good shape to Dosomething.org's Teens for Jeans campaign (teensforjeans.com).  Last year they collected nearly 550,000 pairs!

3)  Read aloud "One Hen:  How One Small Loan Made a Big Difference" to help little kids grasp the power of microloans.  In the book, Kojo, a Ghanaian boy, uses money given to him by his village's microlending club to buy a hen and sell the eggs to pay for schooling, which later helps him start a business.  Browse onehen.org and kiva.org where you can pick a family's small business to fund.

4)  Host a bake sale.  Whip up treats with your kids and contribute the money to help end childhood hunger.  gabs.strength.org is one place, or your local food bank.

5)  Spruce up a playground with your kids.  How-to guides are available from your local hardware source or from kaboom.org/side_projects, an organization that has renovated more than 2,000 outdoor spaces.  You can paint murals, install benches and clean up litter to show playgrounds some love.

6)  Help others from your kitchen table.  Some Saturday morning do something beneficial with your kids at home, like decorating lunch bags that Meals on Wheels could use to distribute food to the elderly; check with them first.  Children as young as 3 can understand how doing good will make someone else happy.  Project ideas are available at doinggoodtogether.org.

RANDOM ACTS OF KINDNESS TOP THE MENU

Holly Bounds, WSAV-TV, 1-13-2012

Customers at this South Carolina eatery find that strangers have paid their check in advance.  If you’re measuring the kindness at the Corner Perk in Bluffton, S.C., it’s safe to say their cup runneth over.  It’s a cycle of generosity that started two years ago — and lately it’s spinning faster and faster.  In a time when everyone seems to be hard-pressed for cash, more and more are starting to give it away.  “It made my day, it really did.  It made my day,” customer Michael Aldea said.

“When I went to go pay, they said, ‘Oh, it’s paid for.  Somebody paid it forward,’ ” customer Sheri Buda said.  “People will come in and say, ‘What do you mean?  I don’t understand.  Are you trying to buy me a coffee today?’ ” And I say, “No, somebody came in 30 minutes ago and left money to pay for drinks until it runs out,” Josh Cooke, owner of the Corner Perk, explained.

The pay-it-forward phenomenon kicked off two years ago when an average-joe customer left the first $100 bill.  “It’s someone that just has a kind heart and wants that to generate in this area,” Cooke said of the anonymous female donor.  That donor got what she wanted.  Not just customers but strangers who heard what was happening started paying for people who follow.  The owner says the lady who started the pay-it-forward tradition kept it going for a few months now and then, but in the past few weeks the phenomenon has really taken off, with other anonymous contributors following suit.  “He said, ‘I want to do that, too,’ "Corner Perk’s Sara Clemmons said of one donor.  “He just gave me the hundred dollars and left.  He didn’t even get anything.”

None of the anonymous donors leaves their name, only their money, and a feeling of inspiration that is jolting this community.

“For someone to come out of the blue and think about someone other than themselves, it’s refreshing,” Aldea said.  “It’s very inspiring to just see someone living out what so many of us talk about, and doing things for other people,” customer Jenny Dolin agreed.  While they all walk in for a pick-me-up, lately that comes from the compassion that comes with the coffee, not the caffeine.

JIMMY AND THE LETTER

She jumped up as soon as she saw the surgeon come out of the operating room.  She said, "How is my little boy? Is he going to be all right? When can I see him?"  The surgeon said, "I'm sorry.  We did all we could, but your boy didn't make it."  Sally said, "Why do little children get cancer?  Doesn't God care any more?  Where were you, God, when my son needed you?"  The surgeon asked, "Would you like some time alone with your son?  One of the nurses will be out in a few minutes, before he's transported to the university."

Sally asked the nurse to stay with her while she said goodbye to her son.  She ran her fingers lovingly through his thick red curly hair.  "Would you like a lock of his hair?" the nurse asked.  Sally nodded yes.  The nurse cut a lock of the boy's hair, put it in a plastic bag and handed it to Sally.  The mother said, "It was Jimmy's idea to donate his body to the University for study.  He said it might help somebody else.  I said no at first, but Jimmy said, 'Mom, I won't be using it after I die.  Maybe it will help some other little boy spend one more day with his Mom.'"  She went on, "My Jimmy had a heart of gold.  Always thinking of someone else.  Always wanting to help others if he could."

Sally walked out of Children's Mercy Hospital for the last time, after spending most of the last six months there.  She put the bag with Jimmy's belongings on the seat beside her in the car.  The drive home was difficult.  It was even harder to enter the empty house.  She carried Jimmy's belongings, and the plastic bag with the lock of his hair, to her son's room.  She started placing the model cars and other personal things back in his room exactly where he had always kept them.  She lay down across his bed and, hugging his pillow, cried herself to sleep.

It was around midnight when Sally awoke.  Lying beside her on the bed was a folded letter.  The letter said:

"Dear Mom,

I know you're going to miss me, but don't think that I will ever forget you, or stop loving you, just 'cause I'm not around to say 'I Love You'.  I will always love you, Mom, even more with each day.  Someday we will see each other again.  Until then, if you want to adopt a little boy so you won't be so lonely, that's okay with me.  He can have my room and old stuff to play with.  But, if you decide to get a girl instead, she probably wouldn't like the same things us boys do.  You'll have to buy her dolls and stuff girls like, you know.

"Don't be sad thinking about me.  This really is a neat place.  Grandma and Grandpa met me as soon as I got here and showed me around some, but it will take a long time to see everything.  The angels are so cool.  I love to watch them fly.  And, you know what?  Jesus doesn't look like any of his pictures.  Yet, when I saw Him, I knew it was Him.  And guess what, Mom?  I got to sit on God's knee and talk to Him, like I was somebody important.  That's when I told Him that I wanted to write you a letter, to tell you goodbye and everything.  But I already knew that wasn't allowed.  Well, you know what Mom?  God handed me some paper and His own personal pen to write you this letter.  I think Gabriel is the name of the angel who is going to drop this letter off to you.  God said for me to give you the answer to one of the questions you asked Him, 'where was He when I needed him?' God said He was in the same place with me as when His son was on the cross.  He was right there, as He always is with all His children.

"Oh, by the way, Mom, no one else can see what I've written except you.  To everyone else this is just a blank piece of paper.  Isn't that cool?  I have to give God His pen back now.  He needs it to write some more names in the Book of Life.  Tonight I get to sit at a special table for supper.  I'm sure the food will be great.

"Oh, I almost forgot to tell you.  I don't hurt anymore & the cancer is all gone.  I'm glad because I couldn't stand that pain any more and God couldn't stand to see me hurt so much, either.  That's when He sent The Angel of Mercy to come get me.  The Angel said I was a Special Delivery!  How about that?

Signed with Love from God & Me."

MIRACLE OF TESS'S FAITH

A little girl went to her bedroom and pulled a glass jelly jar from its hiding place in the closet.  She poured the change out on the floor and counted it carefully. Three times, even.  The total had to be exactly perfect...  no chance here for mistakes. 

Carefully placing the coins back in the jar and twisting on the cap, she slipped out the back door and made her way six blocks to Rexall's Drug Store with the big red Indian Chief sign above the door.  She waited patiently for the pharmacist to give her some attention, but he was too busy at this moment.  Tess twisted her feet to make a scuffing noise.  Nothing.  She cleared her throat with the most disgusting sound she could muster.  No good.  Finally she took a quarter from her jar and banged it on the glass counter.  That did it!

"And what do you want?" the pharmacist asked in an annoyed tone of voice.  "I'm talking to my brother from Chicago whom I haven't seen in ages," he said without waiting for a reply to his question.

"Well, I want to talk to you about my brother," Tess answered back in the same annoyed tone.  "He's really, really sick, and I want to buy a miracle."  "I beg your pardon?" said the pharmacist.

"His name is Andrew and he has something bad growing inside his head and my Daddy says only a miracle can save him now.  So how much does a miracle cost?"  "We don't sell miracles here, little girl.  I'm sorry but I can't help you," the pharmacist said, softening a little.  "Listen, I have the money to pay for it.  If it isn't enough, I will get the rest.  Just tell me how much it costs."

The pharmacist's brother was a well dressed man.  He stooped down and asked the little girl, "What kind of a miracle does your brother need?"  "I don't know," Tess replied with her eyes welling up.  I just know he's really sick and Mommy says he needs an operation.  But my Daddy can't pay for it, so I want to use my money."  "How much do you have?" asked the man from Chicago.  "One dollar and eleven cents," Tess answered barely audible.  "And it's all the money I have, but I can get some more if I need to."  "Well, what a coincidence," smiled the man.  "A dollar and eleven cents---the exact price of a miracle for little brothers."

He took her money in one hand and with the other hand he grasped her mitten and said, "Take me to where you live.  I want to see your brother and meet your parents.  Let's see if I have the miracle you need."

That well-dressed man was Dr. Carlton Armstrong, a surgeon, specializing in neuro-surgery.  The operation was completed free of charge and it wasn't long until Andrew was home again and doing well.

Mom and Dad were happily talking about the chain of events that had led them to this place.  "That surgery," her Mom whispered, "was a real miracle.  I wonder how much it would have cost?"  Tess smiled.  She knew exactly how much a miracle cost...one dollar and eleven cents...plus the faith of a little child.

In our lives, we never know how many miracles we will need.  A miracle is not the suspension of natural law, but the operation of a higher law.

You can keep the ball moving.  Throw it back to someone who means something to you!

RESPECT, AN AIRLINE CAPTAIN'S STORY

My lead flight attendant came to me and said, "We  have an H.R. on this flight." (H.R. stands for human remains.)  "Are they military?" I  asked.  "Yes",  she said.  "Is  there an escort?" I asked.  "Yes,  I already assigned him a seat."  "Would  you please tell him to come to the flight deck.  You can board him early," I said.

A  short while later, a young army sergeant entered the flight deck.  He was the image of the perfectly dressed soldier.  He introduced himself and I asked him about his soldier.  The escorts of these fallen soldiers talk about them as if they are still alive and still with us.  "My soldier is on his way back to Virginia," he said.  He proceeded to answer my questions, but offered no words.  I asked him if there was anything I could do for him and he said no.  I told him that he had the toughest  job in the military and that I appreciated the work that he does for the families of our fallen soldiers.  The first officer and I got up out of our seats to shake his hand.  He left the flight deck to find his seat.

We completed our pre-flight checks, pushed back and performed an uneventful departure.  About  30 minutes into our flight I received a call from the lead flight attendant in the cabin. "I just found out the family of the soldier we are carrying is also on board", she said.  She then proceeded to tell me that the father, mother, wife and 2-year old daughter were escorting their son, husband, and father home.  The family was upset because they were unable to see the container that the soldier was in before we left.

We were on our way to a major hub at which the family was going to wait four hours for the connecting flight home to Virginia.  The father of the soldier told the flight attendant that knowing his son was below him in the cargo compartment and being unable to see him was too much for him and the family to bear.  He had asked the flight attendant if there was anything that could be done to allow them to see him upon our arrival.  The family wanted to be outside by the cargo door to watch the soldier being taken off the airplane.  I could hear the desperation in the flight attendant's voice when she asked me if there was anything I could do.  "I'm on  it", I said.  I told her that I would get back to her.

Airborne communication with my company normally occurs in the form of e-mail-like messages.  I decided to bypass this system and contact my flight dispatcher directly on a secondary radio.  There is a radio operator in the operations control center who connects you to the telephone of the dispatcher.  I was in direct contact with the dispatcher.  I explained the situation I had on board with the family and what it was the family wanted.  He said he understood and that he would get back to me.

Two hours went by and I had not heard from the dispatcher.  We were going to get busy soon and I needed to know what to tell the family.  I sent a text message asking for an update.  I saved the return message from the dispatcher and the following is the text:  "Captain, sorry it has taken so long to get back to you.  There is policy on this now and I had to check on a few things.  Upon your arrival a dedicated escort team will meet the aircraft.  The team will escort the family to the ramp and plane side.  A van will be used to load the remains with a secondary van for the family.  The family will be taken to their departure area and escorted into the terminal where the remains can be seen on the ramp.  It is a private area for the family only.  When the connecting aircraft arrives, the family will be escorted onto the ramp and plane side to watch the remains being loaded for the final leg home.  Captain, most of us here in flight control are veterans.  Please pass our condolences on to the family.  Thanks."

I sent a message back telling flight control thanks for a good job.  I printed out the message and gave it to the lead flight attendant to pass on to the father.  The lead flight attendant was very thankful and told me, "You have no idea how much this will mean to them."

Things started getting busy for the descent, approach and landing.  After landing, we cleared the runway and taxied to the ramp area.  The ramp is huge with 15 gates on either side of the alleyway.  It is always a busy area with aircraft maneuvering every which way to enter and exit.  When we entered the ramp and checked in with the ramp controller, we were told that all traffic was being held for us.

"There is a team in place to meet the aircraft", we were told.  It looked like it was all coming together, then I realized that once we turned the seat belt sign off, everyone would stand up at once and delay the family from getting off the airplane.  As we approached our gate, I asked the copilot to tell the ramp controller we were going to stop short of the gate to make an announcement to the passengers.  He did that and the ramp controller said, "Take your time."

I stopped the aircraft and set the parking brake.  I pushed the public address button and said,  "Ladies and gentleman, this is your Captain speaking.  I have stopped short of our gate to make a special announcement.  We have a passenger on board who deserves our honor and respect.  His name is Private XXXXXX, a soldier who recently lost his life.  Private XXXXXX is under your feet in the cargo hold.  Escorting him today is Army Sergeant XXXXXXX.  Also, on board are his father, mother, wife, and daughter.  Your entire flight crew is asking for all passengers to remain in their seats to allow the family to exit the aircraft first.  Thank you."

We continued the turn to the gate, came to a stop and started our shutdown procedures.  A couple of minutes later I opened the cockpit door.  I  found the two forward flight attendants crying, something you just do not see.  I was told that after we came to a stop, every passenger on the aircraft stayed in their seats, waiting for the family to exit the aircraft.

When the family got up and gathered their things, a passenger slowly started to clap his hands.  Moments later more passengers joined in and soon the entire aircraft was clapping.  Words of "God  Bless You, I'm sorry, Thank you, Be proud", and other kind words were uttered to the family as they made their way down the aisle and out of the airplane.  They  were escorted down to the ramp to finally be with their loved one.  Many of the passengers disembarking thanked me for the announcement I had made.  They were just words, I told them, I could say them over and over again, but nothing I say will bring back that brave soldier.

I respectfully ask that all of you reflect on this event and the sacrifices that millions of our men and women have made to ensure our freedom and safety in these United States of AMERICA.

Of all the gifts you could give a Marine, Soldier, Sailor, Airman, & others deployed in harm's way, prayer is the very best one.

GOD BLESS YOU!

FROM AN RN

For many years I worked in palliative care.  My patients were those who had gone home to die.  Some incredibly special times were shared.  I was with them for the last three to twelve weeks of their lives.

People grow a lot when they are faced with their own mortality.  I learned never to underestimate someone's capacity for growth.  Some changes were phenomenal.  Each experienced a variety of emotions, as expected, denial, fear, anger, remorse, more denial and eventually acceptance.  Every single patient found their peace before they departed though, every one of them.

When questioned about any regrets they had or anything they would do differently, common themes surfaced again and again.  Here are the most common five:

1. I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

This was the most common regret of all.  When people realise that their life is almost over and look back clearly on it, it is easy to see how many dreams have gone unfulfilled.  Most people had not honoured even a half of their dreams and had to die knowing that it was due to choices they had made, or not made.  It is very important to try and honour at least some of your dreams along the way.  From the moment that you lose your health, it is too late.  Health brings a freedom very few realise, until they no longer have it.

2. I wish I didn't work so hard.

This came from every male patient that I nursed.  They missed their children's youth and their partner's companionship.  Women also spoke of this regret.  But as most were from an older generation, many of the female patients had not been breadwinners.  All of the men I nursed deeply regretted spending so much of their lives on the treadmill of a work existence.  By simplifying your lifestyle and making conscious choices along the way, it is possible to not need the income that you think you do.  And by creating more space in your life, you become happier and more open to new opportunities, ones more suited to your new lifestyle.

3. I wish I'd had the courage to express my feelings.

Many people suppressed their feelings in order to keep peace with others.  As a result, they settled for a mediocre existence and never became who they were truly capable of becoming.  Many developed illnesses relating to the bitterness and resentment they carried as a result.  We cannot control the reactions of others.  However, although people may initially react when you change the way you are by speaking honestly, in the end it raises the relationship to a whole new and healthier level.  Either that or it releases the unhealthy relationship from your life. Either way, you win.

4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

Often they would not truly realise the full benefits of old friends until their dying weeks and it was not always possible to track them down.  Many had become so caught up in their own lives that they had let golden friendships slip by over the years.  There were many deep regrets about not giving friendships the time and effort that they deserved.  Everyone misses their friends when they are dying.  It is common for anyone in a busy lifestyle to let friendships slip.  But when you are faced with your approaching death, the physical details of life fall away.  People do want to get their financial affairs in order if possible.  But it is not money or status that holds the true importance for them.  They want to get things in order more for the benefit of those they love.  Usually though, they are too ill and weary to ever manage this task.  It is all comes down to love and relationships in the end.  That is all that remains in the final weeks, love and relationships.

5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.

This is a surprisingly common one.  Many did not realise until the end that happiness is a choice.  They had stayed stuck in old patterns and habits.  The so-called 'comfort' of familiarity overflowed into their emotions, as well as their physical lives.  Fear of change had them pretending to others, and to their selves, that they were content.  When deep within, they longed to laugh properly and have silliness in their life again.  When you are on your deathbed, what others think of you is a long way from your mind.  How wonderful to be able to let go and smile again, long before you are dying.

Life is a choice.  It is YOUR life.  Choose consciously, choose wisely, choose honestly.  Choose happiness.  LET'S LIVE!

PERCEPTION

In Washington DC at a Metro Station, on a cold January morning in 2007, a man with a violin played six Bach pieces for over 45 minutes.  During that time, approximately 2,000 people went through the station, most of them on their way to work.

After about 3 minutes, a middle-aged man noticed that there was a musician playing.  He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds, and then he hurried on to meet his schedule.

About 4 minutes later, the violinist received his first dollar.  A woman threw money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk.

At 6 minutes, a young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.

At 10 minutes, a 3-year old boy stopped, but his mother tugged him along hurriedly.  The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head the whole time.  This action was repeated by several other children, but every parent - without exception - forced their children to move on quickly.

The musician played continuously.  Only 6 people stopped and listened for a short while.  About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace.  The man collected a total of $32.

After 1 hour, he finished playing and silence took over.  No one noticed and no one applauded.  There was no recognition at all.

No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world.  He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars.  Two days before, Joshua Bell sold out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100 each to sit and listen to him play the same music.

This is a true story.  Joshua Bell, playing incognito in the D.C. Metro Station, was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and people's priorities.

This experiment raised several questions:
In a common-place environment, at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty?
If so, do we stop to appreciate it?
Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context?
Do we miss beauty, joy, connection, grandeur as we rush through our day?  Life is NOW,

THE DAFFODIL PRINCIPLE

ANGELS AND REGULAR PEOPLE

HEALTH CARE IN HIDALGO

Who would've thought that in the moral morass of what is now called the health "industry," the flower of social responsibility could still bloom?

The industry is controlled by insurance middlemen, HMO chains, and rip-off drug makers - all putting profits over patients.  The industry's lobbyists impose public policies that leave 47,000,000 of our fellow Americans with no health plan whatsoever, while tens of millions more hold miserly plans that provide very little balm in times of need.  The industry has created such a screwed-up system that we Americans spend more each year on health care ($6,280 per capita) than people in any other country, yet the treatment we get ranks a pathetic 37th in the world.

But there's good news: rising from the grassroots in every area of the country, health professionals and businesses are bringing an enterprising spirit to this dysfunctional system, reaching communities of people who've been shut out, and showing the way to put the "care" back into health care.

Charlie Alfero is one of these people.  Working with both private and public health institutions in New Mexico for nearly thirty years, he is some combination of agitator and administrator, adept at figuring out how to get quality care delivered to rural outposts that the corporatized medical system has largely abandoned.  Moreover, he sees health care as key to reviving the economic health of those areas.

Charlie's outpost is Hidalgo County.  Where?  Look at the bottom left corner of a map of the "Land of Enchantment" and you'll see a boot heel.  That's Hidalgo, a remote but picturesque stretch of the Old West that was once crossed by the Butterfield Stagecoach line, then the Southern Pacific railroad, and now I-10. The boot heel is a long way from any city - Tucson is 150 miles west, El Paso 150 miles east, and Albuquerque 300 miles north.

It has been a hard-hit area.  Copper companies used the place up before pulling out in the 1970s and 1980s, leaving Hidalgo mostly a ranching economy.  Some 6,000 people live there, with a lot of poverty among them.  The local hospital closed in 1979.  The last doctor left in 1983, and the county was unable to entice another one to move in.  There was an obvious need and demand for health services, but Hidalgo is hardly the sort of lucrative market that such profit-hungry chains as Hospital Corporation of America are willing to consider.

The county's leaders realized they would have to put something together for themselves.  So in 1994, they asked the state rural health office to send some experts to Lordsburg, the county seat, to help guide them.  One who came was Charlie Alfero.  Years previously, he had attended a small college up the road in a neighboring county, and he was glad for the chance to revisit a region he loved.

Alfero had been working with the rural outreach program of the state university's medical school, and he remembered from his earlier time in the boot heel that despite economic difficulties, the people of the area shared strong egalitarian values.  He felt that they might do big things.  He arrived with a vision: the people there could create a health commons of their own design - a community complex that would provide one-stop service for medical, dental, and mental health care, with family support services and economic development built in.

Most of Hidalgo's residents have lived in the county all of their lives and have an attachment to the area and to one another.  "We stick together; we help each other in times of need," said Irene Galven, now the city clerk.  It was this sense of community, the residents' willingness to throw in on projects to benefit everyone, that inspired Alfero to throw in with them.

It was not a simple project.  For nearly four years, Charlie made the six-hundred-mile round-trip commute each week from his home in Albuquerque to Lordsburg to work with eager locals to establish Hidalgo Medical Services (HMS), get it on its feet financially, and get it moving - one small step at a time.

* On July 1, 1995, HMS opened its doors in one wing of the old hospital, offering health services two days a week.  Four doctors from Silver City (fifty-five miles from Lordsburg) rotated to the clinic, each doing one day every two weeks.

* In the fall of 1996, HMS was able to add a full-time nurse practitioner, meaning that Hidalgo County had daily medical service for the first time in 13 years.

* In the spring of 1997, HMS's proposal for rural outreach was funded by two small but crucial federal programs, the Community Health Center and the Office of Rural Health Policy, thus allowing the clinic to expand its services and hire a full-time family physician.

* In 1998, for the first time in county history, dentistry was made available on a part-time basis.  Also, with the clinic becoming a viable enterprise (it now occupied about 60 percent of the old hospital), Charlie Alfero left Albuquerque to become the CEO of HMS.

From the start, Charlie understood that the key to success would be building broad support - enthusiasm, even - throughout the county and gaining the trust of all involved.  In addition to board members who could bring a bit of clout to the cause (hometown bankers, lawyers, local officials, and certain retired professionals), he enlisted some of the clinic's patients to serve (today, 100 % of the board members are patients).  He preached the democratic ethic that the larger community had to be invested in HMS, literally making it theirs and recognizing that "each person's success helps strengthen the whole."

Alfero took public involvement a step further by bringing ordinary residents inside to serve as a direct, integral, and very effective part of the health delivery system itself.  They were enlisted to be promatoras de salud (promoters of health).  These community outreach workers, trained in the management of such chronic diseases as diabetes (a huge problem in this region), literally spread the reach of HMS, traveling out to smaller settlements and isolated ranches and bringing medical help, information, news, connection, and ... well, care.  "I think I've always been a promatora," declared Elva Quimby, a fiftyish former cosmetologist.  "I just thrive on helping people."

Step-by-step, service was expanded, gaining the attention and the support of health professionals and funders outside of the boot heel.  A little more capital was raised, another nurse or physician arrived, and before long HMS had become not only a strong medical center, but also the largest economic engine in the county.  Alfero contended that if the strongest local asset is a health clinic, go with it!  Why try to get some out-of-state conglomerate to reopen the copper smelter when you've got a clean, community-supported enterprise creating jobs, generating small business growth, and making people healthier?

A dozen years after opening its doors, HMS has become the health commons it was envisioned to be.  On its tenth anniversary, it opened the doors of its new 22,000-square-foot clinic in Lordsburg, a modern, full-service facility with nine exam rooms, lab and X-ray rooms, a dental clinic with six chairs, and offices to deal with mental health problems, substance abuse, and family support needs. It has a staff numbering more than 140, operating on a budget of more than $10 million a year.

In addition to Lordsburg, HMS now has clinics in six other communities in two counties, including one in Silver City, where it originally had to go to find doctors who were willing to come to Hidalgo twice a week.

"I didn't deliver health care," Alfero noted.  "I'm not even a doctor.  I just gave people an idea, pointed them in a direction, and they built this themselves. People who rely on external forces to determine their future are going to find a bad future.  The people in this area are showing what health care can be if we invest in people, not in the layers of intermediaries looking to make money off a top-heavy system.  Our country needs more clinics like this."

STRONGEST DAD IN THE WORLD
Rick Reilly for Sports Illustrated, June 20, 2005

I try to be a good father. Give my kids mulligans. Work nights to pay for their text messaging. Take them to swimsuit shoots.

But compared with Dick Hoyt, I suck.

Eighty-five times he's pushed his disabled son, Rick, 26.2 miles in marathons. Eight times he's not only pushed him 26.2 miles in a wheelchair but also towed him 2.4 miles in a dinghy while swimming and pedaled him 112 miles in a seat on the handlebars -- all in the same day.  Dick's also pulled him cross-country skiing, taken him on his back mountain climbing and once hauled him across the U.S. on a bike. Makes taking your son bowling look a little lame, right?

And what has Rick done for his father? Not much -- except save his life.

This love story began in Winchester, Mass., 43 years ago, when Rick was strangled by the umbilical cord during birth, leaving him brain-damaged and unable to control his limbs.  "He'll be a vegetable the rest of his life," Dick says doctors told him and his wife, Judy, when Rick was nine months old. "Put him in an institution."

But the Hoyts weren't buying it. They noticed the way Rick's eyes followed them around the room. When Rick was 11 they took him to the engineering department at Tufts University and asked if there was anything to help the boy communicate. "No way," Dick says he was told. "There's nothing going on in his brain."  "Tell him a joke," Dick countered. They did. Rick laughed. Turns out a lot was going on in his brain.

Rigged up with a computer that allowed him to control the cursor by touching a switch with the side of his head, Rick was finally able to communicate. First words? "Go Bruins!" And after a high school classmate was paralyzed in an accident and the school organized a charity run for him, Rick pecked out, "Dad, I want to do that."

Yeah, right. How was Dick, a self-described "porker" who never ran more than a mile at a time, going to push his son five miles? Still, he tried. "Then it was me who was handicapped," Dick says. "I was sore for two weeks."  That day changed Rick's life. "Dad," he typed, "when we were running, it felt like I wasn't disabled anymore!"

And that sentence changed Dick's life. He became obsessed with giving Rick that feeling as often as he could. He got into such hard-belly shape that he and Rick were ready to try the 1979 Boston Marathon.

"No way," Dick was told by a race official. The Hoyts weren't quite a single runner, and they weren't quite a wheelchair competitor. For a few years Dick and Rick just joined the massive field and ran anyway, then they found a way to get into the race officially: In 1983 they ran another marathon so fast they made the qualifying time for Boston the following year.

Then somebody said, "Hey, Dick, why not a triathlon?"  How's a guy who never learned to swim and hadn't ridden a bike since he was six going to haul his 110-pound kid through a triathlon? Still, Dick tried.

Now they've done 212 triathlons, including four grueling 15-hour Ironmans in Hawaii. It must be a buzzkill to be a 25-year-old stud getting passed by an old guy towing a grown man in a dinghy, don't you think?  Hey, Dick, why not see how you'd do on your own? "No way," he says. Dick does it purely for "the awesome feeling" he gets seeing Rick with a cantaloupe smile as they run, swim and ride together.

This year, at ages 65 and 43, Dick and Rick finished their 24th Boston Marathon, in 5,083rd place out of more than 20,000 starters. Their best time? Two hours, 40 minutes in 1992 -- only 35 minutes off the world record, which, in case you don't keep track of these things, happens to be held by a guy who was not pushing another man in a wheelchair at the time.

"No question about it," Rick types. "My dad is the Father of the Century."

And Dick got something else out of all this too. Two years ago he had a mild heart attack during a race. Doctors found that one of his arteries was 95% clogged. "If you hadn't been in such great shape," one doctor told him, "you probably would've died 15 years ago."

So, in a way, Dick and Rick saved each other's life.

Rick, who has his own apartment (he gets home care) and works in Boston, and Dick, retired from the military and living in Holland, Mass., always find ways to be together. They give speeches around the country and compete in some backbreaking race every weekend, including this Father's Day.  That night, Rick will buy his dad dinner, but the thing he really wants to give him is a gift he can never buy.

"The thing I'd most like," Rick types, "is that my dad sit in the chair and I push him once."

PIECES OF NOTEBOOK PAPER

One day a teacher asked her students to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name.  Then she told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down.  It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed in their papers.

That Saturday, the teacher wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and listed what everyone else had said about that individual.

On Monday she gave each student his or her list.  Before long, the entire class was smiling.  "Really?" she heard whispered.  "I never knew that I meant anything to anyone!" and "I didn't know others liked me so much," were most of the comments.

No one ever mentioned those papers in class again.  She never knew if they discussed them after the class or with their parents, but it didn't matter.  The exercise had accomplished its purpose.  The students were happy with themselves and one another.  That group of students moved on.

Several years later, one of the students was killed in Vietnam and his teacher attended the funeral of that special student.  She had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before.  He looked so handsome, so mature.

The church was packed with his friends.  One by one those who loved him took a last walk by the coffin.  The teacher was the last one to bless the coffin.  As she stood there, one of the soldiers who acted as pallbearer came up to her.  "Were you Mark's math teacher?" he asked.  She nodded, "Yes."  Then he said, "Mark talked about you a lot."

After the funeral, most of Mark's  former classmates went together to a luncheon.  Mark's mother and father were there, obviously waiting to speak with his teacher.  "We want to show you something," his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket.  "They found this on Mark when he was killed.  We thought you might recognize it."

Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times.  The teacher knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which she had listed all the good things each of Mark's classmates had said about him.  "Thank you so much for doing that," Mark's mother said.  "As you can see, Mark treasured it."

All of Mark's former classmates started to gather around.  Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, "I still have my list.  It's in the top drawer of my desk at home."  Chuck's wife said, "Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album."  "I have mine too," Marilyn said.  "It's in my diary."  Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group.  "I carry this with me at all times," Vicki said and without batting an eyelash she continued, "I think we all saved our lists."

That's when the teacher finally sat down and cried.  She cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again.  She realized the value of that brief assignment and the power of telling people you care about that they are special and important.

THE SANDPIPER                                                                                                                                                                        by Robert Peterson