Myra is queen bee in this office. Her title may be secretary, but she reigns supreme…in the unofficial power structure, that is. It’s imperative to stay on her good side. And I stray on to her bad side…seemingly just by breathing!

(I AM a young pup, you know!) For the sake of peace in the office, not to mention my career, I’ve got to redeem myself. I vacate my chair for her the minute she joins the office coffee klatch. I eat lunch with her. I listen attentively to her stories. Of course, nothing works! And the harder I try, the worse it gets.

April 15 is nearing. Minnesota’s winter may officially be over, but our accounting office is a blizzard of tax returns. And Myra’s snowed with appointments, photocopies etc. She complains bitterly that “no one understands” how difficult her job is!

We’re closed on April 15th, but on April 14th, Myra gets a drop-dead gorgeous floral arrangement. “Myra, you’re the greatest!” proclaims the card accompanying peach roses with the works; ribbon, baby’s breath, leather leaf etc. She lights up like a Christmas tree and immediately calls the florist.

Those roses stay on her desk ’til they’re dead and dried. She takes the entire arrangement home…doesn’t even throw away the dead brown fern. And it’s THE hot topic of the coffee klatch ’til I’m laid off next fall.

She asks her boyfriend, “all her friends” and “all the guys at the office” who sent it. Of course everyone tells her they’d love to take credit, but they can’t. And the florist? Sworn to secrecy!

Myra…it’s been 20 years, but I remain eternally grateful to you for that lesson. At the time, I could only afford $20 for half a dozen roses, and I wish I could have sent you a truckload! Those roses were much cheaper than a college degree and far more valuable than a CPA certificate. You taught me that each one of us really needs concrete acknowledgment that we’re valued and recognition that our efforts are appreciated.

by Ruth Ellen Billion

Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person her name was “Information Please” and there was nothing she did not know. “Information Please” could supply anybody’s number and the correct time.

My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn’t seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway.

The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the foot stool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. “Information Please,” I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.

“Information”

“I hurt my finger…” I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.

“Isn’t your mother home?” came the question.

“Nobody’s home but me,” I blubbered.

“Are you bleeding?” the voice asked.

“No,” I replied. “I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts.”

“Can you open your icebox?” she asked. I said I could.

“Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger,” said the voice.

After that, I called “Information Please” for everything. I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk, that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts. Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called “Information Please” and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown ups say to soothe a child. But I was unconsoled. I asked her, “Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?” She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, “Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in.” Somehow I felt better.

Another day I was on the telephone. “Information Please.”

“Information,” said the now familiar voice.

“How do you spell fix?” I asked.

All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. “Information Please” belonged in that old wooden box back home and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity, I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.

A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle I had about half-an-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now.

Then, without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, “Information, please.”

Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well.

“Information.”

I hadn’t planned this, but I heard myself saying, ” Could you please tell me how to spell fix?”

There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, “I guess your finger must have healed by now.”

I laughed, “So it’s really still you,” I said. “I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time.”

“I wonder,” she said, “if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls.”

I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.

“Please do,” she said. “Just ask for Sally.”

Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered,”Information.”

I asked for Sally. “Are you a friend?” she said.

“Yes, a very old friend,” I answered.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” she said. “Sally had been working part time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago.”

Before I could hang up she said, “Wait a minute. Is your name Paul?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you.” The note said, “Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He’ll know what I mean.”

I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.

Never underestimate the impression you may make on others. Whose life have you touched today? Why not pass this on, I just did.

Every day, my husband and his brothers would go about the arduous process of trying to get water to the fields. Lately this process had involved taking a truck to the local water rendering plant and filling it up with water. But severe rationing had cut everyone off. If we didn`t see some rain soon we would lose everything.

It was on this day that I learned the true lesson of sharing and witnessed the only miracle I have seen with my own eyes.

I was in the kitchen making lunch for my husband and his brothers when I saw my six-year old son, Billy, walking toward the woods. He wasn`t walking with the usual carefree abandon of a youth but with a serious purpose. I could only see his back. He was obviously walking with a great effort…trying to be as still as possible.

Minutes after he disappeared into the woods, he came running out again, toward the house. I went back to making sandwiches; thinking that whatever task he had been doing was completed. Moments later, however, he was once again walking in that slow purposeful stride toward the woods. This activity went on for an hour: walk carefully to the woods, run back to the house.

Finally I couldn`t take it any longer and I crept out of the house and followed him on his journey (being very careful not to be seen…as he was obviously doing important work and didn`t need his Mommy checking up on him).

He was cupping both hands in front of him as he walked; being very careful not to spill the water he held in them…maybe two or three tablespoons were held in his tiny hands. I sneaked close as he went into the woods. Branches and thorns slapped his little face but he did not try to avoid them. He had a much higher purpose.

As I leaned in to spy on him, I saw the most amazing site. Several large deer loomed in front of him. Billy walked right up to them. I almost screamed for him to get away. A huge buck with elaborate antlers was dangerously close. But the buck did not threaten him…he didn`t even move as Billy knelt down. And I saw a tiny fawn
laying on the ground, obviously suffering from dehydration and heat exhaustion, lift its head with great effort to lap up the water cupped in my beautiful boy`s hand.

When the water was gone, Billy jumped up to run back to the house and I hid behind a tree. I followed him back to the house; to a spigot that we had shut off the water to. Billy opened it all the way up and a small trickle began to creep out. He knelt there, letting the drip drip slowly fill up his makeshift `cup`, as the sun beat down on his little back. And it came clear to me. The trouble he had gotten into for playing with the hose the week before. The lecture he had received about the importance of not wasting water. The reason he didn`t ask me to help him. It took
almost twenty minutes for the drops to fill his hands.

When he stood up and began the trek back, I was there in front of him. His little eyes just filled with tears. “I`m not wasting”, was all he said. As he began his walk, I joined him… with a small pot of water from the kitchen. I let him tend to the fawn. I stayed away. It was his job. I stood on the edge of the woods watching the most beautiful heart I have ever known working so hard to save another life.

As the tears that rolled down my face began to hit the ground, they were suddenly joined by other drops…and more drops…and more. I looked up at the sky. It was as if God, himself, was weeping with pride. Some will probably say that this was all just a huge coincidence.

That miracles don`t really exist. That it was bound to rain sometime.

And I can`t argue with that…I`m not going to try. All I can say is that the rain that came that day saved our farm…just like that actions of one little boy saved another.

I don`t know if anyone will read this…but I had to send it out. To honor the memory of my beautiful Billy, who was taken from me much too soon…. But not before showing me the true face of Love, in a little sunburned body.

The first time the movie was on network television, I heard The Voice. My grandparents were soon having a 50th wedding anniversary celebration and the family had asked that no one bring gifts. Since gifts weren’t expected or requested, I hadn’t thought much about giving them anything. The Voice told me to go write them a letter. Now. At 11:00 pm on a Sunday night, when I had to get up early to go to work. I went in and wrote the first draft of a letter that I ended up reading to them at their party, in front of many family members and friends. It was a way to show my love for them, by telling them how my life is different because of them.

Following The Voice in this instance wasn’t especially hard nor did it lead to the kind of changes that Ray Kinsella’s Voice did, but it was important for my growth, and in the end, valuable to my Grandparents.

When we hear The Voice, I believe it is always for the greater good, even if it doesn’t seem as such at first. Listening to, and taking action on The Voice’s words is a habit, and when The Voice gives us “easy” tasks like writing a letter it is an opportunity to practice our listening skills. Townsfolk and family members declared Ray crazy, for doing something that well, seemed crazy! He was laughed at and rebuked in his community, and came within hours of losing his farm, his business and his home.

Ray had every reason not to listen to the Voice. And many times so do we.

Our history books are full of people who heard The Voice, listened, and acted. Martin Luther King, Jr., The Disciples of Jesus, the Founding Fathers of the United States, Gandhi, Mother Theresa, Christopher Columbus, Florence Nightingale.

These people, with their faults and foibles, all heard and listened to the Voice and made our world a better place. As important as these famous people and their actions are, the people you know and that live in your community (or your household) who have listened to The Voice to help themselves and others around them, are just as instructive.

We hear a voice, or see the vision as Ray did, picturing the ball field in his cornfield, but we don’t listen, we don’t act. Usually the voice I hear is more clear than was Ray’s – I’ve been lucky. That doesn’t mean the choices are easy, or the outcomes assured.

There have been times I have listened, and times when I haven’t. Often when I haven’t listened, The Voice became more persistent – forcing me to listen and ever urging me to act.

Your spiritual background and beliefs may give you a name for the Voice. You may call it God’s Voice, Allah’s Voice, your inner knower, your Mom, your conscience, or something else. We all are tapped into this spiritual power – and hearing The Voice is one proof of that fact. To me the question isn’t whether we hear the Voice, it is whether or not we listen.

“If you build it he will come.” “Ease His pain.” “Go the Distance.” These are the words The Voice said during the movie. The movie, through it’s story, gives us the answers to these initially puzzling requests. The question the movie doesn’t answer is, “What words am I hearing, and what am I doing about it?” “What is my Field of Dreams?”

Questions worth asking and answering.

Here’s to you finding your field of dreams,

by Kevin Eikenberry © Copyright 2000, the Discian Group. All rights reserved.

When the jar was filled to the top and no more rocks would fit inside, he asked, “Is this jar full?”

Everyone in the class yelled, “Yes.”

The time management expert replied, “Really?”

He reached under the table and pulled out a bucket of gravel. He dumped some gravel in and shook the jar causing pieces of gravel to work themselves down into the spaces between the big rocks. He then asked the group once more, “Is the jar full?”

By this time the class was on to him. “Probably not,” one of them answered.

“Good!” he replied. He reached under the table and brought out a bucket of sand. He started dumping the sand in the jar and it went into all of the spaces left between the rocks and the gravel. Once more he asked the question, “Is this jar full?”

“No!” the class shouted. Once again he said, “Good.” Then he grabbed a pitcher of water and began to pour it in until the jar was filled to the brim. Then he looked at the class and asked, “What is the point of this illustration?”

One eager beaver raised his hand and said, “The point is, no matter how full your schedule is, if you try really hard you can always fit some more things in it!”

“No,” the speaker replied, that’s not the point. The truth this illustration teaches us is: If you don’t put the big rocks in first, you’ll never get them in at all.

What are the ‘big rocks’ in your life — time with your loved ones, your faith, your education, your dreams, a worthy cause, teaching or mentoring others? Remember to put these BIG ROCKS in first or you’ll never get them in at all.” So, tonight,
or in the morning, when you are reflecting on this short story, ask yourself this question: What are the ‘big rocks’ in my life? Then, put those in your jar first.

*Stephen Covey

This week’s story was submitted by Skip Allen.

Daddy, may I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, sure, what is it?” replied the man.

“Daddy, how much money do you make an hour?”

“That’s none of your business! What makes you ask such a thing?” the man said angrily.

“I just want to know. Please tell me, how much do you make an hour?” pleaded the little boy.

“If you must know, I make $20.00 an hour.”

“Oh,” the little boy replied, head bowed.

Looking up, he said, “Daddy, may I borrow $10.00 please?”

The father was furious. “If the only reason you wanted to know how much money I make is just so you can borrow some to buy a silly toy or some other nonsense, then you march yourself straight to your room and go to bed. Think about why you’re being so selfish. I work long, hard hours everyday and don’t have time for such childish games.” The little boy quietly went to his room and shut the door.

The man sat down and started to get even madder about the little boy’s questioning. How dare he ask such questions only to get some money.

After an hour or so, the man had calmed down, and started to think he may have been a little hard on his son. Maybe there was something he really needed to buy with that $10.00, and he really didn’t ask for money very often.

The man went to the Door of the little boy’s room and opened the door. “Are you asleep son?” he asked.

“No daddy, I’m awake,” replied the boy.

“I’ve been thinking, maybe I was too hard on you earlier,” said the man. “It’s been a long day and I took my aggravation out on you. Here’s that $10.00 you asked for.”

The little boy sat straight up, beaming. “Oh, thank you daddy!” he yelled. Then, reaching under his pillow, he pulled out some more crumpled up bills. The man, since the boy already had money, started to get angry again. The little boy slowly
counted out his money, then looked up at the man.

“Why did you want more money if you already had some?” the father grumbled.

“Because I didn’t have enough, but now I do,” the little boy replied.

“Daddy, I have $20.00 now. Can I buy an hour of your time?”

This week’s story was submitted by Anita Barany of Victoria,
British Columbia. She’s a single mom with 2 beautiful young
children and she’s presently a full time student.

He was then quickly informed that he just needed to improve greatly in one area – that of experience – to be a better one. This was a concept and an attitude that was to serve him well in the challenging times. He was to draw from this not only as a pilot, but also in his daily living!

When the monotony of repeated practice drills got overwhelming, he only had to remember, “You are a fighter pilot – you only need to improve in experience to be a better one” – it somehow became a little easier.

Sometimes frustration, lack of sleep (because of long hours needed for study), and a constant nagging fear of failure were almost too much for him. He felt like quitting! It was then he needed to remember what he’d been told: “You are a
fighter pilot – you need only to improve your experience to be a better one”!

Daily he remembered… and renewed his commitment to his dream. When his schooling was completed and he graduated at the top of his class – he was just a little
taller – ashe saluted, then accepted his diploma. He really was a pilot! Of course… he had been one from day one!

Now… he was a better one! So much better in fact, that he was asked to stay and teach at this very same school. He had something of great value, some-thing others wanted, his experience! He was a flight instructor for a number of years before he retired as certainly one of the best!

Through all this, the rewards given him by senior officers and peers were nothing compared to the reward he had given himself! He realized his dream…. he was the best pilot he could be!

Something needs to be said here for experience. You see, you can study and learn – all there is to “know” about a particular thing. My friend knew all about the aircraft – the hydraulic systems, the gages, lights and controls, and all of it’s aerodynamics and capabilities. But until he strapped on the parachute and logged some flight-time… he did not reach his full potential… and he did not realize
his dream to be the best!

If you think about it, this makes all the sense in the world! We are – at least on the inside – whatever we truly want to be! We owe it to ourselves to go after the experience… to be a better “pilot”! It makes it all a little easier – with a daily commitment to our dreams…and not giving up… but remembering what we’ve been told!

Larry Anderson is the Owner/Manager of Profiles For You and a firm believer in striving to reach one’s full potential in business and personal life!

A few weeks ago I was having a very bad day and was about ready to start looking elsewhere for a job that was not as stressful. Something happened that day to change my way of thinking and I am so appreciative of this young lady. Things have been stressful for me personally as well as at work. I want to let her know
that the small act of kindness touch my heart.

In my cubicle I have a small collection of lighthouses and everyone on my team knows that I collect them. I have them sitting on top of the cubicle to let people know where I am sitting in case they have to find me for any number of reasons.

I came in to the office and was standing at my cubicle waiting to log in and get the day started when Crystal came over to my cubicle. I turned around and she said hello. I said hi and asked her if she needed anything. She said, “I bought you something.” I looked at her with a puzzled look and said “Well, thank you, but why would you buy me anything.” I had never spoke to this young lady before. She said, “Every day I stand up and look across the room and see your lighthouses. I was out shopping with my mom over the weekend and saw this and thought you would like it.” In her hand she had a small globe with a lighthouse and ship in it. I gave her a hug and thanked her. I don’t think she knows how much that small act of kindness changed my day.

I kept the small globe on my desk for a few days. Now it sits on my television in my apartment. I hope for anyone that reads this you remember, no matter what the gesture is you could change someone’s day.

by Tammy Mansfield

For the last three days, she had been in a semi-conscious state of moaning and lifelessness. She could no longer speak through her dry, swollen lips. Her eyes had the blank void of a moonless midnight.

On the night of the third day, I knew what I must do. I must cease being the selfish, clinging son. I sped purposefully to the chapel. There I gave God permission to take my mother. I could no longer stand to see her suffer, so I prayed for the permanent healing that only death can bring.

I returned to the room with a peaceful heart for I knew by the next morning my mother would also be at peace. I had the best night’s sleep in weeks. The next morning, as the sun broke through the window, I awoke. My first thoughts were, “It’s over”. But then a noise, a stirring directed my attention from the window to the bed. A small movement made me realize that my mother was still alive. It was all I could do to keep from screaming aloud, “God, how can You do this to me? I became a selfless son, and gave You permission to end this, and You still kept her in her misery.” But before I could have exclaimed this, I was shocked to see that there was more than just a movement.

My mother rolled onto her side, and looked into the glare of the newly risen sun. Then, as the sun made sparkling starbursts in her eyes, she licked her parched lips, and said “Gee, it’s going to be a beautiful day today”. Needless to say this got
our attention quickly. Being the youngest, and fastest, I was first to her bedside. “Mom, it’s me, Jerry, do you recognize me”? “Of course I do Jerry”, she replied.

We all took our turns talking to her. Other relatives came and were able to talk to her, as she answered not in her old voice, but rather in the voice of a child. The doctor’s explanation was that the brain stem was being destroyed, accounting for the sudden change. It was a joyous day of laughing, and celebrating life with our family. That night we all went to sleep peacefully.

The next morning, we were awaken to the stirring of angel’s wings, and my mother was finally healed of her suffering. She had awakened to the Risen Son.

The next few days were hectic with funeral plans. It was only after the funeral that I stopped to think of what had happened. If God had answered my prayer, in my time, in my way, my final memories of my mother would have been that of a helpless invalid, with void eyes, lying motionless in a deathbed. Instead, God answered my prayer in his time, in his omniscient way.

Now, my memories of my mother are of a day of laughing and rejoicing. Since that time I have had many rocky roads. Financial failure. A divorce. The loss of my father. But throughout it all, regardless of how stormy the night might be, I know that through God’s love, and perfect timing, I can awaken the next morning to a newly risen sun, or to the Risen Son, and say “Gee, it’s going to be a beautiful day today.”

by Jerry L. Haynes

A few weeks ago, I was shuffling toward the basement with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and the morning paper in the other. What began as a typical Saturday morning, turned into one of those lessons that life seems to hand you from time to time.

I turned the dial up into the phone portion of the band on my ham radio in order to listen to a Saturday morning swap net. Along the way, I came across an older sounding chap with a tremendous signal and a golden voice. You know the kind. He sounded like he should be in the broadcasting business. He was telling whomever he was talking with something about “a thousand marbles”.

I was intrigued and stopped to listen to what he had to say. “Well, Tom, it sure sounds like you’re busy with your job. I’m sure they pay you well but it’s a shame you have to be away from home and your family so much. Hard to believe a young fellow should have to work sixty or seventy hours a week to make ends meet. Too bad you missed your daughter’s dance recital.”

He continued, “Let me tell you something, Tom, something that has helped me keep a good perspective on my own priorities.” And that’s when he began to explain his theory of “a thousand marbles”.

“You see, I sat down one day and did a little arithmetic. The average person lives about seventy-five years. I know, some live more and some live less, but on average, folks live about seventy-five years.” “Now then, I multiplied 75 times
52 and I came up with 3900, which is the number of Saturdays that the average person has in their entire lifetime. Now stick with me, Tom, I’m getting to the important part.”

“It took me until I was fifty-five years old to think about all this in any detail” he went on, “and by that time I had lived through over twenty-eight hundred Saturdays. I got to thinking that if I lived to be seventy-five, I only had about
a thousand of them left to enjoy.”

“So I went to a toy store and bought every single marble they had. I ended up having to visit three toy stores to round-up 1000 marbles. I took them home and put them inside of a large, clear plastic container right here next to my gear. Every Saturday since then, I have taken one marble out and thrown it away.”

“I found that by watching the marbles diminish, I focused more on the really important things in life. There is nothing like watching your time here on this earth run out to help get your priorities straight.”

“Now let me tell you one last thing before I sign-off with you and take my lovely wife out for breakfast. This morning, I took the very last marble out of the container. I figure if I make it until next Saturday, then I have been given a little extra time. And the one thing we can all use is a little more time.”

“It was nice to meet you, Tom. I hope you spend more time with your family and I hope to meet you again here on the band. 75 year Old Man, this is D9NZQ, clear and going QRT, good morning!”

You could have heard a pin drop on the band when this fellow signed off. I guess he gave us all a lot to think about. I had planned to work on the antenna that morning and then I was going to meet up with a few hams to work on the next club newsletter. Instead, I went upstairs and woke my wife up with a kiss. “C’mon honey, I’m taking you and the kids to breakfast.”

“What brought this on?” she asked with a smile. “Oh, nothing special, it’s just been a long time since we spent a Saturday together with the kids.” “Hey, can we stop at a toy store while we’re out? I need to buy some marbles.”

Story submitted by Joyce Arnold