We have received some wonderful email with personal stories from people who visit our site. We would like to share those stories with everyone....

Mary and her husband Jim had a dog, Lucky. Lucky was  a
real character.  Whenever Mary and Jim had company come
for a weekend visit they would warn their friends to  not leave
their  luggage open because Lucky would help himself to
whatever struck his fancy. Inevitably someone would  forget
and something  would come up missing. Mary or Jim would go
to Lucky's toy box in the basement and there the  treasure
would be,  amid all of Lucky's favorite toys. Lucky always
stashed his finds in his toy box and he was very  particular
that his toys  stay in the box.
It happened that Mary found out she had breast cancer.
Something told
her she was  going to die of this  disease...she was just sure
it was
fatal.
She scheduled the double mastectomy, fear riding her  shoulders.

The night before she was to go to the hospital  she cuddled
with  Lucky. A thought struck her...what would happen to Lucky?
Although the  three-year-old dog liked Jim he was Mary's dog
through and through. If I die Lucky will be abandoned,  Mary
thought. He  won't understand that I didn't want to leave him.

The thought made her sadder than thinking of her  own death.
The double mastectomy was harder on Mary than her  doctors
had  anticipated and Mary was hospitalized for over two  weeks.

Jim took Lucky  for his evening walk faithfully but the dog just
drooped, whining and miserable. But finally the  day came for
Mary to leave  the hospital. When she arrived home, Mary
was so exhausted she couldn't even make it up the  steps to
her bedroom.  Jim made his wife comfortable on the couch
and left her to nap.

Lucky stood watching Mary but he didn't come to her  when
she called. It  made Mary sad but sleep soon overcame her
and she dozed. When Mary woke for a second she  couldn't
understand what  was wrong. She couldn't move her head and
her body felt heavy and hot. Panic soon gave way  to laughter
though  when Mary realized the problem. she was covered,
literally blanketed in every   treasure Lucky  owned! While she
had  slept the sorrowing dog had made trip after trip to the
basement and back bringing  his beloved mistress his favorite
things in life. He had covered her with his love. Mary  forgot
about dying.  Instead she and Lucky began living again, walking
further and further together every night.

It's  been 12 years now and Mary is still cancer-free.
Lucky? He still steals treasures and stashes them in  his toy
box but Mary  remains his greatest  treasure.

Live everyday to the fullest...because every day is a blessing
from God!

The Sandpiper - by Robert Peterson

She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I
live.
I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the
world begins to close in on me. She was building a sandcastle or something
and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.

"Hello," she said.

I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small
child.

"I'm building," she said.

"I see that. What is it?" I asked, not really caring.

"Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand."

That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes. A sandpiper
glided by.

"That's a joy," the child said.

"It's a what?"

"It's a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy."

The bird went gliding down the beach. Good-bye joy, I muttered to
myself, hello pain, and turned to walk on. I was depressed, my life seemed
completely out of balance.

"What's your name?" She wouldn't give up.

"Robert," I answered. "I'm Robert Peterson."

"Mine's Wendy... I'm six." "Hi, Wendy." She giggled. "You're funny,"
she said.

In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on. Her musical giggle
followed me.

"Come again, Mr. P," she called. "We'll have another happy day."

After a few days of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, and an
ailing mother. The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out
of  the dishwater. I need a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up my coat.

The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was
chilly but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.

"Hello, M r. P," she said. "Do you want to play?"

"What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.

"I don't know, you say."

"How about charades?" I asked sarcastically.

The tinkling laughter burst forth again. "I don't know what that is."

"Then let's just walk."

Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face. "Where do
you live?" I asked.

"Over there." She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.

Strange, I thought, in winter.

"Where do you go to school?" "I don't go to school. Mommy says we're
on vacation."

She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my
mind was on other things. When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy
day.
Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.

Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I
was in no mood to even greet Wendy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch
and felt like demanding she keep her child at home.

"Look, if you don't mind," I said crossly when Wendy caught up with
me, "I'd rather be alone today." She seemed unusually pale and out of breath.

"Why?" she asked.

I turned to her and shouted, "Because my mother died!" and thought, My
God, why was I saying this to a little child?

"Oh," she said quietly, "then this is a bad day."

"Yes," I said, "and yesterday and the day before and--oh, go away!"

"Did it hurt?" she inquired.

"Did what hurt?" I was exasperated with her, with myself.

"When she died?"

"Of course it hurt!" I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in
myself. I strode off.

A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't
there.
Feeling guilty, ashamed and admitting to myself I missed her, I went
up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn looking
young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.

"Hello," I said, "I'm Robert Peterson. I missed your little girl today
and wondered where she was."

"Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy spoke of you so much. I'm
afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance, please,
accept my apologies."

"Not at all -- she's a delightful child." I said, suddenly realizing
that I meant what I had just said.

"Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson. She had leukemia. Maybe she
didn't tell you."

Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. I had to catch my breath.

"She loved this beach so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no.
She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy
days. But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly..." Her voice faltered, "She
left something for you ... if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment
while I look?"

I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely
young woman. She handed me a smeared envelope with "MR. P" printed in bold
childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues -- a
yellow beach, a blue sea, and a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed:
A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY.

Tears welled up in my eyes and a heart that had almost forgotten to
love opened wide. I took Wendy's mother in my arms. "I'm so sorry, I'm so
sorry, I'm so sorry," I muttered over and over, and we wept together. The
precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six words -- one
for each year of her life -- that speak to me of harmony, courage, and
undemanding love.

A gift from a child with sea blue eyes and hair the color of sand --
who taught me the gift of love.

NOTE: This is a true story sent out by Robert Peterson. It happened
over 20 years ago and the incident changed his life forever. It serves as a
reminder to all of us that we need to take time to enjoy living and life and
each other. The price of hating other human beings is loving oneself less.

Life is so complicated, the hustle and bustle of everyday traumas can
make us lose focus about what is truly important or what is only a
momentary setback or crisis.

This week, be sure to give your loved ones an extra hug, and by all
means, take a moment...even if it is only ten seconds, to stop and smell the
roses.

This comes from someone's heart, and is shared with many and now I
share it with you.

May God Bless everyone that reads this! There are NO coincidences!
Everything that happens to us happens for a reason. Never brush aside
anyone as insignificant. Who knows what they can teach us?

I wish for you, a sandpiper !!

From Kay...

On July 22nd I was in route to Washington, DC for a business trip. It was all so very ordinary, until we landed in Denver for a plane change. As I collected my belongings from the overhead bin, an announcement was made for Mr. Lloyd Glenn to see the United Customer Service Representative immediately. I thought nothing of it until I reached the door to leave the plane and I heard a gentleman asking every male if he were Mr. Glenn. At this point I knew something was wrong and my heart sunk. When I got off the plane a solemn-faced young man came toward me and said, Mr. Glenn, there is an emergency at your home. I do not know what the emergency is, or who is involved, but I will take you to the phone so you can call the hospital." My heart was now pounding, but the will to be calm took over. Woodenly, I followed this stranger to the distant telephone where I called the number he gave me for the Mission Hospital. My call was put through to the trauma center where I learned that my three-year-old son had been trapped underneath the automatic garage door for several minutes, and that when my wife had found him he was dead. CPR had been performed by a neighbor who is a doctor, and the paramedics had continued the treatment as Brian was transported to the hospital. By the time of my call, Brian was revived and they believed he would live, but they did not know how much damage had been done to his brain, nor to his heart. They explained that the door had completely closed on his little sternum right over his heart. He had been severely crushed. After speaking with the medical staff, my wife sounded worried but not hysterical, and I took comfort in her calmness. The return flight seemed to last forever, but finally I arrived at the hospital six hours after the garage door had come down. When I walked into the intensive care unit, nothing could have prepared me to see my little son laying so still on a great big bed with tubes and monitors everywhere. He was on a respirator. I glanced at my wife who stood and tried to give me a reassuring smile. It all seemed like a terrible dream. I was filled-in with the details and given a guarded prognosis Brian was going to live, and the preliminary tests indicated that his heart was OK, two miracles in and of themselves. But only time would tell if his brain received any damage. Throughout the seemingly endless hours, my wife was calm. She felt that Brian would eventually be all right. I hung on to her words and faith like a lifeline. All that night and the next day Brian remained unconscious. It seemed like forever since I had left for my business trip the day before. Finally at two o'clock that afternoon, our son regained consciousness and sat up uttering the most beautiful words I have ever heard spoken. He said, Daddy hold me" and he reached for me with his little arms. [TEAR BREAK...smile] By the next day he was pronounced as having no neurological or physical deficits, and the story of his miraculous survival spread throughout the hospital. You cannot imagine, we took Brian home, we felt a unique reverence for the life and love of our Heavenly Father that comes to those who brush death so closely. In the days that followed there was a special spirit about our home. Our two older children were much closer to their little brother. My wife and I were much closer to each other, and all of us were very close as a whole family. Life took on a less stressful pace. Perspective seemed to be more focused, and balance much easier to gain and maintain. We felt deeply blessed. Our gratitude was truly profound. The story is not over (smile)! Almost a month later to the day of the accident, Brian awoke from his afternoon nap and said, "Sit down Mommy. I have something to tell you." At this time in his life, Brian usually spoke in small phrases, so to say a large sentence surprised my wife. She sat down with him on his bed, and he began his sacred and remarkable story. "Do you remember when I got stuck under the garage door? Well, it was so heavy and it hurt really bad. I called to you, but you couldn't hear me. I started to cry, but then it hurt too bad. And then the 'birdies' came.""The birdies?" my wife asked puzzled. "Yes," he replied. "The birdies made a whooshing sound and flew into the garage. They took care of me "They did?" "Yes," he said. "One of the birdies came and got you. She came to tell you I got stuck under the door." A sweet reverent feeling filled the room. The spirit was so strong and yet lighter than air. My wife realized that a three-year-old had no concept of death and spirits, so he was referring to the beings who came to him from beyond as "birdies" because they were up in the air like birds that fly.. "What did the birdies look like?" she asked. Brian answered, "They were so beautiful. They were dressed in white, all white. Some of them had green and white. But some of them had on just white. "Did they say anything?" "Yes," he answered. "They told me the baby would be all right." "The baby?" my wife asked confused. Brian answered. "The baby laying on the garage floor." He went on, "You came out and opened the garage door and ran to the baby. You told the baby to stay and not leave. My wife nearly collapsed upon hearing this, for she had indeed gone and knelt beside Brian's body and seeing his crushed chest whispered, "Don't leave us Brian, please stay if you can." As she listened to Brian telling her the words she had spoken, she realized that the spirit had left His body and was looking down from above on this little lifeless form. "Then what happened?" she asked. "We went on a trip," he said, "far, far away." He grew agitated trying to say the things he didn't seem to have the words for. My wife tried to calm and comfort him, and let him know it would be okay. He struggled with wanting to tell something that obviously was very important to him, but finding the words was difficult. "We flew so fast up in the air They're so pretty Mommy," he added. "And there are lots and lots of birdies." My wife was stunned. Into her mind the sweet comforting spirit enveloped her more soundly, but with an urgency she had never before known. Brian went on to tell her that the "birdies" had told him that he had to come back and tell everyone about the "birdies." He said they brought him back to the house and that a big fire truck, and an ambulance were there. A man was bringing the baby out on a white bed and he tried to tell the man that the baby would be okay. The story went on for an hour. He taught us that "birdies" were always with us, but we don't see them because we look with our eyes and we don't hear them because we listen with our ears. But they are always there, you can only see them in here (he put his hand over his heart). They whisper the things to help us to do what is right because they love us so much. Brian continued, stating, "I have a plan Mommy You have a plan.. Daddy has a plan. Everyone has a plan. We must all live our plan and keep our promises. The birdies help us to do that cause they love us so much." In the weeks that followed, he often came to us and told all, or part of it, again and again. Always the story remained the same. The details were never changed or out of order. A few times he added further bits of information and clarified the message he had already delivered. It never ceased to amaze us how he could tell such detail and speak beyond his ability when he talked about his birdies. Everywhere he went, he told strangers about the "birdies." Surprisingly, no one ever looked at him strangely when he did this. Rather, they always got a softened look on their face and smiled. Needless to say, we have not been the same ever since that day, and I pray we never will be. You have just been sent an Angel to watch over you. Some people come into our lives and quickly go...Some people become friends and stay a while.. leaving beautiful footprints on our hearts . and we are never quite the same because we have made a good friend!! Yesterday is history. Tomorrow a mystery. Today is a gift. That's why it's called the present! Live and savor every moment...this is not a dress rehearsal!

From John...

When things in your life seem almost too much to handle, when 24 hours
in a day are not enough, remember the mayonnaise jar..and the 2 cups of
coffee...

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in
front of him. When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very
large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls.

He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.
The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the
jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas
between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was
full. They agreed it was.

The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar.
Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the
jar was full. The students responded with an unanimous "yes."

The professor then produced two cups of coffee from under the table and
poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty
space between the sand. The students laughed.

"Now," said the professor, as the laughter subsided, " I want you to
recognize that this jar represents your life.
The golf balls are the important things-your God, family, your children,
your health, your friends, and your favorite passions -- things that if
everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still
be full.

The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house,
and your car.

The sand is everything else -- the small stuff.

If you put the sand into the jar first," he continued, "there is no room
for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend
all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room
for the things that are important to you.
Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness.

Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your
partner out to dinner. Play another 18. There will always be time to
clean the house and fix the disposal."

Take care of the golf balls first -- the things that really matter. Set
your priorities. The rest is just sand."

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the coffee
represented. The professor smiled. "I'm glad you asked. It just goes to
show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there's always room
for a couple of cups of coffee with a friend."