Archives

All posts for the month August, 2012

The Seasons of A Pear Tree

Published August 22, 2012 by gigiwellness28

There was a man who had four sons.  He wanted his sons to learn not to judge things too quickly, so he sent them each on a quest – in turn, to go and look at a pear tree that was a great distance away.

The first son went in Winter, the second in Spring, the third in Summer and the youngest son in Fall.

When they had all gone and come back, he called them together to describe what they had seen.

The first son said, “The tree was ugly, bent and twisted.”

The second son said, “No, it was covered with green buds and full of promise.”

The third son disagreed, “It was laden with blossoms that smelled so sweet and looked so beautiful.  It was the most graceful thing I had ever seen.”

The last son disagreed with all of them, “It was ripe and drooping with fruit, full of life and fulfilment.”

The man then explained to his sons that they were all correct, because they had each seen but only one season in the tree’s life.

He told them, “You cannot judge a tree or a person by only one season.  The essence of who they are and the pleasure, joy and love that come from that life can only be measured at the end.  When all the seasons are up.

“If you give up when it’s Winter, you will miss the promise of your Spring, the beauty of your Summer and fulfilment of your Fall.

“Don’t let the pain of one season destroy the joy of all the rest.  Don’t judge life by one difficult season.  Persevere through the difficult patches and better times are sure to come later.”

* * * * * *

Aspire to inspire before we expire.
Live simply.
Love generously.
Care deeply.
Speak kindly.
Leave the rest to God.

Happiness keeps us sweet.
Trials keep us strong.
Sorrows keep us human.
Failures keep us humble.
Success keeps us glow.
But only God keeps us going.

* * * * *

Honesties vs “White” Lies

Published August 21, 2012 by gigiwellness28

I was working in the office and received a phone call from one of our company’s Sales, who is a very aggressive lady, she told me about a customer’s order was being delivered with an incorrect configuration and demanded for an explanation.

While listening to her, I searched for all the related documents and found the cause of this mistake was partly me and partly the supplier.  I explained that to her and told her what will be done to resolve this incorrect delivery.  She was happy with my answer and thanked me at the end of our conversation.

Not aware the conversation was overheard by my colleagues, I continued to work until I was approached by few colleagues, who said they were very surprised that the Sales was not screaming at me but accepted what I told her.

My reply was, “Maybe because I was being honest to her, told her exactly what went wrong and apologised to her.”  Some colleagues said to avoid any confrontation with this Sales, they would have put the blames to the supplier, since she does not deal with the supplier directly.

* * * * * *

Dealing with aggressive people can be difficult task, but when I tell the truth and accepted my own faults, I found it becomes an easiest job in the world.  That’s what my Dad told me (when I was young) that every morning when we pray, we need to ask God for guidance to face whatever we need to face during that day.

I don’t know why I have chosen this post title as [Honesties vs “White” Lies], I am not going to elaborate, I am going to just finish this post by sharing what I have read recently:

Romas: 5: 3-5 “We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance.  And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation.  And this hope will not lead to disappointment.  For we know how dearly God loves us, because He has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with His love.”

* * * * * *

Who will Take My Son?

Published August 21, 2012 by gigiwellness28

A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art.  They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael.  They would often sit together and admire the great works of art.

When the Viet Nam conflict broke out, the son went to war.  He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier.  The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only son.

About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock at the door.  A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands.

He said, “Sir, you don’t know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life.  He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly.  He often talked about you, and your love for art.”

The young man held out his package, “I know this isn’t much.  I’m not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this.”

The father opened the package.  It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man.  He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting.  The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears.

He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture.  “Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me.  It’s a gift.”

The father hung the portrait over his mantle.  Every time visitors came to his home, he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected.

The man died a few months later.  There was to be a great auction of his collections.  Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection.  On the platform sat the painting of the son.

The auctioneer pounded his gavel.  “We will start the bidding with this picture of the son.  Who will bid for this picture?”

There was silence.  Then a voice in the back of the room shouted, “We want to see the famous paintings.  Skip this one.”

But the auctioneer persisted, “Will someone bid for this painting?  Who will start the bidding?  $100?  $200?”

Another voice shouted angrily, “We didn’t come to see this painting.  We came to see the Van Goghs, the Rembrandts.  Get on with the real bids!”  But still the auctioneer continued, “The son!  The son!  Who’ll take the son?”

Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room.  It was the longtime gardener of the man and his son.  “I’ll give $10 for the painting.”  Being a poor man, it was all he could afford.

“We have $10, who will bid $20?”

“Give it to him for $10.  Let’s see the masters.”

“$10 is the bid, won’t someone bid $20?”

The crowd was becoming angry, they didn’t want the picture of the son.  They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.  The auctioneer pounded the gavel.  “Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!”

A man sitting on the second row shouted, “Now let’s get on with the collection!”  The auctioneer laid down his gavel, “I’m sorry, the auction is over.”

“What about the paintings?”

“I am sorry.  When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will.  I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time.  Only the painting of the son would be auctioned.  Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings.  The one who took the son gets everything!”

God gave his Son 2,000 years ago to die on a cruel cross.  Much like the auctioneer, His message today is, “The Son, the Son, who’ll take the Son?”  Because whoever takes the Son gets everything.

* * * * * *

The Rest is Just Sand

Published August 21, 2012 by gigiwellness28

A philosophy professor stood before his class and had some items in front of him.  When class began, wordlessly he picked up a large empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with rocks that are about 2″ in diameter.

He then asked the students if the jar was full, they agreed that it was.  So the professor picked up a box of small pebbles and poured them into the already “full” jar.  He shook the jar lightly, the pebbles, of course, rolled into the open areas between the rocks.  The students laughed.  The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the already twice-over “full” jar.  Of course, the sand filled up the rest of the space.

“Now,” said the professor, “I want you to recognize that this is your life.  The rocks are the important things — your education, your loves, your personal goals, your God, your health, your family — anything that is so important to you that you would probably be nearly destroyed if it were lost.  The pebbles are the other things that matter, like your job, your house, your possessions.  Then, the sand is everything else – the small stuff and daily clutter of life.

If you put the sand into the jar first, there is no room for the pebbles or the rocks.  Likewise with the pebbles.  The same goes for your life.  If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are really important to you.

* + * + * + * + * + *

Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness…  Put your ideas in place and form a plan for achieving them.

Play with your children.  Take time to get medical check-ups.  Go out dancing.  Make time to laugh, and love.  Sit down often for long family meals.  Enjoy the holidays.

Try always, to keep your life in focus.  You will find that there will still be time to go to work, clean the house, wax the car, watch a show, pay the bills, or fix the air conditioner.  Take care of the rocks first – the things that really matter. Set your priorities, because…

The rest is just sand!

* * * * *

The Paradox of Our Age by Dr Bob Moorehead

Published August 21, 2012 by gigiwellness28

According to snopes.com, the following essay appeared in Words Aptly Spoken, Dr. Moorehead’s 1995 collection of prayers, homilies, and monologues used in his sermons and radio broadcasts:

We have taller buildings but shorter tempers;
wider freeways but narrower viewpoints;
we spend more but have less;
we buy more but enjoy it less;
we have bigger houses and smaller families;
more conveniences, yet less time;
we have more degrees but less sense;
more knowledge but less judgement;
more experts, yet more problems;
we have more gadgets but less satisfaction;
more medicine, yet less wellness;
we take more vitamins but see fewer results.
 
We drink too much;
smoke too much;
spend too recklessly;
laugh too little;
drive too fast;
get too angry quickly;
stay up too late;
get up too tired;
read too seldom;
watch TV too much and pray too seldom.
 
We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values;
we fly in faster planes to arrive there quicker, to do less and return sooner;
we sign more contracts only to realize fewer profits;
we talk too much;
love too seldom and lie too often.
 
We’ve learned how to make a living, but not a life;
we’ve added years to life, not life to years.
 
We’ve been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet the new neighbour.
 
We’ve conquered outer space, but not inner space;
we’ve done larger things, but not better things;
we’ve cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul;
we’ve split the atom, but not our prejudice;
we write more, but learn less;
plan more, but accomplish less;
we make faster planes, but longer lines;
we learned to rush, but not to wait;
we have more weapons, but less peace;
higher incomes, but lower morals;
more parties, but less fun;
more food, but less appeasement;
more acquaintances, but fewer friends;
more effort, but less success.
 
We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but have less communication;
drive smaller cars that have bigger problems;
build larger factories that produce less.
 
 
We’ve become long on quantity, but short on quality.
 
These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion;
tall men, but short character;
steep in profits, but shallow relationships.
 
These are times of world peace, but domestic warfare;
more leisure and less fun;
higher postage, but slower mail;
more kinds of food, but less nutrition.
 
These are days of two incomes, but more divorces;
these are times of fancier houses, but broken homes.
 
These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, cartridge living, throw-away morality, one-night stands, overweight bodies and pills that do everything from cheer, to prevent, quiet or kill.
 
It is a time when there is much in the show window and nothing in the stock room.
 
Indeed, these are the times!
 

* * * * **

The Smell of Rain

Published August 15, 2012 by gigiwellness28

Below is a very touching story, which according to www.truthorfiction.com, this is actually a recap of what happened in 1991 and beyond:

A cold March wind danced around the dead of night in Dallas as the Doctor walked into the small hospital room of Diana Blessing.  Still groggy from surgery, her husband David held her hand as they braced themselves for the latest news.

That afternoon of March 10,1991, complications had forced Diana, only 24 weeks pregnant, to undergo an emergency cesarean section to deliver the couple’s new daughter, Danae Lu Blessing.

At 12 inches long and weighing only one pound and nine ounces, they already knew she was perilously premature.  Still, the doctor’s soft words dropped like bombs.  “I don’t think she’s going to make it,” he said, as kindly as he could.  “There’s only a 10 percent chance she will live through the night, and even then, if by some slim chance she does make it, her future could be a very cruel one.”

Numb with disbelief, David and Diana listened as the doctor described the devastating problems Danae would likely face if she survived.  She would never walk, she would never talk, she would probably be blind, and she would certainly be prone to other catastrophic conditions from cerebral palsy to complete mental retardation, and on and on.

“No! No!” was all Diana could say.  She and David, with their 5-year-old son Dustin, had long dreamed of the day they would have a daughter to become a family of four.  Now, within a matter of hours, that dream was slipping away.

Through the dark hours of morning as Danae held onto life by the thinnest thread, Diana slipped in and out of drugged sleep, growing more and more determined that their tiny daughter would live, and live to be a healthy, happy young girl.  But David, fully awake and listening to additional dire details of their daughter’s chances of ever leaving the hospital alive, much less healthy, knew he must confront his wife with the inevitable.

“David walked in and said that we needed to talk about making funeral arrangements.”  Diana remembers, “I felt so bad for him because he was doing everything, trying to include me in what was going on, but I just wouldn’t listen, I couldn’t listen.  I said, ‘No, that is not going to happen, no way!  I don’t care what the doctors say, Danae is not going to die!  One day she will be just fine, and she will be coming home with us!'”

As if willed to live by Diana’s determination, Danae clung to life hour after hour, with the help of every medical machine and marvel her miniature body could endure.  But as those first days passed, a new agony set in for David and Diana.

Because Danae’s underdeveloped nervous system was essentially raw, the lightest kiss or caress only intensified her discomfort – so they couldn’t even cradle their tiny baby girl against their chests to offer the strength of their love.  All they could do, as Danae struggled alone beneath the ultraviolet light in the tangle of tubes and wires, was to pray that God would stay close to their precious little girl.

There was never a moment when Danae suddenly grew stronger.  But as the weeks went by, she did slowly gain an ounce of weight here and an ounce of strength there.

At last, when Danae turned two months old, her parents were able to hold her in their arms for the very first time.  And two months later – though doctors continued to gently but grimly warn that her chances of surviving, much less living any kind of normal life, were next to zero.  Danae went home from the hospital, just as her mother had predicted.

Today, five years later, Danae is a petite but feisty young girl with glittering gray eyes and an unquenchable zest for life.  She shows no signs, whatsoever, of any mental or physical impairment.  Simply, she is everything a little girl can be and more – but that happy ending is far from the end of her story.

One blistering afternoon in the summer of 1996 near her home in Irving, Texas, Danae was sitting in her mother’s lap in the bleachers of a local ball park, where her brother Dustin’s baseball team was practicing.  As always, Danae was chattering non-stop with her mother and several other adults sitting nearby when she suddenly fell silent.  Hugging her arms across her chest, Danae asked, “Do you smell that?”  Smelling the air and detecting the approach of a thunderstorm, Diana replied, “Yes, it smells like rain.”  Danae closed her eyes and again asked, “Do you smell that?”  Once again, her mother replied, “Yes, I think we’re about to get wet, it smells like rain.”  Still caught in the moment, Danae shook her head, patted her thin shoulders with her small hands and loudly announced, “No, it smells like Him.  It smells like God when you lay your head on His chest.”

Tears blurred Diana’s eyes as Danae then happily hopped down to play with the other children.

Before the rains came, her daughter’s words confirmed what Diana and all the members of the extended Blessing family had known, at least in their hearts, all along.  During those long days and nights of her first two months of her life, when her nerves were too sensitive for them to touch her, God was holding Danae on His chest and it is His loving scent that she remembers so well.

 

* * * * * * * *

The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein

Published August 11, 2012 by gigiwellness28

The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein – a story book my late Grandpa loved dearly.

Different people have different interpretations about this story; to my Grandpa, this story reminded him of how God sacrificed His only son for us.

According to Wikipedia, Timothy P. Jackson, a former professor of Religious Studies at Stanford University put it:

Is this a sad tale?  Well, it is sad in the same way that life is depressing.  We are all needy, and, if we are lucky and any good, we grow old using others and getting used up.  Tears fall in our lives like leaves from a tree.  Our finitude is not something to be regretted or despised, however; it is what makes giving (and receiving) possible.  The more you blame the boy, the more you have to fault human existence.  The more you blame the tree, the more you have to fault the very idea of parenting.  Should the tree’s giving be contingent on the boy’s gratitude?  If it were, if fathers and mothers waited on reciprocity before caring for their young, then we would all be doomed.

I found the actual ’73 Giving Tree Movie spoken by Shel Silverstein in YouTube, so for those who don’t want to read the story but want to watch the Movie, please click below, otherwise, please read on or do both:

The Giving Tree

Once, there was a tree…
And she loved a little boy.
And every day the boy would come
And he would gather her leaves
And make them into crowns and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
And swing from her branches
And eat apples
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.
And when he was tired, he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree… very much…
And the tree was happy.

But time went by,
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.
Then, one day, the boy came to the tree and the tree said,
“Come, Boy, come and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and eat apples and play in my shade and be happy!”
“I am too big to climb and play,” said the boy. “I want to buy thing and have fun.  I want some money.  Can you give me some money?”
“I’m sorry,” said the tree, “but I have no money.  I have only leaves and apples.  Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in city.  Then you will have money and you’ll be happy.”
And so the boy climbed up the tree and gathered her apples and carried them away.
And the tree was happy…

But the boy stayed away for a long time… and the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back, and the tree shook with joy, and she said,
“Come, Boy come and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and eat apples and play in my shade and be happy.”
“I am too busy to climb trees,” said the boy.  “I want a house to keep me warm”, he said.  “I and want a wife and I want children, and so I need a house. Can you give me a house?”
“I have no house”, said the tree.  “The forest is my house”, said the tree.  “But you may cut off my branches and build a house. Then you will be happy.”
And so the boy cut off her branches and carried them away to build his house.  And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time…
And when he came back, the tree was so happy she could hardly speak.
“Come, Boy” she whispered, “Come and play.”
“I am too old and sad to play,” said the boy.  “I want a boat that will take me away from here.  Can you give me a boat?”
“Cut down my trunk and make a boat,” said the tree.  “Then you can sail away… and be happy.”
And so the boy cut down her trunk
And made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy…
But not really.

And after a long time the boy came back again.
“I am sorry, Boy,” said the tree, “but I have nothing left to give you – My apples are gone.”
“My teeth are too weak for apples,” said the boy.
“My branches are gone,” said the tree.  “You cannot swing on them.”
“I am too old to swing on branches,” said the boy.
“My trunk is gone,” said the tree.  “You cannot climb.”
“I am too tired to climb,” said the boy.
“I am sorry,” sighed the tree.  “I wish that I could give you something… but I have nothing left.  I am just an old stump.  I am sorry…”
“I don’t need very much now,” said the boy.  “Just a quiet place to sit and rest.  I am very tired.”
“Well,” said the tree, straightening herself up as much as she could, “well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting.  Come, Boy, sit down… sit down and rest.”
And the boy did.
And the tree was happy…

The end.

%d bloggers like this: