Kindness - Author Unknown - A touching story

Kindness is a very touching story that will speak to your heart as it has spoken to mine when I first read it. One day a woman was walking down the street when she spied a beggar sitting on the corner. The man was elderly, unshaven, and ragged. As he sat there, pedestrians walked by him giving him dirty looks. They clearly wanted nothing to do with him because of who he was -- a dirty, homeless man. But when she saw him, the woman was moved to compassion.


It was very cold that day and the man had his tattered coat -- more like an old suit coat rather than a warm coat -- wrapped around him. She stopped and looked down. "Sir?" she asked. "Are you all right?"


The man slowly looked up. This was a woman clearly accustomed to the finer things of life. Her coat was new. She looked like that she had never missed a meal in her life. His first thought was that she wanted to make fun of him, like so many others had done before. "Leave me alone," he growled.


To his amazement, the woman continued standing. She was smiling -- her even white teeth displayed in dazzling rows. "Are you hungry?" she asked.


"No," he answered sarcastically. "I've just come from dining with the president. Now go away."


The woman's smile became even broader. Suddenly the man felt a gentle hand under his arm. "What are you doing, lady?" the man asked angrily. "I said to leave me alone."


Just then a policeman came up. "Is there any problem, ma'am?" he asked.


"No problem here, officer," the woman answered. "I'm just trying to get this man to his feet. Will you help me?"


The officer scratched his head. "That's old Jack. He's been a fixture around here for a couple of years. What do you want with him?"


"See that cafeteria over there?" she asked. "I'm going to get him something to eat and get him out of the cold for awhile."


"Are you crazy, lady?" the homeless man resisted. "I don't want to go in there!" Then he felt strong hands grab his other arm and lift him up. "Let me go, officer. I didn't do anything."


"This is a good deal for you, Jack," the officer answered. "Don't blow it."


Finally, and with some difficulty, the woman and the police officer got Jack into the cafeteria and sat him at a table in a remote corner. It was the middle of the morning, so most of the breakfast crowd had already left and the lunch bunch had not yet arrived. The manager strode across the cafeteria and stood by the table. "What's going on here, officer?" he asked. "What is all this? Is this man in trouble?"


"This lady brought this man in here to be fed," the policeman answered.


"Not in here!" the manager replied angrily. "Having a person like that here is bad for business."


Old Jack smiled a toothless grin. "See, lady. I told you so. Now if you'll let me go. I didn't want to come here in the first place."


The woman turned to the cafeteria manager and smiled. "Sir, are you familiar with Eddy and Associates, the banking firm down the street?"


"Of course I am," the manager answered impatiently. "They hold their weekly meetings in one of my banquet rooms."


"And do you make a good profit from providing food at the weekly meetings?"


"What business is that of yours?"


"I, sir, am Penelope Eddy, President and CEO of the company."


"Oh."


The woman smiled again. "I thought that might make a difference." She glanced at the cop who was busy stifling a giggle. "Would you like to join us in a cup of coffee and a meal, officer?"


"No thanks, ma'am," the officer replied. "I'm on duty."


"Then, perhaps, a cup of coffee to go?"


"Yes, ma'am. That would be very nice."


The cafeteria manager turned on his heel. "I'll get your coffee for you right away, officer."


The officer watched him walk away. "You certainly put him in his place," he said.


"That was not my intent. Believe it or not, I have a reason for all this." She sat down at the table across from her amazed dinner guest. She stared at him intently. "Jack, do you remember me?"


Old Jack searched her face with his old, rheumy eyes "I think so -- I mean you do look familiar."


"I'm a little older perhaps," she said. "Maybe I've even filled out more than in my younger days when you worked here, and I came through that very door, cold and hungry."


"Ma'am?" the officer said questioningly. He couldn't believe that such a magnificently turned out woman could ever have been hungry.


"I was just out of college," the woman began. "I had come to the city looking for a job, but I couldn't find anything. Finally I was down to my last few cents and had been kicked out of my apartment. I walked the streets for days. It was February and I was cold and nearly starving. I saw this place and walked in on the off chance that I could get something to eat."


Jack lit up with a smile. "Now I remember," he said. "I was behind the serving counter. You came up and asked me if you could work for something to eat. I said that it was against company policy."


"I know," the woman continued. "Then you made me the biggest roast beef sandwich that I had ever seen, gave me a cup of coffee, and told me to go over to a corner table and enjoy it. I was afraid that you would get into trouble. Then, when I looked over, I saw you put the price of my food in the cash register. I knew then that everything would be all right."


"So you started your own business?" Old Jack said.


"I got a job that very afternoon. I worked my way up. Eventually I started my own business that, with the help of God, prospered." She opened her purse and pulled out a business card. "When you are finished here, I want you to pay a visit to a Mr. Lyons. He's the personnel director of my company. I'll go talk to him now and I'm certain he'll find something for you to do around the office." She smiled. "I think he might even find the funds to give you a little advance so that you can buy some clothes and get a place to live until you get on your feet And if you ever need anything, my door is always opened to you."


There were tears in the old man's eyes. "How can I ever thank you," he said.


"Don't thank me," the woman answered. "To God goes the glory. Thank Jesus. He led me to you."


Outside the cafeteria, the officer and the woman paused at the entrance before going their separate ways. "Thank you for all your help, officer," she said.


"On the contrary, Ms. Eddy," he answered. "Thank you. I saw a miracle today, something that I will never forget. And... And thank you for the coffee."


She frowned. "I forgot to ask you whether you used cream or sugar. That's black."


The officer looked at the steaming cup of coffee in his hand. "Yes, I do take cream and sugar -- perhaps more sugar than is good for me." He patted his ample stomach.


"I'm sorry," she said.


"I don't need it now," he replied smiling. "I've got the feeling that this coffee you bought me is going to taste as sweet as sugar."



The Bible has many stories about kindness. One of them is the Parable of the Good Samaritan in Luke Chapter 10 verses 25 to 37. This is a story of kindness shown to a stranger.
The Parable of the Good Samaritan is a story Jesus told in answer to a test put forth by a certain lawyer. The lawyer asked him, "What must I do to inherit eternal life?"


Jesus returned his question with another question, "What is written in the Law?" And the man answered, ""You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself." And Jesus said to him, "You have answered correctly; Do this and you will live."


But the lawyer wanted to justify himself, said to Jesus, "And who is my neighbor?"


And Jesus answered by telling him the story of how a Samaritan shown kindness -- more than kindness -- to a total stranger.


Kindness not just to my family and friends. Yes, we are to show kindness to them but here from Jesus' parable, we are also to show kindness to strangers.


The good Samaritan had compassion when he saw the half dead man badly beaten by robbers. In response to that compassion, he shown kindness by going out of his way to minister to him, to cloth him and to make sure that everything needed to make him well is provided for him.


This is true kindness. Kindness without expecting anything in return. :)

The Room – Jesus and Our Sins -

The Room – Jesus and Our Sins - Author Unknown

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features save for one wall covered with small index card files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different headings.


As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read “People I Have Liked.” I opened it and began flipping cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.


And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn’t match.


A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named “Friends” was next to one marked “Friends I have Betrayed.”


The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. “Books I Have Read,” “Lies I Have Told,” “Comfort I Have Given,” “Jokes I Have Laughed At.” Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: “Things I’ve Yelled at My Brothers.” Others I couldn’t laugh at: “Things I Have Done in My Anger,” “Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents.” I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped.


I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my short life to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my own signature.


When I came to a file marked “Lustful Thoughts,” I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.


An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them! In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn’t matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards.


But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.


Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title bore “People I Have Shared the Gospel With.” The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than 3 inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.


And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that the hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.


But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn’t bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one?


Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn’t anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn’t say a word. He just cried with me.


Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.


“No!” I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was “No, no,” as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn’t be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood.


He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don’t think I’ll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, “It is finished.”


I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.

Two Horses

Two Horses - Don't miss out on this Beautiful story!:) - Author Unknown


Just up the road from my home is a field, with two horses in it. From a distance, each horse looks like any other horse.


But if you stop your car, or are walking by, you will notice something quite amazing....


Looking into the eyes of one horse will disclose that he is blind. His owner has chosen not to have him put down, but has made a good home for him.


This alone is amazing. If you stand nearby and listen, you will hear the sound of a bell. Looking around for the source of the sound, you will see that it comes from the smaller horse in the field.


Attached to the horse's halter is a small bell. It lets the blind friend know where the other horse is, so he can follow.


As you stand and watch these two friends, you'll see that the horse with the bell is always checking on the blind horse, and that the blind horse will listen for the bell and then slowly walk to where the other horse is, trusting that he will not be led astray.


When the horse with the bell returns to the shelter of the barn each evening, it stops occasionally and looks back, making sure that the blind friend isn't too far behind to hear the bell.


Like the owners of these two horses, God does not throw us away just because we are not perfect or because we have problems or challenges.


He watches over us and even brings others into our lives to help us when we are in need..


Sometimes we are the blind horse being guided by the little ringing bell of those who God places in our lives.
Other times we are the guide horse, helping others to find their way....


Good friends are like that... You may not always see them, but you know they are always there.


Please listen for my bell and I'll listen for yours, and remember...Be kinder than necessary-Everyone you meet is fighting. Some kind of battle!


Live simply,Love generously,Care deeply,Speak Kindly.......And leave the rest to God! :)


"For we live by faith, not by sight. " - 2 Corinthians 5:7


May God keep and guide you and be Blessed! Only JESUS SAVES! Be Blessed! :)

God Has Been Good To Me

God Has Been Good To Me

A fortunate of us view life in such a way. We all complain when life seems unfair to us, yet we have never taken into account how blessed we all are.

For 25 years, I watched him fight cancer of the face.

First just a small speck that begin to grow larger. Year after year I watch him go to hospital to have a bit cut out each time. As the years went by, more and more of his face was cut away. When he returned with what is left of his face, he tried to smile. He never complained or was downhearted.

He was a skillful mechanic and carpenter. In fact, he was one of the best. Whenever he did a job, he would stand back to see if there is anything left out that could be added to make it perfect. Then he would see some little place that the average person would pass up. He would then touch up this or that.

I suspect he said this to himself ?My work will be my face and my life? I doubt if he often look in the mirror at that damaged face where the cancer eat into every day. No matter how humble the pace he worked in, how small the job is or how crude the other workers seem, it never bother him at all. This was his work and it has to be done right. He never glanced at the work of others; a shoddy work done by others was not his concern. Nevertheless, I suspect when the job was done, he had a sense of inner pride and joy when he saw how outstanding it was. But he never boasted about it.

As the years went by, he became weaker and weaker. His hands did not move with confidence and speed that so characterized him. He was unable to do many things. However no matter what the work or pay, he always had the insatiable desire to do a good job.

The help he got was not able to catch his vision. They thought he was cranky to try so hard to complete each and every detail. So he worked alone. He did not complain or bitterly rail at the others. He would just appear the next morning by himself with no explanation of the absence of his helpers.

During the latter day, he had only the shambles of a face. He would wrap it up in a red bandana handkerchief, leaving only his eyes showing.

When you met him on the streets, he would always give a cheery greeting. As time went on, it was more and more difficult to say he words. Often he would move his walking stick. This stick, too, was a thing of beauty, carved out by his skillful hands.

His life seemed to be filled with contentment and peace. I suspect that he thanked God for those hands and the fact that it was not marred in any way.

He would often be missed about his usual haunts for weeks or months. He would make his journey to the hospital for the surgeon to cut away more of his face. Then you would see him again, a bit more gruesome. There would be no complain, no telling of his operation and pain. He would just quietly go to work that was waiting for him.

In all his time, I never knew him to come back with any complaints about the pain. You would think there was nothing the matter if you did not see his face. When the days of his labors seem to come to an end, his chief concern was that his tools might be in good hands. He sent for me one day and told me he wished someone would appreciate the tools and use them properly.

When I took a young man to see him about the tools, there came a look of contentment and satisfaction. His work was finished and he was ready to cash in.

A few days before he died he was walking in the yard. His face was nearly completely covered with bandages. Only his eyes were uncovered. As he hobbled about the yard, he said ?I am going to keep young just as long as I can?

The day he died, I went to see him again. The odor was so offensive you could hardly stay there. What was left of his face was a mass of scars and there was really nothing to cut away. You could tell he was in great pain and had many sleepless nights. But still there were no words of complaints.

I shall never forget his last words. Ever afterwards they have made me ashamed whenever I feel inclined to complain. Still day after day, they are vivid in my mind.

"God has been good to me..."

A fortunate of us view life in such a way. We all complain when life seems unfair to us, yet we have never taken into account how blessed we all are.

For 25 years, I watched him fight cancer of the face.

First just a small speck that begin to grow larger. Year after year I watch him go to hospital to have a bit cut out each time. As the years went by, more and more of his face was cut away. When he returned with what is left of his face, he tried to smile. He never complained or was downhearted.

He was a skillful mechanic and carpenter. In fact, he was one of the best. Whenever he did a job, he would stand back to see if there is anything left out that could be added to make it perfect. Then he would see some little place that the average person would pass up. He would then touch up this or that.

I suspect he said this to himself ?My work will be my face and my life? I doubt if he often look in the mirror at that damaged face where the cancer eat into every day. No matter how humble the pace he worked in, how small the job is or how crude the other workers seem, it never bother him at all. This was his work and it has to be done right. He never glanced at the work of others; a shoddy work done by others was not his concern. Nevertheless, I suspect when the job was done, he had a sense of inner pride and joy when he saw how outstanding it was. But he never boasted about it.

As the years went by, he became weaker and weaker. His hands did not move with confidence and speed that so characterized him. He was unable to do many things. However no matter what the work or pay, he always had the insatiable desire to do a good job.

The help he got was not able to catch his vision. They thought he was cranky to try so hard to complete each and every detail. So he worked alone. He did not complain or bitterly rail at the others. He would just appear the next morning by himself with no explanation of the absence of his helpers.

During the latter day, he had only the shambles of a face. He would wrap it up in a red bandana handkerchief, leaving only his eyes showing.

When you met him on the streets, he would always give a cheery greeting. As time went on, it was more and more difficult to say he words. Often he would move his walking stick. This stick, too, was a thing of beauty, carved out by his skillful hands.

His life seemed to be filled with contentment and peace. I suspect that he thanked God for those hands and the fact that it was not marred in any way.

He would often be missed about his usual haunts for weeks or months. He would make his journey to the hospital for the surgeon to cut away more of his face. Then you would see him again, a bit more gruesome. There would be no complain, no telling of his operation and pain. He would just quietly go to work that was waiting for him.

In all his time, I never knew him to come back with any complaints about the pain. You would think there was nothing the matter if you did not see his face. When the days of his labors seem to come to an end, his chief concern was that his tools might be in good hands. He sent for me one day and told me he wished someone would appreciate the tools and use them properly.

When I took a young man to see him about the tools, there came a look of contentment and satisfaction. His work was finished and he was ready to cash in.

A few days before he died he was walking in the yard. His face was nearly completely covered with bandages. Only his eyes were uncovered. As he hobbled about the yard, he said ?I am going to keep young just as long as I can?

The day he died, I went to see him again. The odor was so offensive you could hardly stay there. What was left of his face was a mass of scars and there was really nothing to cut away. You could tell he was in great pain and had many sleepless nights. But still there were no words of complaints.

I shall never forget his last words. Ever afterwards they have made me ashamed whenever I feel inclined to complain. Still day after day, they are vivid in my mind.

"God has been good to me...

~Just Checking In~

~Just Checking In~

A minister passing through his church in the middle of the day,
Decided to pause by the altar and see who had come to pray.

Just then the back door opened, a man came down the aisle,
The minister frowned as he saw the man hadn't shaved in a while.

His shirt was kinda shabby and his coat was worn and frayed.
The man knelt, he bowed his head, then rose and walked away.

In the days that followed, each noon time - came this chap,
Each time he knelt just for a moment, a lunch pail in his lap.

Well, the minister's suspicions grew, with robbery a main fear,
He decided to stop the man and ask him, "What are you doing here?"

The old man said, he worked down the road - Lunch was half an hour.
Lunchtime was his prayer time, for finding faith, strength and power.

"I stay only moments, see, the factory is so far away;
As I kneel here talking to the Lord, this is kinda what I say:

"I just came again to tell you Lord, how happy I have been,
Since we found each other's friendship and you took away my sin.

Don't know much of how to pray, but I think about you everyday.
So, Jesus, this is Jim - just checking in."

The minister feeling foolish, told Jim that was fine.
He told the man he was welcome to come and pray anytime.

"Time to go", Jim smiled, and said "thanks" as he hurried to the door.
The minister knelt at the alter, he'd never done that before.

His cold heart melted, warmed with love, and met with Jesus there.
As the tears flowed, in his heart, he repeated old Jim's prayer:

"I just came again to tell you Lord, how happy I have been,
Since we found each other's friendship and you took away my sin.

Don't know much of how to pray, but I think about you everyday.
So, Jesus, This is me - just checking in."

Past noon one day, the minister noticed that old Jim had not come.
As more days passed with no sign of Jim, he began to worry some.

At the factory, he asked about him, learning he was ill.
The hospital staff was worried, but Jim had given them a thrill.

The week that Jim was with them, he brought changes in the ward.
His smiles, a joy contagious - changed people, were his reward.

The head nurse couldn't understand why Jim was so glad,
When no flowers, calls or cards came, not a visitor he had.

The minister stayed by Jim's bed, he voiced the nurse's concern.
No friends came to show they cared, he had nowhere to turn.

Looking surprised, old Jim spoke up and with a winsome smile -
"The nurse is wrong, she couldn't know, that in here all the while,

Everyday at noon - He's here, a dear friend of mine, you see,
He sits right down, takes my hand, leans over and says to me:

"I JUST CAME AGAIN TO TELL YOU, JIM,
HOW HAPPY I HAVE BEEN,
SINCE WE FOUND THIS WONDERFUL FRIENDSHIP,
AND I TOOK AWAY YOUR SIN.
I ALWAYS LOVE TO HEAR YOU PRAY,
AND I THINK ABOUT YOU EVERY DAY,
AND SO JIM, THIS IS JESUS ... CHECKING IN."

Walking with God

Setting My Goal

I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.
--- Philippians 3:14

During my review for the medical boards, I gained 10lbs in a span of 4 months and promised myself to exercise when all of this is over. I successfully passed the medical boards with the help of the LORD, the oath taking is over and now I have to face the music (as my friend Joni always say).

One early morning, I woke up and decided to go to Philam park for a walk and to start my work out. I got out of bed and changed into my jogging outfit, washed my face, brushed my teeth and tied up my rubber shoes. I got into my car and drove off to the park. While going there, I decided to set a goal for myself, that, I have to finish 10 rounds before I go home.

Upon reaching the park, I got out of the car and started my exercise and joined the people there. So there I was enjoying every step, inhaling and exhaling fresh air, appreciating the green grass and looking at the dried leaves falling from the trees while listening to my ipod. As I continued to walk around the park, I uttered a prayer to the Lord thanking him for the wonderful morning and asking Him what His message is for me that day.

On my 5th round, I felt fatigue, hunger and thirst setting in. I entertained the thought of giving up, going home and sleeping again. As the idea battled in my mind, I was reminded about the goal I have set just a while ago. I kept on walking and as I looked around, I saw myself in the midst of men and women decades older than me who continued to move on. Some even suffered from a stroke that had difficulty walking, some took on small steps with a cane on hand and some took on pauses before they continued their walk but still they kept on walking.

God made me realize that each of us have set our own goals in our lives. Be it about having a family, pursuing a career path, correcting a past mistake, reaching a dream, passing a board exam, starting a business, or even moving on from an unsuccessful relationship. The process won’t be easy. We will or we may encounter a lot of stumbling blocks, obstacles and hurdles that may push us to just give up, cry and feel sorry for ourselves.

Let's stop and look around. Let us remember that God is always there the moment we open our eyes in the morning, accompanying us in every step of the way until we reach our goals. Let us consult and entrust to the Lord all our plans because He is the creator of all things and He knows what’s best for us.

And lastly, let us be inspired with the people around us who had experienced the same or even a greater amount of difficulty but still did not give up and continued until they reach their goals and now is savoring their success with the help of our LORD. I guess you know now what their secret is.

Amazed by the men and women whom I walked with that morning, I finished my goal, had the Lord’s message in my heart and went home after my 10th round of walking. It felt good. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!

I hope you and I can apply what God made me realize this morning.

Have a blessed day everyone! God bless us all.

Trust in the LORD with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways submit to him,
and he will make your paths straight.
Proverbs 3:5-6

christmas envelope

Christmas Envelope

It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so. It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas-oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it-overspending, the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma-the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else.

Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.

Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church, mostly black. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented
a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes. As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he
swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat. Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of them could have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them."

Mike loved kids-all kids-and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse. That's when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition-one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas,
and on and on. The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always
the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents.

As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. The story doesn't end there. You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and
someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope. Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us.

May we all remember the Christmas spirit this year and always.