The Circle Is Unbroken

He was driving home one evening, on a two-lane country road. Work, in this small, mid-
western community, was almost as slow as his beat-up Pontiac. But he never quit looking.
Ever since the Levis factory closed, he'd been unemployed, and with winter raging on, the
chill had finally hit home.

It was a lonely road. Not very many people had a reason to be on it, unless they were
leaving. Most of his friends had already left. They had families to feed and dreams to fulfill.
But he stayed on. After all, this was where he buried his mother and father. He was born
here and knew the country.

He could go down this road blind, and tell you what was on either side, and with his
headlights not working, that came in handy. It was starting to get dark and light snow
flurries were coming down. He'd better get a move on.

You know, he almost didn't see the old lady, stranded on the side of the road. But even in
the dim light of day, he could see she needed help. So he pulled up in front of her Mercedes
and got out. His Pontiac was still sputtering when he approached her.

Even with the smile on his face, she was worried. No one had stopped to help for the last
hour or so. Was he going to hurt her? He didn't look safe, he looked poor and hungry. He
could see that she was frightened, standing out there in the cold. He knew how she felt. It
was that chill that only fear can put in you. He said, "I'm here to help you ma'am. Why
don't you wait in the car where it's warm. By the way, my name is Joe."

Well, all she had was a flat tire, but for an old lady, that was bad enough. Joe crawled under
the car looking for a place to put the jack, skinning his knuckles a time or two. Soon he was
able to change the tire. But he had to get dirty and his hands hurt. As he was tightening up
the lug nuts, she rolled down her window and began to talk to him. She told him that she
was from St. Louis and was only just passing through. She couldn't thank him enough for
coming to her aid. Joe just smiled as he closed her trunk.

She asked him how much she owed him. Any amount would have been all right with her.
She had already imagined all the awful things that could have happened had he not
stopped. Joe never thought twice about the money. This was not a job to him. This was
helping someone in need, and God knows there were plenty who had given him a hand in
the past. He had lived his whole life that way, and it never occurred to him to act any other
way. He told her that if she really wanted to pay him back, the next time she saw someone
who needed help, she could give that person the assistance that they needed, and Joe
added "...and think of me."

He waited until she started her car and drove off. It had been a cold and depressing day,
but he felt good as he headed for home, disappearing into the twilight. A few miles down
the road the lady saw a small cafe. She went in to grab a bite to eat, and take the chill off
before she made the last leg of her trip home. It was a dingy looking restaurant. Outside
were two old gas pumps. The whole scene was unfamiliar to her. The cash register was like
the telephone of an out of work actor, it didn't ring much.

Her waitress came over and brought a clean towel to wipe her wet hair. She had a sweet
smile, one that even being on her feet for the whole day couldn't erase. The lady noticed
that the waitress was nearly eight months pregnant, but she never let the strain and aches
change her attitude. The old lady wondered how someone who had so little could be so
giving to a stranger. Then she remembered Joe.

After the lady finished her meal, and the waitress went to get her change from a hundred
dollar bill, the lady slipped right out the door. She was gone by the time the waitress came
back. She wondered where the lady could be, and then she noticed something written on a
napkin. There were tears in her eyes, when she read what the lady wrote. It said, "You
don't owe me a thing, I've been there too. Someone once helped me out, the way I'm
helping you. If you really want to pay me back, here's what you do. Don't let the chain of
love end with you."

Well, there were tables to clear, sugar bowls to fill, and people to serve, but the waitress
made it through another day. That night when she got home from work and climbed into
bed, she was thinking about the money and what the lady had written. How could she have
known how much she and her husband needed it? With the baby due next month, it was
going to be hard. She knew how worried her husband was, and as he lay sleeping next to
her, she gave him a soft kiss and whispered soft and low, "Everything's gonna be all right. I
love you, Joe."


















Who Packs Your Parachute?
Sometimes in the daily challenges that life gives us, we miss what is really important. We
may fail to say hello, please, thank you, congratulate someone on something wonderful that
has happened to them, give a compliment, or just do something nice for no reason.

Charles Plumb, a US Naval Academy graduate, was a jet pilot in Vietnam. After 75 combat
missions, his plane was destroyed by a surface-to-air missile. Plumb ejected and parachuted
into enemy hands. He was captured and spent 6 years in a communist prison. He survived
the ordeal and now lectures on lessons learned from that experience.

One day, when Plumb and his wife were sitting in a restaurant, a man at another table came
up and said, "You're Plumb! You flew jet fighters in Vietnam from the aircraft carrier Kitty
Hawk. You were shot down!"

"How in the world did you know that?" asked Plumb.

"I packed your parachute," the man replied.

Plumb gasped in surprise and gratitude. The man grabbed his hand and said, "I guess it
worked!"

Plumb assured him, "It sure did. If your chute hadn't worked, I wouldn't be here today."

Plumb couldn't sleep that night, thinking about that man. Plumb kept wondering what the
man might have looked like in a Navy uniform. He wondered how many times he might
have seen him and not even said good morning, how are you or anything, because you see,
he was a fighter pilot and the man was just a sailor.
Plumb thought of the many hours that sailor had spent in the bowels of the ship, carefully
weaving the shrouds and folding the silks of each chute, holding in his hands each time the
fate of someone he did not know.

Now Plumb asks his audience, "Who is packing your parachute?" Everyone has someone
who provides what they need to make it through the day.

Plumb also points out that he needed many kinds of parachutes when his plane was shot
down. As you go through your week, month, and year, recognize the people who have
packed your parachute and enabled you to get where you are today!







Nails in the Fence
There was a little boy with a bad temper. His father gave him a bag of nails and told him
that every time he lost his temper, to hammer a nail in the back fence.

The first day the boy had driven 37 nails into the fence. Then it gradually dwindled down.
He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails into the fence.

Finally the day came when the boy didn't lose his temper at all. He told his father about it
and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to
hold his temper.

The days passed and the young boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were
gone.

The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence.

You have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the
same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one. You can put a
knife in a man and draw it out, it won't matter how many times you say "I'm sorry," the
wound is still there. A verbal wound is as bad as a physical one.

















One Person
Dr. Frank Mayfield was touring Tewksbury Institute when, on his way out, he accidentally
collided with an elderly floor maid. To cover the awkward moment Dr. Mayfield started
asking questions, "How long have you worked here?"

"I've worked here almost since the place opened," the maid replied.

"What can you tell me about the history of this place?" he asked.

"I don't think I can tell you anything, but I could show you something."

With that, she took his hand and led him down to the basement under the oldest section of
the building. She pointed to one of what looked like small prison cells; their iron bars rusted
with age, and said, "That's the cage where they used to keep Annie."

"Who's Annie?" the doctor asked.

"Annie was a young girl who was brought in here because she was incorrigible - which
means nobody could do anything with her. She'd bite and scream and throw her food at
people. The doctors and nurses couldn't even examine her or anything. I'd see them trying
with her spitting and scratching at them. I was only a few years younger than her myself
and I used to think, 'I sure would hate to be locked up in a cage like that.' I wanted to help
her, but I didn't have any idea what I could do. I mean, if the doctors and nurses couldn't
help her, what could someone like me do?

"I didn't know what else to do, so I just baked her some brownies one night after work. The
next day I brought them in. I walked carefully to her cage and said, 'Annie, I baked these
brownies just for you. I'll put them right here on the floor and you can come and get them if
you want.' Then I got out of there just as fast as I could because I was afraid she might
throw them at me. But she didn't. She actually took the brownies and ate them.

"After that, she was just a little bit nicer to me when I was around. And sometimes I'd talk
to her. Once, I even got her laughing. One of the nurses noticed this and she told the
doctor. They asked me if I'd help them with Annie. I said I would if I could. So that's how it
came about that every time they wanted to see Annie or examine her, I went into the cage
first and explained and calmed her down and held her hand. Which is how they discovered
that Annie was almost blind."

After they'd been working with her for about a year - and it was tough sledding with Annie -
the Perkins Institute for the Blind opened its doors. They were able to help her and she
went on to study and became a teacher herself.

Annie came back to the Tewksbury Institute to visit, and to see what she could do to help
out. At first, the Director didn't say anything and then he thought about a letter he'd just
received. A man had written to him about his daughter. She was absolutely unruly - almost
like an animal.

He'd been told she was blind and deaf as well as 'deranged'. He was at his wit's end, but he
didn't want to put her in an asylum. So he wrote here to ask if we knew of anyone - any
teacher - who would come to his house and work with his daughter.

And that is how Annie Sullivan became the lifelong companion of Helen Keller.

When Helen Keller received the Nobel Prize, she was asked who had the greatest impact on
her life and she said, "Annie Sullivan." But Annie said, "No Helen. The woman who had the
greatest influence on both our lives was a floor maid at the Tewksbury Institute."

History is changed when one person asks, what can someone like me do?
























The Wrong Figures
When I was nineteen, I thought that I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life. I was
engaged to a twenty-one-year-old young man, whom I had been dating for over three
years; and we were planning a wedding. We truly loved each other.

Then doubts began to wiggle their way into my thinking, and I started to wonder if I were
making the right decision. A college scholarship was available, if I wanted to apply for it. I
was a good student, ranking in the upper ten percent of my senior class. I had half-
heartedly considered pursuing a career in the fields of art or writing. I possessed a measure
of talent in both areas, but I had lacked incentive to really work at either of them. And
that's where the doubts began.

Without telling my fianc?, I struggled for weeks with my dilemma. I knew that I could not
go away to college and still get married. I also knew that my heart belonged to him, would
always belong to him. I tried to count the cost of both losses, tried to project what my life
would be like in both scenarios. I was in a quagmire of indecision.

Late one night, as I tossed and turned, I heard my dad cough lightly from the next room.
He was only thirty-nine; but he was very ill with lupus, and had many sleepless, pain-filled
nights.

"Dad, is Mom asleep?" I called softly.

"Yes," he answered.

"Daddy, I have a problem," I told him. For a long time, there was no answer; and I thought
that he had fallen asleep. He was a man of few words, at best. So I resigned myself to
receiving no help from that quarter.

"Maybe you're using the wrong figures."

When his answer floated gently into my room, it was as if a cartoon light bulb appeared
over my head. How simple my father had made it. All I had to do was eliminate one set of
figures from the equation, and my problem was solved!

A few weeks later I married my young man. And, no, it hasn't always been a "happily-ever-
after" fairy tale existence. It has been, however, a life filled with love, even in the midst of
"dislike" for each other. Untold riches have been mine, through the lives of my daughter and
my son, and now through the lives of their children.

Down all the years, I have used my "talents" in art projects for my children, both at school
and church, as a means to decorate my own house and houses of friends and relatives with
my own oil paintings, and my years of association with a writer's roundtable, both with
writing content and designing covers for our books. I have finally seen another of my
dreams materialize in the form of my first book, which will be released in May, 2003.

My young dad died just two short years after giving me the words I needed to make the
correct choice for my life. My daughter, the only grandchild he would ever hold, was only
seven months old when he died.

I wish my dad could know how often I have used his one-line philosophy. I have discovered
that, usually, when confronted with a choice or problem or dilemma, the easiest solution is
simply to delete one set of "figures" from the equation.

It works for me!


























There Is Greatness All Around You... Use it!
There are many people who could be Olympic champions, All-Americans who have never
tried. I'd estimate five million people could have beaten me in the pole vault the years I
won it, at least five million. Men who were stronger, bigger and faster than I was, could
have done it, but they never picked up a pole, never made the feeble effort to pick their
legs off the ground to try to get over the bar.

Greatness is all around us. It's easy to be great because great people will help you. What is
fantastic about all the conventions I go to is that the greatest in the business will come and
share their ideas, their methods and their techniques with everyone else. I have seen the
greatest salesmen open up and show young salesmen exactly how they did it. They don't
hold back. I have also found it true in the world of sports.

I'll never forget the time I was trying to break Dutch Warmer Dam's record. I was about a
foot below his record, so I called him on the phone. I said, "Dutch, can you help me? I seem
to have leveled off. I can't get any higher."

He said, "Sure Bob, come on up to visit me and I'll give you all I got."

I spent three days with the master, the greatest pole vaulter in the world. For three days,
Dutch gave me everything that he'd seen. There were things that I was doing wrong and he
corrected them. To make a long story short, I went up eight inches. That great guy gave me
the best that he had. I've found that sports champions and heroes willingly do this just to
help you become great too.

When in college working on his masters thesis on scouting and defensive football, George
Allen wrote up a 30-page survey and sent it out to the great coaches in the country. Eighty-
five percent answered it completely.

Great people will share, which is what made George Allen one of the greatest football
coaches in the world. Great people will tell you their secrets. Look for them, call them on
the phone or buy their books. Go where they are, get around them, talk to them.

John Wooden, the great UCLA basketball coach, has a philosophy that every day he is
supposed to help someone who can never reciprocate. That's his obligation.

Who are you learning from? Who are you helping? It is easy to be great when you get
around great people!







Wow!
Last spring I was walking in a park. A short distance ahead of me was a mom and her
three-year-old daughter. The little girl was holding on to a string that was attached to a
helium balloon.

All of a sudden, a sharp gust of wind took the balloon from the little girl. I braced myself for
some screaming and crying.

But, no! As the little girl turned to watch her balloon go skyward, she gleefully shouted out,
"Wow!"

I didn't realize it at that moment, but that little girl taught me something.

Later that day, I received a phone call from a person with news of an unexpected problem. I
felt like responding with "Oh no, what should we do?" But remembering that little girl, I
found myself saying, "Wow, that's interesting! How can I help you?"

One thing's for sure - life's always going to keep us off balance with its unexpected
problems. That's a given. What's not preordained is our response. We can choose to be
frustrated or fascinated.

No matter what the situation, a fascinated "Wow!" will always beat a frustrated "Oh, no."

So the next time you experience one of life's unexpected gusts, remember that little girl and
make it a "Wow!" experience. The "Wow!" response always works.














Stopped By A Brick
About ten years ago, a young and very successful executive named Josh was traveling down a
Chicago neighborhood street. He was going a bit too fast in his sleek, black, 12-cylinder Jaguar
XKE, which was only two months old. He was watching for kids darting out from between
parked cars and slowed down when he thought he saw something. As his car passed, no child
darted out, but a brick sailed out and -- WHUMP! -- it smashed into the Jag's shiny black side
door! SCREECH...!!!! Brakes slammed! Gears ground into reverse, and tires madly spun the
Jaguar back to the spot from where the brick had been thrown. Josh jumped out of the car,
grabbed the kid and pushed him up against a parked car. He shouted at the kid, "What was that
all about and who are you? Just what the heck are you doing?!" Building up a head of steam, he
went on. "That's my new Jag, that brick you threw is gonna cost you a lot of money. Why did
you throw it?"

"Please, mister, please...I'm sorry! I didn't know what else to do!" pleaded the youngster. "I threw
the brick because no one else would stop!"

Tears were dripping down the boy's chin as he pointed around the parked car. "It's my brother,
Mister," he said. "He rolled off the curb and fell out of his wheelchair and I can't lift him up."
Sobbing, the boy asked the executive, "Would you please help me get him back into his
wheelchair? He's hurt and he's too heavy for me."

Moved beyond words, the young executive tried desperately to swallow the rapidly swelling
lump in his throat.

Straining, he lifted the young man back into the wheelchair and took out his handkerchief and
wiped the scrapes and cuts, checking to see that everything was going to be OK. He then
watched the younger brother push him down the sidewalk toward their home. It was a long walk
back to the sleek, black, shining, 12-cylinder Jaguar XKE -- a long and slow walk.

Josh never did fix the side door of his Jaguar. He kept the dent to remind him not to go through
life so fast that someone has to throw a brick at him to get his attention.

Some bricks are softer than others. Feel for the bricks of life
coming at you.






Hit The Trail
A hike was the perfect order of the day.

The boys were excited about the idea. It would be a good workout and it would be good to be
together. We planned to leave immediately after lunch. I noticed Daniel, who will be ten in
November, and Wes, who will be seven in December, scramble for their gear. They had spent the
morning pouring over outdoor outfitter catalogs looking at sophisticated equipment that would
be sufficient to thru-hike the Appalachian Trail.

I thought back over the years to the hours I spent with my official Boy Scout handbook. I was
disgusted to remember that I spent more time reading about nature than I spent experiencing it.
That's when I said, "Guys, let's just use the day packs we have and take a nice hike this
afternoon." They say the smallest deed is better than the grandest intention. The boys heartily
agreed.

Immediately after lunch we made for the trailhead. Chuck joined us and led the expedition. The
little guys fell in on the trail ahead of me with their full day packs, slouch hats, and bottles filled
with water. They soon found walking sticks. I laughed as I watched Wes lurching along the trail
ahead of me struggling with all his gear. He shuffled along behind his brothers careful not to
drop behind. Not a syllable of complaint escaped his lips.

We hiked up some steep banks, through pine woods and across a meadow overlooking a pond.
We climbed to the crest of a hill up earthen stairs built into the hillside. Finally, I asked Wes if I
could carry the pack for awhile. He smiled quietly and handed the thing to me.

The guys hiked quietly trying to "leave no trace." The air was sweet with the scent of autumn.
Goldenrod nodded yellow along the trial. We crossed a footbridge over a stream that ran among
small boulders. At one point, we came to the edge of the wood overlooking acres of corn
ripening in an undulating field.

I kept Wes's pack and finally asked him, "What's in the pack, Wes?" "A calculator," he said.

I thought I misunderstood him. I thought maybe trail mix, some apples, or maybe even some
jerky would be good things to put in the pack. Maybe he packed a field guide, field glasses, or
the writings of Thoreau. Any of these would have made sense, but Wes said, "A calculator."

"What else did you put in here, Wes?"

"That's all."

"It's kinda' heavy, Buddy. Did you put some books in here, too?"

"No, just the calculator."

He insisted the only thing the pack contained was a calculator. Then it hit me what he meant by a
calculator. He was talking about the huge desktop adding machine that had been underfoot at
home for the last few weeks! It was complete with a grounded power cord and a roll of paper. I
was trekking the wide outdoors with an adding machine in my backpack.

"Why did you put an adding machine in your pack?"

"I just wanted something in my pack," he said.

Kids are fun and full of surprises. I chuckle within every time I think of it and I am reminded
what a priceless thing it is to have a little boy to hike with.

It's better to live than waste your precious life watching other people pretend to live on
television.

There are people out there who want your love and it's good to be alive. Get out and do
something with the family. Spend time with the people who love you while you still can. Visit,
ride bikes, stroll the beach, walk the dog, visit an orchard, get some pictures, go out for coffee
and pie, walk the beach, or go to church.

If you can't think of anything better to do, throw an adding machine in a backpack and hit the
trails.