The Old Fisherman n Mary Bartels Bray

Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of John Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to out-patients at the clinic. One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man. "Why, he's hardly taller than my eight-year-old," I thought as I stared at the stooped, shriveled body. But the appalling thing was his face - lopsided from swelling, red and raw.
Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, "Good evening. I've come to see if you've a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there's no bus 'til morning. "He told me he'd been hunting for a room since noon but with no success, no one seemed to have a room. "I guess it's my face... I know it looks terrible, but the doctor says with a few more treatments..."

For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me: "I could sleep in this rocking chair on the porch. My bus leaves early in the morning."
I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch. I went inside and finished getting supper. When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us. "No thank you. I have plenty." And he held up a brown paper bag. When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with him a few minutes. It didn't take a long time to see that this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body. He told me he fished for a living to support his daughter, her five children, and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury. He didn't tell it by way of complaint. In fact, every other sentence was prefaced with a thanks to God for a blessing. He was grateful that no pain accompanied his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving him the strength to keep going.

At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children's room for him. When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and the little man was out on the porch. He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus, haltingly, as if asking a great favor, he said, "Could I please come back and stay the next time I have a treatment? I won't put you out a bit. I can sleep fine in a chair." He paused a moment and then added, "Your children made me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children don't seem to mind." I told him he was welcome to come again.

And on his next trip he arrived a little after seven in the morning. As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they'd be nice and fresh. I knew his bus left at 4:00 am, and wondered what time he had to get up in order to do this for us.

In the years he came to stay overnight with us there was never a time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden. Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special delivery; fish or oysters packed in a box of fresh young spinach or kale, every leaf carefully washed. Knowing that he must walk three miles to mail these, and knowing how little money he had made the gifts doubly precious.
When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first morning. "Did you keep that awful looking man last night? I turned him away! You can lose roomers by putting up such people!" Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice. But oh! If only they could have known him, perhaps their illness would have been easier to bear. I know our family always will be grateful to have known him; from him we learned what it was to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.

Recently I was visiting a friend who has a greenhouse. As she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all, a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket. I thought to myself, "If this were my plant, I'd put it in the loveliest container I had!" My friend changed my mind. "I ran short of pots," she explained, "and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail. It's just for a little while, till I can put it out in the garden." She must have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was imagining just such a scene in Heaven. "Here's an especially beautiful one," God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman. "He won't mind starting in this small body."
All this happened long ago - and now, in God's garden, how tall this lovely soul must stand.
Our Lives are not determined by what happened to us, but by how we react to what happens, not by what life brings us but by the attitude we bring to life. A positive attitude causes a chain reaction of positive thoughts, events, and outcomes. It is a catalyst, a spark that creates extraordinary results.

Resource utilization

Buddha, one day, was in deep thought about the worldly activities and the ways of instilling goodness in human beings. One of his disciples approached him and said humbly " Oh my teacher ! While you are so much concerned about the world and others, why don't you look in to the welfare and needs of your own disciples also."

Buddha : "OK.. Tell me how I can help you"

Disciple : "Master! My attire is worn out and is beyond the decency to wear the same. Can I get a new one, please?"

Buddha found the robe indeed was in a bad condition and needed replacement. He asked the store keeper to give the disciple a new robe to wear on. The disciple thanked Buddha and retired to his room. A while later, he went to his disciple's place and asked him "Is your new attire comfortable? Do you need anything more ?"

Disciple : "Thank you my Master. The attire is indeed very comfortable. I need nothing more"

Buddha : "Having got the new one, what did you do with your old attire?"

Disciple : "I am using it as my bed spread"

Buddha : "Then.. hope you have disposed off your old bed spread"

Disciple : " No.. no.. master. I am using my old bedspread as my window curtain"

Buddha : " What about your old Curtain?"

Disciple : "Being used to handle hot utensils in the kitchen"

Buddha : "Oh.. I see.. Can you tell me what did they do with the old cloth they used in Kitchen"

Disciple : "They are being used to wash the floor."

Buddha : " Then, the old rug being used to wash the floor...?"

Disciple: " Master, since they were torn off so much, we could not find any better use, but to use as a
twig in the oil lamp, which is right now lit in your study room...."

Buddha smiled in contentment and left for his room.

If not to this degree of utilization, can we at least attempt to find the best use of all our resources at home and in office?

We need to handle wisely, all the resources earth has bestowed us with ….both natural and material so that they can be saved for the generations to come.

A letter from a father to his little son

Dear Loving Son, It's been 20 months since you set foot in the world. When I held you for the first time in my arms at the hospital, your tiny hands were twitching and your eyes were shut tight.
Your clenched fist reminded me of a science lesson that said to get an idea about the size of your heart, you should clench your fist. I could imagine the little heart throbbing inside you. The eternal miracle of birth. When it was my turn to witness it, I cried. Before I married your mother, I used to debate one question endlessly with my friend. Which is, "Is it really worth bringing another life into this world?" Especially when terror has become an ugly leitmotif in the canvas of our lives? When I switched on the TV that Wednesday night, the question of whether I was right in bringing you into this world haunted me again. This is my attempt at an answer. Call it catharsis. I feel there are two ways to raise you. One is to wean you on cynicism. Where you'll erect a sky-high wall in your mind and live your life pouring scorn on everything you see. Which is one way of insulating yourself from fear... A kind of indifferent machismo.The other way is to prepare you to live in this world. I can't imagine the world for you, son. But i can certainly show you the way to live in an uncertain world. Make a pact with yourself. Understand the following early on. Life is precious. And equally fragile. So every day is a gift. Get up early once in a while just to watch the sun rise. Stare at it intently and burn it in your memory. Be aware of every passing second. Look around you. There's a thin stalk of plant finding its place under the sun in a crevice on the wall of our apartment. Appreciate mother's cooking. Praise it to heavens... Make it a habit to eat together as a family. No, make it a rule. Fall in love with books. Words will transport you to worlds far away. It will also keep you informed and prepared. Follow your heart. The mind can waver but the heart seldom does. Respect your conscience. It's like a post-it note from God. When you grow up, seek a job you love. As you enter the world of careers and cocktails, you'll get sucked into a vortex called rat race. Don't be overwhelmed. We're all human. But have the courage to step out of it. Nothing will be lost. Some illusions will shatter. Good riddance. Money. It's important. But it has its place. Don't make the mistake of putting it right on top. Find your love. Hold it dearly. Be a good husband. A patient father. Give your children space to make their mistakes. But hold them when they fall. Speak up when you have to. Like this occasion. Whether we like it or not, we're living in a democracy. Sure it has its pitfalls. But don't forget the positives too. The real fight in a democracy is between remembering and forgetting. Go and vote. It's your chance to give shape to the kind of society you want to live in. Be alert. But try not to live in a state of fear. It you were to get caught in a situation similar to what happened and should we lose you, then you will have left us with enough lovely memories for the remaining years. That will only happen if you start living every day like it is the last day of your life. Though it can never compensate your loss, at least we'll find strength in your love for life. Don't have regrets. They defeat the very purpose of life. Immersed as I am in work most of the time, this letter is also a wake-up call for me. Love, Dad

Speech is Silver, Silence is Golden

Once upon a time an old man spread rumors that his neighbor was a thief. As a result, the young man was arrested. Days later the young man was proven innocent. After been released he sued the old man for wrongly accusing him.

In court the old man told the Judge: 'They were just comments, didn't harm anyone..'

The judge, before passing sentence on the case, told the old man: 'Write all the things you said about him on a piece of paper. Cut them up and on the way home; throw the pieces of paper out. Tomorrow, come back to hear the sentence.'

The next day, the judge told the old man: 'Before receiving the sentence, you will have to go out and gather all the pieces of paper that you threw out yesterday.'

The old man said: 'I can't do that! The wind spread them and I won't know where to find them.'

The judge then replied: 'The same way, simple comments may destroy the honor of a man to such an extent that one is not able to fix it. If you can't speak well of someone, rather don't say anything.

'Let's all be masters of our mouths, so that we won't be slaves of our words.'

Thanks for your time

It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man. College, girls, career, and life itself got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear across the country in pursuit of his dreams. There, in the rush of his busy life, Jack had little time to think about the past and often no time to spend with his wife and son. He was working on his future, and nothing could stop him.

Over the phone, his mother told him, "Mr. Belser died last night. The funeral is Wednesday." Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days.

"Jack, did you hear me?"

"Oh, sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It's been so long since I thought of him. I'm sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago," Jack said..

"Well, he didn't forget you. Every time I saw him he'd ask how you were doing. He'd reminisce about the many days you spent over 'his side of the fence' as he put it," Mom told him.

"I loved that old house he lived in," Jack said.

"You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man's influence in your life," she said.

"He's the one who taught me carpentry," he said.

"I wouldn't be in this business if it weren't for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were important... Mom, I'll be there for the funeral," Jack said.

As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his hometown.

Mr. Belser's funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away.

The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to see the old house next door one more time.

Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing over into another dimension, a leap through space and time.

The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories. Every picture, every piece of furniture....Jack stopped suddenly.

"What's wrong, Jack?" his Mom asked.

"The box is gone," he said.

"What box? " Mom asked.

"There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he'd ever tell me was 'the thing I value most,'" Jack said.

It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it, except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it.

"Now I'll never know what was so valuable to him," Jack said. "I better get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom."

It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox.

"Signature required on a package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within the next three days," the note read.

Early the next day Jack retrieved the package. The small box was old and looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention.

"Mr. Harold Belser" it read.

Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package. There inside was the gold box and an envelope.

Jack's hands shook as he read the note inside.

"Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett. It's the thing I valued most in my life." A small key was taped to the letter.

His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch. Running his fingers slowly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover.

Inside he found these words engraved: "Jack, Thanks for your time..! Harold Belser."

"The thing he valued most.. was.. my time . . ."

Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next two days.

"Why?" Janet, his assistant asked.

"I need some time to spend with my son..," he said.

"Oh, by the way, Janet.. Thanks for your time..!"

Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by the moments that take our breath away . . . It is not the years that we put in to our life, but the life that we put into the years that really matters.

Velocity of Money

It is August. In a small town on the South Coast of France ,the holiday season is in full swing, but it is raining so hard that there is not too much business happening. Everyone is heavily in debt. Luckily, a rich Russian tourist arrives in the foyer of the small local hotel. He asks for a room and puts a 100 Euro note on the reception counter, takes the key and goes to inspect the room located up the stairs on the third floor. The hotel owner takes the banknote in hurry and rushes to his meat supplier to whom he owes E100. The butcher takes the money and races to his supplier to pay his debt. The wholesaler rushes to the farmer to pay E100 for the pigs he had bought some time ago. The farmer triumphantly gives the E100 note to a local hair dresser who had provided him his services on credit. The hair dresser quickly goes to the hotel, as he owed the hotel for using a room a month back. At that moment, the rich Russian comes down to the reception and informs the hotel owner that the proposed room is unsatisfactory and takes his E100 back and departs. There was no profit or income. There was NO real economic activity. But everyone is no longer in debt and the small town people look optimistically towards their future. That's the power of the velocity of money!

Don't Change the World

Once upon a time, there lived a king who ruled over a prosperous country. One day, he had to visit a distant part of his country. When he returned to his palace, he complained that his feet hurt very badly, as it was the first time that he had gone on such a long trip, and the path that he went through was very rough and stony. He then ordered his people to cover every road in the entire country with leather. Definitely, this would need thousands of cows' skin, and would cost a huge amount of money. Then one of his wiser servants dared to tell the king, "Why do you have to spend such a large sum to cover the roads ? Why don't you just cut a little piece of leather to cover your feet?" The king was surprised, but he agreed - to make a "shoe" for himself. There is actually a valuable lesson for life in this story: To make this world a happy place to live in, you better change yourself - your heart; and not the world.