CupCakes And RootBeer

There once was a little boy who wanted to meet God. He knew it was a long trip to where God lived, so he packed his suitcase with cupcakes, several cans of root beer and started on his journey.

When he had gone about three blocks, he saw an elderly woman. She was sitting on a park bench watching the pigeons. The boy sat down next to her and opened his suitcase. He was about to take a drink from his root beer when he noticed the lady looked hungry so he offered her a cupcake. She gratefully accepted and smiled at him.

Her smile was so wonderful that he wanted to see it again, so he offered a root beer as well. Once again she smiled at him. The boy was delighted!

They sat there all afternoon eating and smiling without saying a word.

As it began to grow dark, the boy realized how tired he was and wanted to go home. He got up to leave but before he had gone no more than a few steps, he turned around and ran back to the old woman, giving her a big hug. She gave him her biggest smile ever.

When the boy arrived home his Mother was surprised by the look of joy on his face. She asked, What has made you so happy today He replied, I had lunch with God. Before his mother could respond he added, You know what She's got the most beautiful smile in the whole world!

Meanwhile, the old woman, also radiant with joy, returned to her home. Her son was stunned by the look of peace on her face. He asked, Mother, what has made you so happy today She replied, I ate cupcakes in the park with God. And before her son could reply, she added, You know, he is much younger than I expected.

Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring; all of which have the potential to turn a life around.

People come into our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Take no one for granted and embrace all equally with joy!

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Little Moments Of Joy

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. It was a cowboy's life, a life for someone who wanted no boss. What I didn't realize was that it was also a ministry.

Because I drove the night shift, my cab became a moving confessional. Passengers climbed in, sat behind me in total anonymity, and told me about their lives. I encountered people whose lives amazed me, ennobled me, made me laugh and weep.

But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August night.

I was responding to a call from a small brick fourplex in a quiet part of town. I assumed I was being sent to pick up some partiers, or someone who had just had a fight with a lover, or a worker heading to an early shift at some factory for the industrial part of town.

When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked.

"Just a minute," answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940's movie.

By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said.

I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.

"It's nothing," I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated."

"Oh, you're such a good boy," she said.

When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?"

"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.

"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice."

I looked in the rear view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long."

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now."

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.

"Nothing," I said.

"You have to make a living," she answered.

"There are other passengers," I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."

I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient at the end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware--beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

People may not remember exactly what you did, or what you said, ...but they will always remember how you made them feel.
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What Happens In Heaven

Contributed By: Shilpa Gudwani
This is one of the nicest mails I have seen and is so true:

I dreamt that I went to Heaven and an angel was showing me around. We
walked side-by-side inside a large workroom filled
with angels.

My angel guide stopped in front of the first section and said, "This
is the Receiving Section. Here, all petitions to God said in prayer
are received."

I looked around in this area, and it was terribly busy with so many
angels sorting out petitions written on voluminous paper sheets and
scraps from people all over the world.

Then we moved on down a long corridor until we reached the second section.

The angel then said to me, "This is the Packaging and Delivery
Section. Here, the graces and blessings the people asked for are
processed and delivered to the living persons who asked for them."

I noticed again how busy it was there. There were many angels working
hard at that station, since so many blessings had been requested and
were being packaged for delivery to Earth.

Finally at the farthest end of the long corridor we stopped at the
door of a very small station. To my great surprise, only one angel was
seated there, idly doing nothing. "This is the Acknowledgment
Section," my angel friend quietly admitted to me. He seemed
embarrassed "How is it that? There's no work going on here?" I asked.

"So sad," the angel sighed. "After people receive the blessings that
they asked for, very few send back acknowledgments.

"How does one acknowledge God's blessings?" I asked.

"Simple," the angel answered. "Just say, "Thank you, God."

"What blessings should they acknowledge? " I asked.

"If you have food in the refrigerator, clothes on your back, a roof
overhead and a place to sleep you are richer than 75% of this world.
"If you have money in the bank, in your wallet, and spare change in a
dish, you are among the top 8% of the world's wealthy.

"And if you get this on your own computer, you are part of the 1% in
the world who has that opportunity. "

Also .....

"If you woke up this morning with more health than illness .... you
are more blessed than the many who will not even survive this day.

"If you have never experienced the fear in battle, the loneliness of
imprisonment, the agony of torture, or the pangs of starvation .....
you are ahead of 700 million people in the world.

"If you can attend a prayer meeting without the fear of harassment,
arrest, torture or death you are envied by, and more blessed than,
three billion people in the world.

"If your parents are still alive and still married... you are very rare.

If you can hold your head up and smile, you are not the norm, you're
unique to all those in doubt and despair."

Ok, what now? How can I start?

If you can read this message, you just received a double blessing in
that someone was thinking of you as very special and you are more
blessed than over two billion people in the world who cannot read at
all.

Have a good day, count your blessings, and if you want, pass this
along to remind everyone else how blessed we all are.
Attn: Acknowledgment Dept:

Thank You God !

Thank you God, for giving me the ability to share this message and for
giving me so many wonderful people to share it with".

Bucket Filler Or Dipper?

You have heard of the cup that overflowed. This is a story of a bucket
that is like the cup, only larger, it is an invisible bucket. Everyone
has one. It determines how we feel about ourselves, about others, and
how we get along with people. Have you ever experienced a series of
very favorable things which made you want to be good to people for a
week? At that time, your bucket was full.

A bucket can be filled by a lot of things that happen. When a person
speaks to you, recognizing you as a human being, your bucket is filled
a little. Even more if he calls you by name, especially if it is the
name you like to be called. If he compliments you on your dress or on
a job well done, the level in your bucket goes up still higher. There
must be a million ways to raise the level in another's bucket. Writing
a friendly letter, remembering something that is special to him,
knowing the names of his children, expressing sympathy for his loss,
giving him a hand when his work is heavy, taking time for
conversation, or, perhaps more important, listing to him.

When one's bucket is full of this emotional support, one can express
warmth and friendliness to people. But, remember, this is a theory
about a bucket and a dipper. Other people have dippers and they can
get their dippers in your bucket. This, too, can be done in a million
ways.

Lets say I am at a dinner and inadvertently upset a glass of thick,
sticky chocolate milk that spills over the table cloth, on a lady's
skirt, down onto the carpet. I am embarrassed. "Bright Eyes" across
the table says, "You upset that glass of chocolate milk." I made a
mistake, I know I did, and then he told me about it! He got his dipper
in my bucket! Think of the times a person makes a mistake, feels
terrible about it, only to have someone tell him about the known
mistake ("Red pencil" mentality!)

Buckets are filled and buckets are emptied ? emptied many times
because people don't really think about what are doing. When a
person's bucket is emptied, he is very different than when it is full.
You say to a person whose bucket is empty, "That is a pretty tie you
have," and he may reply in a very irritated, defensive manner.

Although there is a limit to such an analogy, there are people who
seem to have holes in their buckets. When a person has a hole in his
bucket, he irritates lots of people by trying to get his dipper in
their buckets. This is when he really needs somebody to pour it in his
bucket because he keeps losing.

The story of our lives is the interplay of the bucket and the dipper.
Everyone has both. The unyielding secret of the bucket and the dipper
is that when you fill another's bucket it does not take anything out
of your own bucket. The level in our own bucket gets higher when we
fill another's, and, on the other hand, when we dip into another's
bucket we do not fill our own ... we lose a little.

For a variety of reasons, people hesitate filling the bucket of
another and consequently do not experience the fun, joy, happiness,
fulfillment, and satisfaction connected with making another person
happy. Some reasons for this hesitancy are that people think it sounds
"fakey," or the other person will be suspicious of the motive, or it
is "brown-nosing."

Therefore, let us put aside our dipper and resolve to touch someone's
life in order to fill their bucket.
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