I wandered alone one day,
out into the lost streets:
one dusky day's journey
to learn how to fly.
I met an old man on the road,
bent like his questioning cane,
and asked him what flying looked like.
He shook his dusty head and said,
"Birds on the wing."
Neither feathered nor fancied,
I walked on.

I met a little girl,
checked and ribboned, along the way
and asked her what flying tasted like.
She answered,
"Spun sugar."
Neither sweetness nor light,
I passed her by.

I met a stray dog in my path,
with ribs like iron bars,
and I asked him what flying smelled like.
He cocked one fleabitten ear and said,
"Lightening bugs."
Neither glimmering nor glowing,
I moved along.

I met a lamppost at a street corner,
scaly with sodden past announcements,
and I asked her what flying sounded like.
She sighed softly,
"Wind through treetops."
Neither rustling nor whirling,
I kept going.

I walked on and on,
past mothers overburdened
with packages and children,
past brisk young men with a jilt in their walk,
past scuffling, tired cats with twisted tails,
past doorways and stop signs
and buses and paving stones,
while my last question hung heavy on my heart.
I drifted up and down the broken city streets
searching for a teacher,
and my hopeless leaden step
turned me round to bring me home.

I met my love upon the stair,
waiting with patient looks,
and I asked him in weary tones
what flying felt like.
He laughed gently at me,
and his eyes crinkled at his grin.
"You," he said,
and I grabbed his hand quickly
to keep from floating away,
lighter than ever were birds,
or trees, or sugar, or light.
(Honeybee)

There is a wonderful fable
about a young orphan girl
who had no family and no one to love her.
One day, feeling exceptionally sad and lonely,
she was walking through a meadow
when she noticed a small butterfly
caught unmercifully in a thornbush.
The more the butterfly struggled to free itself,
the deeper the thorns cut into its fragile body.
The young orphan girl carefully released
the butterfly from its captivity.
Instead of flying away,
the little butterfly changed into a beautiful fairy.
The young girl rubbed her eyes in disbelief.

"For your wonderful kindness,"
the good fairy said to the girl,
"I will grant you any wish you would like."

The little girl thought for a moment
and then replied, "I want to be happy!"

The fairy said, "Very well,"
and leaned toward her and whispered in her ear.
Then the good fairy vanished.

As the little girl grew up,
there was no one in the land as happy as she.
Everyone asked her the secret of her happiness.
She would only smile and answer,
"The secret of my happiness is that
I listened to a good fairy when I was a little girl."

When she was very old and on her deathbed,
the neighbors all rallied around her,
afraid that the fabulous secret of happiness
would die with her.
"Tell us, please," they begged.
"Tell us what the good fairy said."

The lovely old woman simply smiled and said,
"She told me that everyone,
no matter how secure they seemed,
no matter how old or young,
how rich or poor, had need of me."
(The Speaker’s Sourcebook,
from Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul)

She was six years old when I first met her
on the beach near where I live.
I drive to this beach,
a distance of three or four miles,
whenever the world begins to close in on me.

She was building a sand castle
or something and looked up,
her eyes as blue as the sea.

"Hello," she said. I answered with a nod,
not really in the mood
to bother with a small child.

"I'm building," she said.

"I see that. What is it?"I asked, not caring.

"Oh, I don't know. I just like the feel of the sand."

That sounds good, I thought,
and slipped off my shoes.
A sandpiper glided by.

"That's a joy," the child said.

"It's what?"

"It's a joy. My mama says
sandpipers come to bring us joy."

The bird went glissading down the beach.
"Good-bye, joy," I muttered to myself,
"hello pain," and turned to walk on.
I was depressed;
my life seemed completely out of balance.

"What's your name?" She wouldn't give up.

"Ruth," I answered. "I'm Ruth Peterson."

"Mine's Windy" It sounded like Windy.
"And I'm six."

"Hi, Windy."

She giggled. "You're funny," she said.
In spite of my gloom
I laughed too and walked on.

Her musical giggle followed me.
"Come again, Mrs. P," she called.
"We'll have another happy day."

The days and weeks that followed
belonged to others;
a group of unruly Boy Scouts,
PTA meetings, an ailing mother.

The sun was shining one morning
as I took my hands out of the dishwater.
"I need a sandpiper," I said to myself,
gathering up my coat.

The never-changing balm of the seashore
awaited me. The breeze was chilly,
but I strode along, trying to recapture
the serenity I needed. I had forgotten
the child and was startled when she appeared.

"Hello, Mrs. P," she said. "Do you want to play?"

"What did you have in mind?"
I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.

"I don't know. You say."

"How about charades?" I asked sarcastically.

The tinkling laughter burst forth again.
"I don't know what that is."

"Then let's just walk" Looking at her,
I noticed the delicate fairness of her face.

"Where do you live?" I asked.

"Over there." She pointed toward a row
of summer cottages. Strange, I thought, in winter.

"Where do you go to school?"
"I don't go to school.
Mommy says we're on vacation."

She chattered little-girl talk
as we strolled up the beach,
but my mind was on other things.
When I left for home,
Windy said it had been a happy day.
Feeling surprisingly better,
I smiled at her and agreed.

Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach
in a state of near panic.
I was in no mood even to greet Windy.
I thought I saw her mother on the porch
and felt like demanding she keep her child at home.

"Look, if you don't mind,
I'd rather be alone today."
She seemed unusually pale and out of breath.

"Why?" she asked.

I turned on her and shouted,
"Because my mother died!" - and thought,
my God, why was I saying this to a little child?

"Oh" she said quietly, "then this is a bad day."

Yes, and yesterday and the day before that
and - oh, go away!"
"Did it hurt?"

"Did what hurt?"
I was exasperated with her, with myself.

"When she died?"

"Of course it hurt!" I snapped,
misunderstanding, wrapped up in myself.
I strode off.

A month or so after that,
when I next went to the beach,
she wasn't there. Feeling guilty,
ashamed and admitting to myself I missed her,
I went up to the cottage after my walk
and knocked at the door.
A drawn-looking young woman
with honey-colored hair opened the door.

"Hello," I said. "I'm Ruth Peterson.
I missed your little girl today
and wondered where she was."

"Oh yes, Mrs. Peterson, please come in."
"Wendy talked of you so much.
I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you.
If she was a nuisance,
please accept my apologies."

"Not at all - she's a delightful child,"
I said, suddenly realizing that I meant it.
"Where is she?"

"Wendy died last week, Mrs. Peterson.
She had leukemia.
Maybe she didn't tell you."

Struck dumb, I groped for a chair.
My breath caught.

"She loved this beach;
so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no.
She seemed so much better here
and had a lot of what she called happy days.
But the last few weeks she declined rapidly."
Her voice faltered.
"She left something for you. . .
if only I can find it.
Could you wait a moment while I look?"

I nodded stupidly, my mind racing
for something, anything,
to say to this lovely young woman.

She handed me a smeared envelope,
with Mrs. P. printed in bold, childish letters.

Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues -
a yellow beach, a blue sea, a brown bird.
Underneath was carefully printed:

A Sandpiper To Bring You Joy

Tears welled up in my eyes,
and a heart that had almost forgotten
how to love opened wide.
I took Wendy's mother in my arms.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,"
I muttered over and over,
and we wept together.

The precious little picture is framed
now and hangs in my study.
Six words - one for each year of her life -
that speak to me of inner harmony,
courage, undemanding love.

A gift from a child with sea-blue eyes
and hair the color of sand -
who taught me the gift of love.
(Mary Sherman Hilbert)

BLUE interrupted:
"You only think about the earth,
but consider the sky and the sea.
It is the water that is
the basis of life and drawn up by
the clouds from the deep sea.
The sky gives space and peace and serenity.
Without my peace,
you would all be nothing."

YELLOW chuckled:
"You are all so serious.
I bring laughter, gaiety,
and warmth into the world.
The sun is yellow, the moon is yellow,
the stars are yellow.
Every time you look at a sunflower,
the whole world starts to smile.
Without me there would be no fun."

ORANGE started next to blow her trumpet:
"I am the color of health and strength.
I may be scarce,
but I am precious
for I serve the needs of human life.
I carry the most important vitamins.
Think of carrots, pumpkins, oranges,
mangoes, and pawpaws.
I don't hang around all the time,
but when I fill the sky at sunrise or sunset,
my beauty is so striking that no one
gives another thought to any of you."

RED could stand it no longer.
He shouted out: "I am the ruler of all of you-
I am blood - life's blood!
I am the color of danger and of bravery.
I am willing to fight for a cause.
I bring fire into the blood.
Without me, the earth would be
as empty as the moon.
I am the color of passion and of love,
the red rose,
the poinsettia and the poppy."

PURPLE rose up to his full height.
He was very tall and spoke with great pomp: "
I am the color of royalty and power.
Kings, chiefs, and bishops have always chosen me
for I am the sign of authority and wisdom.
People do not question me -
they listen and obey."

Finally, INDIGO spoke,
much more quietly than all the others,
but with just as much determination: "
Think of me. I am the color of silence.
You hardly notice me,
but without me you all become superficial.
I represent thought and reflection,
twilight and deep water.
You need me for balance and contrast,
for prayer and inner peace."

And so the colors went on boasting,
each convinced of his or her own superiority.
Their quarreling became louder and louder.
Suddenly there was a startling flash
of bright lightening
- thunder rolled and boomed.
Rain started to pour down relentlessly.
The colors crouched down in fear,
drawing close to one another for comfort.
In the midst of the clamor, rain began to speak:
"You foolish colors,
fighting amongst yourselves,
each trying to dominate the rest.
Don't you know that you were each made
for a special purpose, unique and different?

"Join hands with one another and come to me."

Doing as they were told,
the colors united and joined hands.
The rain continued: "
From now on, when it rains,
each of you will stretch across the sky
in a great bow of color as a reminder
that you can all live in peace.

"The rainbow is a sign of hope for tomorrow."

And so, whenever a good rain washes the world,
and a rainbow appears in the sky,
let us remember to appreciate one another.
(Based on a Native American Legend)

Dear Ruth,

I'm going to be in your neighborhood
Saturday afternoon
and I'd like to stop by for a visit.

Love Always,

God

Her hands were shaking as she
placed the letter on the table.
"Why would God want to visit me?
I'm nobody special.
I don't have anything to offer."

With that thought,
Ruth remembered her empty kitchen cabinets.

"Oh my goodness,
I really don't have anything to offer.
I'll have to run down to the store
and buy something for dinner."

She reached for her purse
and counted out its contents.
Five dollars and forty cents.
"Well, I can get some bread and vegetables, at least."
She put on her coat and hurried out the door.

She bought a loaf of french bread and
enough vegetables to make a large salad,
leaving Ruth with a grand total
of twelve cents to last her until Monday.
Nonetheless, she felt better as she headed home,
her meager offerings tucked under her arm.

"Hey lady, can you help us, lady?"
Ruth had been so absorbed in her dinner plans,
she hadn't even noticed
two figures huddled in the alleyway;
a man and a woman,
both of them dressed in little more than rags.

"Look lady, I ain't got a job, ya know,
and my wife and I have been living
out here on the street,
and, well, now it's getting cold and
we're getting kinda hungry and, well,
if you could help us, lady,
we'd really appreciate it."
Ruth looked at them both.

They were dirty, they smelled bad and, frankly,
she was certain that they could get some kind of work
if they really wanted to. "
Sir, I'd like to help you,
but I'm a poor woman myself.
All I have is a few vegetables and some bread,
and I'm having an important guest
for dinner tonight
and I was planning on serving that
to Him."

"Yeah, well, OK lady,
I understand. Thanks anyway."

The man put his arm
around the woman's shoulders,
turned and headed back into the alley.

As she watched them leave,
Ruth felt a familiar twinge in her heart.

"Sir, wait!"
The couple stopped and turned
as she ran down the alley after them. "
Look, why don't you take this food.
I'll figure out something else to serve my guest."

She handed the man her grocery bag.

"Thank you lady. Thank you very much!"

"Yes, thank you!"
It was the man's wife,
and Ruth could see now that she was shivering.

"You know, I've got another coat at home.
Here, why don't you take this one."

Ruth unbuttoned her jacket
and slipped it over the woman's shoulders.
Then smiling, she turned and
walked back to the street...
without her coat and with
nothing to serve her guest.
"Thank you lady! Thank you very much!"

Ruth was chilled by the time
she reached her front door,
and worried too. God was coming to visit
and she didn't have anything to offer Him.
She fumbled through her purse for the door key.
But as she did,
she noticed another envelope in her mailbox.

"That's odd.
The mailman doesn't usually
come twice in one day."

She took the envelope
out of the box and opened it.

Dear Ruth,

It was so good to see you again.
Thank you for the lovely meal.
And thank you, also, for the beautiful coat.

Love Always,
God

There was this lil' girl one day sitting in the park.
Everyone passed and never stopped to see
why she looked so sad.
Dressed in a worn pink dress,
bare foot and dirty,
the girl just sat and watched the
people go by. She never tried to speak,
she never said a word.
Many people passed, but never did one person stop.
Just so happens the next day
I decided to go back to the park, in curiousity,
to see if the lil' girl would still be there.
Right in the very spot as she was yesterday
she sat perched on high,
with the saddest look in her eyes.

Today I was to make my own move
and walk over to the lil' girl.
For as we all know
a park full of strange people
is not a place for young children to play alone.
As I got closer I could see
the back of the lil' girl's dress
was obscenely shaped.
I figured that was a reason the
people just passed by
and made no effort to help.
Deformities are a low blow to our society and, "
so help you" if you make a step toward assisting
someone who is different.
As I got closer the lil' girl
she slightly lowered her eyes
to avoid my intent stare.
As I approached her,
I could see the obscene shape
of her back more clearly.
Grotesquely shaped in a humped over form.

I smiled to let her know it was OK,
I was there to help,
to talk.
I sat down beside her and
opened with a simple "Hello".
The lil' girl acted shocked
and stammered a "Hi"
after a long stare into my eyes.
I smiled and she shyly smiled back.
We talked till darkness fell
and the park was completely empty.
Everyone was gone and we at once were alone.
I asked the girl why she was so sad.
The lil' girl looked at me
and with a sad face said "
Because I'm different".
I immediately said "that you are!" and smiled.
The lil' girl acted even sadder, she said,
"I know".

"Lil' girl", I said, "
You remind me of an angel,
sweet and innocent".
She looked at me and smiled,
slowly she stood to her feet and said, "Really?".

"Yes, ma'am, your like a lil' guardian angel
sent to watch over all those people walking by".
She shook her head yes and smiled,
with that she spread her wings
and said, "I am, I'm your guardian angel",
with a twinkle in her eye.
I was speechless...sure I was seeing things.
She said, "For once you thought
of someone other than yourself.
My job here is done".
Immediately I stood to my feet and said, "Wait,
so why did no one stop to help an angel?"
She looked at me and smiled, "
You're the only one that
could see me,
you believe, it's in your heart".
And she was gone.
And with that my life was changed dramatically.
So, when you think you're all you have,
remember, your angel is always watching over you.
Pass this to everyone
that means anything at all to you....
make sure you send it back
to the person that sent it to you,
to let them know
you're glad they care about you..
like the story says,
we all need someone.
Every one of your friends
is an angel in their own way.
(unknown)