He approached her slowly then paused to stand,
and removed his class ring from her slender hand.
All who were watching didn't dare to speak,
as silent tears rolled down his cheek.

All through his mind the memories ran,
of moments they walked and laughed on the sand.
But now her eyes were so terribly cold,
and he'd never have her to hold.

They all watched in silence as he bent down near,
and whispered " I love you " into her ear.
He touched her face and started to cry;
he clutched that ring and wished he could die.

Then all of her relatives gathered around,
as they lowered her casket into the ground.
All of them thought she'd still be alive,
if only we had told her, " Don't drink and drive. "

~Life's Attitude~

Jerry was the kind of guy you love to hate. He was always in a good
mood and always had something positive to say. When someone would ask
him how he was doing, he would reply, "If I were any better, I would be twins!"

He was a unique manager because he had several waiters who had
followed him around from restaurant to restaurant. The reason the
waiters followed Jerry was because of his attitude. He was a natural
motivator. If an employee was having a bad day, Jerry was there
telling the employee how to look on the positive side of the situation.

Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up to
Jerry and asked him, "I don't get it! You can't be a positive person
all of the time. How do you do it?"

Jerry replied, "Each morning I wake up and say to myself, 'Jerry, you
have two choices today. You can choose to be in a good mood or you can
choose to be in a bad mood.' I choose to be in a good mood.? Each time
something bad happens, I can choose to be a victim or I can choose to
learn from it. I choose to learn from it. Every time someone comes to
me complaining, I can choose to accept their complaining or I can
point out the positive side of life. I choose the positive side of life."

"Yeah, right, it's not that easy," I protested.

"Yes, it is," Jerry said. "Life is all about choices. When you cut
away all the junk, every situation is a choice. You choose how you
react to situations. You choose how people will affect your mood. You
choose to be in a good mood or bad mood. The bottom line: It's your choice how you live life."

I reflected on what Jerry said. Soon thereafter, I left the restaurant
industry to start my own business. We lost touch, but I often thought
about him when I made a choice about life instead of reacting to it.

Several years later, I heard that Jerry did something you are never
supposed to do in a restaurant business: he left the back door open one

morning and was held up at gunpoint by three armed robbers. While
trying to open the safe, his hand, shaking from nervousness, slipped
off the combination. The robbers panicked and shot him. Luckily, Jerry
was found relatively quickly and rushed to the local trauma center.

After 18 hours of surgery and weeks of intensive care, Jerry was
released from the hospital with fragments of the bullets still in his body.

I saw Jerry about six months after the accident. When I asked him how
he was, he replied, "If I were any better, I'd be twins. Wanna see my scars?"

I declined to see his wounds, but did ask him what had gone through
his mind as the robbery took place. "The first thing that went through
my mind was that I should have locked the back door," Jerry replied.
"Then, as I lay on the floor, I remembered that I had two choices: I
could choose to live, or I could choose to die. I chose to live."

"Weren't you scared? Did you lose consciousness?" I asked.

Jerry continued, "The paramedics were great. They kept telling me I
was going to be fine. But when they wheeled me into the emergency room
and I saw the expressions on the faces of the doctors and nurses, I
got really scared. In their eyes, I read, 'He's a dead man.'

"I knew I needed to take action."

"What did you do?" I asked.

"Well, there was a big, burly nurse shouting questions at me," said
Jerry. "She asked if I was allergic to anything. 'Yes,' I replied. The
doctors and nurses stopped working as they waited for my reply. I took
a deep breathe and yelled, 'Bullets!' Over their laughter, I told
them.? 'I am choosing to live. Operate on me as if I am alive, not dead."

Jerry lived thanks to the skill of his doctors, but also because of
his amazing attitude. I learned from him that every day we have the
choice to live fully. Attitude, after all, is everything.

~Death of an Innocent~

I went to a party, Mom, I remembered what you said.
You told me not to drink, Mom, so I drank soda instead

I really felt proud inside, Mom, the way you said I would.
I didn't drink and drive, Mom, even though the others said I should.

I know I did the right thing, Mom, I know you are always right.
Now the party is finally ending, Mom, as everyone is driving out of sight.

As I got into my car, Mom, I knew I'd get home in one piece.
Because of the way you raised me, so responsible and sweet.

I started to drive away, Mom, but as I pulled out into the road,
the other car didn't see me, Mom, and hit me like a load.

As I lay there on the pavement, Mom, I hear the policeman say,
the other guy is drunk, Mom, and now I'm the one who will pay.

I'm lying here dying, Mom.. I wish you'd get here soon.
How could this happen to me, Mom? My life just burst like a balloon.

There is blood all around me, Mom, and most of it is mine.
I hear the medic say, Mom, I'll die in a short time.

I just wanted to tell you, Mom, I swear I didn't drink.
It was the others, Mom. The others didn't think.

He was probably at the same party as I.
The only difference is, he drank and I will die.

Why do people drink, Mom? It can ruin your whole life.
I'm feeling sharp pains now. Pains just like a knife.

The guy who hit me is walking, Mom, and I don't think it's fair.
I'm lying here dying and all he can do is stare.

Tell my brother not to cry, Mom. Tell Daddy to be brave.
And when I go to heaven, Mom, put "Daddy's Girl" on my grave

Someone should have told him, Mom, not to drink and drive.
If only they had told him, Mom, I would still be alive.

My breath is getting shorter, Mom. I'm becoming very scared.
Please don't cry for me, Mom. When I needed you, you were always there.

I have one last question, Mom, before I say good bye.
I didn't drink and drive, so why am I the one to die?

- By David Riddell -

FATHER'S SON

Years ago, there was a very wealthy man who, with his devoted young son, shared a passion for art collecting. Together they traveled around the world, adding only the finest art treasures to their collection. Priceless works by Picasso, Van Gogh, Monet and many others adorned the walls of the family estate. The widowed, elder man looked on with satisfaction as his only child became an experienced art collector. The son's trained eye and sharp business mind caused his father to beam with pride as they dealt with art collectors around the world.

As winter approached, war engulfed the nation, and the young man left to serve his country. After only a few short weeks, his father received a telegram. His beloved son was missing in action. The art collector anxiously awaited more news, fearing he would never see his son again. Within days, his fears were confirmed. The young man had died while rushing a fellow soldier to a medic. Distraught and lonely, the old man faced the upcoming Christmas holidays with anguish and sadness. The joy of the season, a season that he and his son had so looked forward to, would visit his house no longer.

On Christmas morning, a knock on the door awakened the depressed old man. As he walked to the door, the masterpieces of art on the walls only reminded him that his son was not coming home. As he opened the door,he was greeted by a soldier with a large package in his hand. He introduced himself to the man by saying, "I was a friend of your son. I was the one he was rescuing when he died. May I come in for a few moments? I have something to show you."

As the two began to talk, the soldier told of how the man's son had told everyone of his, not to mention his father's, love of fine art. "I'm an artist," said the soldier, "and I want to give you this." As the old man unwrapped the package, the paper gave way to reveal a portrait of the man's son. Though the world would never consider it the work of a genius, the painting featured the young man's face in striking detail.

Overcome with emotion, the man thanked the soldier, promising to hang the picture above the fireplace. A few hours later, after the soldier had departed, the old man set about his task. True to his word, the painting went above the fireplace, pushing aside thousands of dollars of paintings. Then, the man sat in his chair and spent Christmas gazing at the gift he had been given.

During the days and weeks that followed, the man realized that even though his son was no longer with him, the boy's life would live on because of those he had touched. He would soon learn that his son had rescued dozens of wounded soldiers before a bullet stilled his caring heart. As the stories of his son's gallantry continued to reach him, fatherly pride and satisfaction began to ease the grief. The painting of his son soon became his most prized possession, far eclipsing any interest in the pieces for which museums around the world clamored. He told his neighbors it was the greatest gift he had ever received.

The following spring, the old man became ill and passed away. The art world was in anticipation! Unmindful of the story of the man's only son, but in his honor; those paintings would be sold at an auction.

According to the will of the old man, all of the art works would be auctioned on Christmas day, the day he had received his greatest gift. The day soon arrived and art collectors from around the world gathered to bid on some of the world's most spectacular paintings. Dreams would be fulfilled this day; greatness would be achieved as many would claim "I have the greatest collection." The auction began with a painting that was not on any museum's list. It was the painting of the man's son. The auctioneer asked for an opening bid. The room was silent. "Who will open the bidding with $100?" he asked. Minutes passed. No one spoke. From the back of the room came, "Who cares about that painting? It's just a picture of his son. Let's forget it and go on to the good stuff." More voices echoed in agreement. "No, we have to sell this one first," replied the auctioneer. "Now, who will take the son?"

Finally, a friend of the old man spoke. "Will you take ten dollars for the painting? That's all I have. I knew the boy, so I'd like to have it."I have ten dollars. Will anyone go higher?" called the auctioneer. After more silence, the auctioneer said, "Going once, going twice. Gone." The gavel fell. Cheers filled the room and someone exclaimed, "Now we can get on with it and bid on these treasures!" The auctioneer looked at the audience and announced the auction was over.

Stunned disbelief quieted the room. Someone spoke up and asked, "What do you mean it's over? We didn't come here for a picture of some old guy's son. What about all of these paintings? There are millions of dollars of art here! I demand that you explain what's going on here!" The auctioneer replied, "It's very simple. According to the will of the father, whoever takes the son . . . gets it all."
AUTHOR: UNKNOWN

WHAT DO ANGELS LOOK LIKE?

Like the little old lady who returned your wallet yesterday.

Like the small child who showed you the wonder in simple things.

Like the poor man who offered to share his lunch with you.

Like the rich man who showed you that it really is all possible, if only you believe.

Like the stranger who just happened to come along, when you had lost your way.

Like the friend who touched your heart, when you didn't think you had one to touch.

Angels come in all sizes and shapes,
all ages and skin types.
Some with freckles, some with dimples,
some with wrinkles, some without.
They come disguised as friends, enemies,
teachers, students, lovers and fools.
They don't take life too seriously,
they travel light.
They leave no forwarding address,
they ask nothing in return.
They wear sneakers with gossamer wings,
they get a deal on dry cleaning.
They are hard to find when your eyes are closed,
But they are everywhere you look, when you
choose to see.

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