A legacy of love

As I entered womanhood, Mom sat me down and told me that no matter what happened and no matter what I did, I could always come home. Because of what those words meant to me, I said the same thing to my sons.
My childhood was filled with affection—lots of kisses, lots of hugs, lots of spoken I love yous. I never wanted for physical affection, and because of what that affection meant to me, I gave the same thing to my sons.
I grew up in a home where love was openly talked about and warmly expressed. I can still picture myself in my attic bedroom, sitting on my bed and fuming at my parents. They had been mean to me and were totally unreasonable—at least that was my evaluation of the situation. They hadn't understood that I was a teenager and should be allowed certain freedoms. With eyes closed, lips taut and hot tears streaming down my face, I leaned back against the wall and planned how I would get even with them for hurting me. What would be the worst thing I could do to punish them and show how much they had hurt me? It didn't take long to figure it out—I would never kiss them again. That would do it! They'd see then!
That's how important physical expressions of love were in my home. And those physical expressions of love were indicative of the singularly greatest thing I appreciate about my mother. She loved me unconditionally while expecting me to live according to her rules, not mine. From her example, I also learned not to focus on myself or wallow in pity parties.
Both my parents came from broken homes and had difficult childhoods; yet they never dwelt on how dysfunctional their families were. They were both survivors, but not survivors at someone else's expense. In my mother, I saw love's ability to forgive.
I saw my sweet Mom love my real grandfather, even though he had abandoned her and my grandma and failed to provide for their needs. I never saw Mother treat Grandpa Miller any way but lovingly, even though he was far from lovable. I learned how love behaves and forgives because I saw what a woman can do and be if she wants to—if she is not willing to let her past determine her future.
I watched my mother take care of my hundred-year-old grandmother who, in her blindness, deafness and feebleness, needed almost total care. When I was in her home, I heard what I've heard all my life: "I love you, Mother." They would tell each other this a minimum of five times a day—when Mom would get Grandma up, tuck her in or prepare her meals. And I would hear love's response as Grandma said, "And I love you, too, Leah."
Love forgives and moves on, focusing not on what might have been, what could have been or what we wish were different. Instead, love's focus is on what needs to be done now and on doing it the best we can.
My mother taught me to love; she taught me to press on, forgetting what is behind, and she demonstrated forgiveness. I wonder if she knew then that she was demonstrating principles of life that my heavenly Father would teach me in His Word.
The transition from my parents' arms to God's arms was easier because of what Mother did. No matter the hurts, the pain, the skinned knees—I now know enough to get up, go to my Heavenly Father and listen as He says, "Press on. Don't faint. Run with endurance the race that is set before you. I love you with an everlasting love."
This Week Make sure the three words, "I love you," are always a part of your conversation. Sharing your legacy of love—unconditional love—will bless families for generations.
Prayer Our heavenly Father, help us to love as You love. Helps us to forgive and move forward no matter what hurts or disappointments we may have experienced in the past. We praise you for a legacy of love that will bless our children and grandchildren and future generations into eternity.
By Kay Arthur (from "Words Of LIFE" devotional)

The most beautiful heart

One day a young man was standing in the middle of the town proclaiming that he had the most beautiful heart in the whole valley.
A large crowd gathered and they all admired his heart for it was perfect. There was not a mark or a flaw in it. Yes, they all agreed it truly was the most beautiful heart they had ever seen. The young man was very proud and boasted more loudly about his beautiful heart.
Suddenly, an old man appeared at the front of the crowd and said, "Why your heart is not nearly as beautiful as mine." The crowd and the young man looked at the old man's heart. It was beating strongly, but full of scars, it had places where pieces had been removed and other pieces put in, but they didn't fit quite right and there were several jagged edges. In fact, in some places there were deep gouges where whole pieces were missing.
The people stared ­ "How can he say his heart is more beautiful?" they thought.
The young man looked at the old man's heart and saw its state and laughed. "You must be joking," he said. "Compare your heart with mine, mine is perfect and yours is a mess of scars and tears."
"Yes," said the old man, "Yours is perfect looking but I would never trade with you. You see, every scar represents a person to whom have given my love - I tear out a piece of my heart and give it to them, and often they give me a piece of their heart which fits into the empty place in my heart, but because the pieces aren't exact, I have some rough edges, which I cherish, because they remind me of the love we shared."
"Sometimes I have given pieces of my heart away, and the other person hasn't returned a piece of his heart to me. These are the empty gouges - giving love is taking a chance. Although these gouges are painful, they stay open, reminding me of the love I have for these people too, and I hope someday they may return and fill the space I have waiting. So now do you see what true beauty is?"
The young man stood silently with tears running down his cheeks.
He walked up to the old man, reached into his perfect young and beautiful heart, and ripped a piece out. He offered it to the old man with trembling hands. The old man took his offering, placed it in his heart and then took a piece from his old scarred heart and placed it in the wound in the young man's heart. It fit, but not perfectly, as there were some jagged edges.
The young man looked at his heart, not perfect anymore but more beautiful than ever, since love from the old man's heart flowed into his.
They embraced and walked away side by side.
Author: Unknown

A great life

I've heard the saying, "The best gift parents can ever give to their children is to love each other."
I've had the pleasure of witnessing the truth of this statement for over 40 years. From as far back as I can remember my Mom and Dad were a team. A great partnership. They were more than just a partnership. It was as if they were one person.
Sure, they argued, but there was never any doubt in our minds that any disagreements would be worked through and resolved. Mom and Dad began their married life poor, but they worked hard and, over the years, built a very successful business. They each had their strengths and weaknesses, but the way they worked together, you never saw the weaknesses, just the strengths.
Dad was the outgoing, more public person with whom people met and fell in love with right away. Everyone knew Dad! Then, when they got to meet Mom, they felt the exact same way about her as well. Mom, although not at all shy, was more comfortable being the person behind the scenes. More detail oriented, she ran the books and, according to Dad, was the one who really made the business work.
The biggest lesson about love and marriage that my mom and dad taught us kids was how to talk "about" your spouse. Have you ever heard husbands and wives, when speaking to others, make unkind remarks about their spouses? It's one of those things people just seem to do. Sure, they're "only kidding," or maybe they are not. But words matter. And words teach, whether positively or negatively.
You would never hear such a thing from my mom and dad. Dad always speaks of Mom in the most complimentary, glowing terms. As does she of him.
This lesson made such an impression on me. I still remember when I was age 12 and we were getting carpet installed in our home. The crew boss was one of those stereotypical beer guzzling, hard-living guys, who would have probably belonged to Ralph Kramden's Raccoon Lodge from the old Honeymooner's TV show. For lunch, my folks bought pizza for the crew. Dad went to talk with the boss about the job. I was around the corner listening.
The boss said, "This is an expensive job. Women will really spend your money, won't they?" Dad responded, "Well, I'll tell you, when they were right there with you before you had any money, it's a pleasure to do anything for them you possibly can."
This wasn't the answer the carpet installer expected to hear. He was looking for negative banter about wives which, to him, was natural. He tried again: "But, gee, they'll really play off that and spend all they can, won't they?" Dad replied, as I knew he would, "Hey, when they're the reason you're successful, you want them to do the things they enjoy. There's no greater pleasure." Strike two.
The crew boss tried one more time, "And they'll take that as far as they can, huh?" Dad responded, "She's the best thing that ever happened to me. I'd do anything to make her happy."
I was trying not to laugh. I knew he wanted Dad to give in just a little bit and say, "Yeah, I guess that's true." But it wouldn't happen... not in a million years!
Finally, the installer gave up and went back to work, probably shaking his head in bewilderment. Witnessing my dad in that moment taught me more about loving and respecting your wife than anything he could ever have told me about the subject.
Mom and Dad are now retired and enjoying their life together, just hanging out, reading, and visiting their children and grandchildren. They recently celebrated their 43rd wedding anniversary.
They still hold hands, and they are more in love than ever. Throughout the years, whenever Mom would remind me that I should be looking to get married, I'd say, "Ma, I have plenty of time." She'd jokingly reply that I don't have "that" much time. My Dad would then look at me in that wisdom-filled, city streets bred way of his and say, "Hey, you take all the time you need. If you marry someone just half the woman your mother is, you'll have a great life."
I should only be so lucky.
Author Unknown

A good lesson

A young man, a student in one of our universities, was one day taking a walk with a professor, who was commonly called the students' friend, from his kindness to those who waited on his instructions. As they went along, they saw lying in the path a pair of old shoes, which they supposed to belong to a poor man who was employed in a field close by, and who had nearly finished his day's work.
The student turned to the professor, saying: "Let us play the man a trick: we will hide his shoes, and conceal ourselves behind those bushes, and wait to see his perplexity when he cannot find them."
"My young friend," answered the professor, "we should never amuse ourselves at the expense of the poor. But you are rich, and may give yourself a much greater pleasure by means of the poor man. Put a coin into each shoe, and then we will hide ourselves and watch how the discovery affects him."
The student did so, and they both placed themselves behind the bushes close by. The poor man soon finished his work, and came across the field to the path where he had left his coat and shoes. While putting on his coat he slipped his foot into one of his shoes; but feeling something hard, he stooped down to feel what it was, and found the coin. Astonishment and wonder were seen upon his countenance. He gazed upon the coin, turned it round, and looked at it again and again. He then looked around him on all sides, but no person was to be seen. He now put the money into his pocket, and proceeded to put on the other shoe; but his surprise was doubled on finding the other coin. His feelings overcame him; he fell upon his knees, looked up to heaven and uttered aloud a fervent thanksgiving, in which he spoke of his wife, sick and helpless, and his children without bread, whom the timely bounty, from some unknown hand, would save from perishing.
The student stood there deeply affected, and his eyes filled with tears. "Now," said the professor, "are you not much better pleased than if you had played your intended trick?"
The youth replied, "You have taught me a lesson which I will never forget. I feel now the truth of those words, which I never understood before: 'It is more blessed to give than to receive.'"
Author unknown, retold by Artin Tellalian

May be life really is

It was done in shades of blue with a touch of peach here and there and when I first saw it, tears sprang to my eyes.
Something about the painting made me see beauty in something that had previously been just another duty. The child was sound asleep in his mother’s arms, his head on her shoulder, her cheek resting against his curly hair. Light from a nearby window was just beginning to chase the dark shadows away.
The rocking chair in the background was empty. Whatever his need, she had taken him in her arms without waiting to get to a more comfortable spot.
The quilt she held him in was further evidence of someone’s love. The little patchwork pieces so patiently arranged in design and so warmly healing.
I knew just what had happened as I drank in the picture. She had heard his cries, wrapped him tightly in the warm quilt, told him everything would be OK now, and rocked him gently until his fears and tears were quieted and he was once again safe and warm and asleep.
But though he sleeps, she does not. And as she holds him snugly, the faraway look in her eyes is evidence that she too is at peace.
I cut out the picture from the magazine, had it mounted, double-matted and framed and hung it right next to the door that leads from my room. When I get up in the night to calm tears, I pass it in the dark and know that what I’m doing isn’t a terrible inconvenience at all.
It took two years before my youngest slept through the night. I listened to all the advice from outsiders — let him cry, feed him yogurt or oatmeal, skip a nap, and on and on. Then I realized that every moment during the day, we were surrounded by one or two or three others and their wants and needs and troubles. At night, just the two of us were together. My son and I.
It was then I decided that those few minutes together were not a chore or a pain or a sacrifice. They were an act of love, a sweet service. And then, as the woman in the painting in shades of blue, I felt peace.
Author: Louise R. Shaw

Cry for help

Once upon a time, there was an island where all the feelings lived: Happiness, Sadness, and all of the others, including Love.
One day it was announced to the feelings that the island would sink, so all repaired their boats and left.
Love was the only one who stayed. Love wanted to persevere until the last possible moment.
When the island was almost sinking, Love decided to ask for help.
Richness was passing by Love in a grand boat. Love said, "Richness, can you take me with you?" Richness answered, "No I can't..There is a lot of gold and silver in my boat. There is no place for you here."
Love decided to ask Vanity, who was also passing by in a beautiful vessel, "Vanity, please help me!" "I can't help you Love. You are all wet and might damage my boat," Vanity answered.
Sadness was close by so Love asked for help, "Sadness let me go with you." "Oh...Love, I am so sad that I need to be by myself!"
Happiness passed by Love too, but she was so happy that she did not even hear when Love called her!
Suddenly, there was a voice, "Come Love, I will take you." It was an elder. Love felt so blessed and overjoyed that he even forgot to ask the elder her name.
When they arrived at dry land, the elder went her own way. Love, realizing how much he owed the elder, asked Knowledge, another elder, "Who helped me?"
"It was Time", Knowledge answered.
"Time?" asked Love. "But why did Time help me?
Knowledge smiled with deep wisdom and answered, "Because only Time is capable of understanding how great Love is."
Author: Unknown

Marble trader

During the waning years of the Depression in a small southeastern Idaho community, I used to stop by Mr. Miller's roadside stand for farm-fresh produce as the season made it available. Food and money were still extremely scarce and bartering was used, extensively. One particular day, Mr. Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily appraising a basket of freshly picked green peas.
I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller and the ragged boy next to me. "Hello Barry, how are you today?"
"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas......sure look good." "They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"
"Fine. Gittin' stronger alla'time."
"Good. Anything I can help you with "
"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."
"Would you like to take some home?"
"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."
"Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?"
"All I got's my prize aggie, best taw around here."
"Is that right? Let me see it."
"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."
"I can see that. Hmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?"
"Not 'zackley .....but, almost."
"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red taw."
"Sure will. Thanks, Mr. Miller."
Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile she said, "There are two other boys like him in our community. All three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes or whatever. When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble, or an orange one, perhaps."
I left the stand, smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Utah, but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys and their bartering.
Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community, and while I was there, I learned that Mr. Miller had just died. They were having his viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them.
Upon our arrival at the mortuary, we got into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could. Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an Army uniform and the other two had short haircuts, wore dark suits and white shirts, looking like potential or returned missionaries.
They approached Mrs. Miller, standing smiling and looking composed, by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary, awkwardly, and wiping his eyes.
Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles. Eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket. "This is an amazing coincidence," she said. "Those three young men that just left, were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim "traded" them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size...they came to pay their debt. We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world," she confided, "but, right now, Jim would have considered himself the richest man in Idaho." With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three magnificently shiny, red marbles.
W. E. Petersen, (October 1975, Ensign Magazine)