Shakerules Diaries

As a friend I do value friendship greatly and thus I tend to help and advice  my friends as long as I can.  Whenever they have problems even just using text I do respond and give them my views about their issues and problems.

But what is saddening is that sometimes when your view contradicts with theirs in the long run you end up losing that friend or you end up enemies.  Sometimes I do ask myself whether which is better: (1) To ignore a friend; (2) Just listen to him and share nothing; or (3) Give him/her an advice.

Well based on my experience I think I should be learning to listen and if asked maybe I could give some advise but I should be cautious on that because sometimes people forget that they are your friend and that is the main reason why you are giving such an advice.

I am sorry to loose friends… because for me it is part of my failure as a person.  But am happy still because there are friends that I know will stay through the end.

We’ve been friends for so long. There have been lots of tears and so much laughter between us. I feel closer to you than anyone else. I’ve listened and hurt every time you fell in love, longing to be the one in your arms. I’ve been there for you when every one of your relationships fell apart. You listened and cried with me when we found out about the cancer and you stood by my side through all of it. Now is the time to tell you that the waiting is over.

The love you so desperately seek is here in my arms. You’ve often asked why I’m not interested in any of the women who hit on me when we’re all out. I’ve always told you they weren’t the one for me. Now I’m telling you that you are the one for me. You’re the one I dream about. No one can make me laugh like you, even when I’m knee deep in tears. The reason I’ve been alone for five longs years is this: I’ve been waiting for you to see the love in my eyes that’s only for you. I’ll wait forever if that’s how long it takes. I need you. I miss you when you’re gone, and I hurt when you’re sad. I love you, you are everything to me .

In the many years I have been on the internet, I have met numerous people. These are some of the finest people you’ll ever want to meet. They have been so helpful, very caring, and more than generous. If you are one of the ones who has made me laugh, dried my tears, solved my techno problems, shared a file or listened to my woes, accept this post (with warm *HUGS*) as my token of friendship and appreciation.  You are the best!

He was in the first third grade class I taught at Saint Mary’s School in Morris, Minn. All 34 of my students were dear to me, but Mark Eklund was one in a million. Very neat in appearance, but had that happy-to-be-alive attitude that made even his occasional mischieviousness delightful.

Mark talked incessantly. I had to remind him again and again that talking without permission was not acceptable. What impressed me so much, though, was his sincere response every time I had to correct him for misbehaving – “Thank you for correcting me, Sister!” I didn’t know what to make of it at first, but before long I became accustomed to hearing it many times a day.

One morning my patience was growing thin when Mark talked once too often, and then I made a novice-teacher’s mistake. I looked at him and said, “If you say one more word, I am going to tape your mouth shut!” It wasn’t ten seconds later when Chuck blurted out, “Mark is talking again.” I hadn’t asked any of the students to help me watch Mark, but since I had stated the punishment in front of the class, I had to act on it.

I remember the scene as if it had occurred this morning. I walked to my desk, very deliberately opened my drawer and took out a roll of masking tape. Without saying a word, I proceeded to Mark’s desk, tore off two pieces of tape and made a big X with them over his mouth. I then returned to the front of the room. As I glanced at Mark to see how he was doing he winked at me. That did it! I started laughing. The class cheered as I walked back to Mark’s desk, removed the tape and shrugged my shoulders. His first words were, “Thank you for correcting me, Sister.”

At the end of the year I was asked to teach junior-high math. The years flew by, and before I knew it Mark was in my classroom again. He was more handsome than ever and just as polite. Since he had to listen carefully to my instructions in the “new math,” he did not talk as much in ninth grade as he had in the third.

One Friday, things just didn’t feel right. We had worked hard on a new concept all week, and I sensed that the students were frowning, frustrated with themselves – and edgy with one another. I had to stop this crankiness before it got out of hand. So I asked them to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name. Then I told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down.

It took the remainder of the class period to finish the assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed me the papers. Charlie smiled. Mark said, “Thank you for teaching me, Sister. Have a good weekend.” That Saturday, I wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and I listed what everyone else had said about that individual.

On Monday I gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling. “Really?” I heard whispered. “I never knew that meant anything to anyone!” “I didn’t know others liked me so much!” No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. I never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn’t matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another again.

That group of students moved on. Several years later, after I returned from vacation, my parents met me at the airport. As we were driving home, Mother asked me the usual questions about the trip – the weather, my experiences in general. There was a light lull in the conversation. Mother gave Dad a side-ways glance and simply says, “Dad?” My father cleared his throat as he usually did before something important. “The Eklunds called last night,” he began. “Really?” I said. “I haven’t heard from them in years. I wonder how Mark is.” Dad responded quietly. “Mark was killed in Vietnam,” he said. “The funeral is tomorrow, and his parents would like it if you could attend.” To this day I can still point to the exact spot on I-494 where Dad told me about Mark.

I had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. Mark looked so handsome, so mature. All I could think at that moment was, Mark, I would give all the masking tape in the world if only you would talk to me. The church was packed with Mark’s friends. Chuck’s sister sang “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” Why did it have to rain on the day of the funeral? It was difficult enough at the graveside. The pastor said the usual prayers, and the bugler played taps. One by one those who loved Mark took a last walk by the coffin and sprinkled it with holy water. I was the last one to bless the coffin. As I stood there, one of the soldiers who had acted as pallbearer came up to me. “Were you Mark’s mathteacher?” he asked. I nodded as I continued to stare at the coffin. “Mark talked about you a lot,” he said.

After the funeral, most of Mark’s former classmates headed to Chucks farmhouse for lunch. Mark’s mother and father were there, obviously waiting for me. “We want to show you something,” his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket. “They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it.” Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times. I knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which I had listed all the good things each of Mark’s classmates had said about him. “Thank you so much for doing that” Mark’s mother said. “As you can see, Mark treasured it.”

Mark’s classmates started to gather around us. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, “I still have my list. It’s in the top drawer of my desk at home.” Chuck’s wife said, “Chuck asked me to put this in our wedding album.” “I have mine too,” Marilyn said. “It’s in my diary.” Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group. “I carry this with me at all times,” Vicki said without batting an eyelash. “I think we all saved our lists.” That’s when I finally sat down and cried. I cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again.

The purpose of this letter, is to encourage everyone to compliment the people you love and care about. We often tend to forget the importance of showing our affections and love. Sometimes the smallest of things, could mean the most to another. I am asking you, to please sent his letter around and spread the message and encouragement, to express your love and caring by complimenting and being open with communication. The density of people in society, is so thick, that we forget that life will end one day. And we don’t know when that one day will be. So please, I beg of you, to tell the people you love and care for, that they are special and important. Tell them, before it is too late.

Some years ago, a tiny Korean orphan arrived in the United States to join her adoptive family. She was nine months old and weighed only 9 ½ pounds. She grew and blossomed in her new home, but remained a diminutive size. Her new name was Edie.

One day when Edie was in second grade, she ran home from school, crying. She was frightened. That day, three new girls had been enrolled in her class. During the first recess, they picked the smallest girl in the class as the object of their anger and frustration. They pinched, poked, and pushed tiny Edie and threatened to beat her up. Edie had spent an hour in the principal’s office with the three girls and was assured the teachers would be watching. The girls were given a warning.

Edie’s mother held her little one and comforted her. She learned later, after speaking with the principal, that the girls had been troublemakers at several other schools. They were being given one more chance at anew beginning.

“These girls must have been very hurt in their young lives to be so angry. Her mother said. “The Bible tells us, “Be kind to your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you. Edie, let’s pray.” Then they prayed for the girls and asked the Lord for a plan of action.

A plan began to take shape. “I can’t go to school with you everyday, so you will need to stay close to a teacher when you are at recess or in line to go into school.” said Edie’s mom. “If the girls start to pick on you, tell them, “I’d really like to be your friend Are you brave enough to do that?” Edie’s mother asked. “The Lord asks us to be kind to our enemies, let’s see what happens, okay?

The tiny girl perked up, and with a smile, looked at her mother and said, “Yes, Mom, I’ll try.”

The next morning, and everyday before Edie left for school, she and her mom prayed for her to be safe and brave, and for the girls to be open to God’s love. Everyday, the girls shoved into line behind Edie and called her names and tried to get in a poke or two.

Each time, Edie looked up at them and said, “I’d really like to be your friend.” She did have to look up at them since they were so much taller than she was. The teachers kept an eye on the proceedings, but did not need to interfere as the girls were not hurting her.

After about two weeks, Edie came home looking so discouraged. She told her mother that she didn’t think it was working. After they talked about it some more and prayed, she decided to keep trying and continued to faithfully tell them, “I’d really like to be your friend.”

One day the following week, Edie ran home as fast as she could and ran into the house shouting, “Mom, Mom, guess what happened today? Just like I always did, I said I’d really like to be your friend, and one of the girls said, “Okay, Edie, we give up, we’ll be your friend.”

Edie and her mom thanked the Lord for His faithfulness.

A short time later, as the girls were trying to become friends, Edie asked the teacher if she could sit at a table with these girls in the classroom. She had noticed that they were disruptive because they didn’t understand the lessons. Edie became their tutor.

Toward the end of the school year, when Edie’s parents went to school for a parent teacher conference, the teacher told them, “Because of Edie’s kindness, those girl’s have completely turned around and are productive members of the class.” She felt she had witnessed a miracle. And so did Edie’s mom and dad.

How many people go through life never experiencing kindness? They don’t see it in strangers, and some don’t even find it in their own families. Without experiencing kindness, it becomes impossible to express kindness toward others. The result of this tragic lack is seen everywhere. What a different society this would be if everyone who has received kindness would be kind to others, especially the unlovely.

A young man had been to Wednesday night Bible Study. The Pastor had shared about listening to God and obeying the Lord’s voice. The young man couldn’t help but wonder, “Does God still speak to people?”

After service he went out with some friends for coffee and pie and they discussed the message. Several different ones talked about how God had led them in different ways. It was about ten o’clock when the young man started driving home. Sitting in his car, he just began to pray, “God.. If you still speak to people speak to me. I will listen. I will do my best to obey.”

As he drove down the main street of his town, he had the strangest thought, stop and buy a gallon of milk. He shook his head and said out loud, “God is that you?” He didn’t get a reply and started on toward home. But again, the thought, buy a gallon of milk. The young man thought about Samuel and how he didn’t recognize the voice of God, and how little Samuel ran to Eli. “Okay, God, in case that is you, I will buy the milk.” It didn’t seem like too hard a test of obedience. He could always use the milk.

He stopped and purchased the gallon of milk and started off toward home. As he passed Seventh street, he again felt the urge, “Turn down that street.” This is crazy he thought and drove on past the intersection.

Again, he felt that he should turn down Seventh Street. At the next intersection, he turned back and headed down Seventh. Half jokingly, he said out loud, “Okay, God, I will”. He drove several blocks, when suddenly, he felt like he should stop.

He pulled over to the curb and looked around. He was in a semi- commercial area of town. It wasn’t the best but it wasn’t the worst of neighborhoods either. The businesses were closed and most of the houses looked dark like the people were already in bed.

Again, he sensed something, “Go and give the milk to the people in the house across the street.” The young man looked at the house. It was dark and it looked like the people were either gone or they were already asleep.

He started to open the door and then sat back in the car seat. “Lord, this is insane. Those people are asleep and if I wake them up, they are going to be mad and I will look stupid.”

Again, he felt like he should go and give the milk. Finally, he opened the door, “Okay God, if this is you, I will go to the door and I will give them the milk. If you want me to look like a crazy person, okay. I want to be obedient. I guess that will count for something but if they don’t answer right away, I am out of here.”

He walked across the street and rang the bell. He could hear some noise inside. A man’s voice yelled out, “Who is it? What do you want?” Then the door opened before the young man could get away.

The man was standing there in his jeans and t-shirt. He looked like he just got out of bed. He had a strange look on his face and he didn’t seem too happy to have some stranger standing on his doorstep. “What is it?” The young man thrust out the gallon of milk, “Here, I brought this to you.”

The man took the milk and rushed down a hallway speaking loudly in Spanish. Then from down the hall came a woman carrying the milk toward the kitchen. The man was following her holding a baby. The baby was crying. The man had tears streaming down his face. The man began speaking and half crying, “We Were just praying. We had some big bills this month and we ran out of money. We didn’t have any milk for our baby. I was just praying and asking God to show me how to get some milk.”

His wife in the kitchen yelled out, “I ask him to send an Angel with some. Are you an Angel?” The young man reached into his wallet and pulled out all the money he had on him and put in the man’s hand.

He turned and walked back toward his car and the tears were streaming down his face. He knew that God still answers prayers.

Dear Friend,

As You got up this morning, I watched you and hoped you would talk to me, even if it was just a few words, asking my opinion or thanking me for something good that happened in your life yesterday but I noticed you were to busy trying to find the right outfit to put on and wear to work or class. I waited again. When you ran around the house or dorm getting ready I knew there would be a few minutes for you to stop and say hello, but you were too busy. At one point you had to wait fifteen minutes w/ nothing to do except sit in a chair. Then I saw you spring to your feet. I thought you wanted to talk to me but you ran to the phone and called a friend to get the latest gossip. I watched as you went to school and work and I waited patiently all day long. With all your activities, I guess you were too busy all day to say anything to me. I noticed that before lunch you looked around, maybe you felt embarrassed to talk to me, that is why you didn’t bow your head. You glanced three or four tables over and you noticed some of your friends talking to me briefly before they ate, but you didn’t. That’s okay. There is still more time left, and I have hope that you will talk to me even yet.

You went home and it seems as if you had lots of things to do. After a few of them were done, you turned on the TV or the net; I don’t know if I like TV or computers or not, just about anything goes there & you spend a lot of time each day in front of them, not thinking about anything-just enjoying the show. I waited patiently again as you watched TV and ate your meal but again you didn’t talk to me. At bedtime I guess you felt too tired. After you said goodnight to your family you plopped into bed and fell asleep in no time. That’s okay because you may not realize that I am always there for you. I’ve got patience, more than you will ever know. I even want to teach you how to be patient with others as well. Because I love you so much, a long time ago I left a wonderful place called Heaven and came to Earth. I gave it up so that I could be ridiculed and made fun of. and I even died so you wouldn’t have to take my place. I love you so much that I wait everyday for a nod, praise or thought or a thankful part of your heart. It is hard to have a one-sided conversation. Well you are getting up again and once again I will wait with nothing but love for you hoping that today you will give me some time. Have a nice day!

Love Always, Your Friend,
Jesus

It was an unusually cold day for the month of May. Spring had arrived and everything was alive with color. But a cold front from the north had brought winter’s chill back to Indiana.

I sat with two friends in the picture window of a quaint restaurant just off the corner of the town square. The food and the company were both especially good that day. As we talked, my attention was drawn outside, across the street. There, walking into town, was a man who appeared to be carrying all his worldly goods on his back. He was carrying a well-worn sign that read, “I will work for food.”

My heart sank. I brought him to the attention of my friends and noticed that others around us had stopped eating to focus on him. Heads moved in a mixture of sadness and disbelief. We continued with our meal, but his image lingered in my mind.

We finished our meal and went our separate ways. I had errands to do and quickly set out to accomplish them. I glanced toward the town square, looking somewhat half-heartedly for the strange visitor. I was fearful, knowing that seeing him again would call for some response. I drove through town and saw nothing of him. I made some purchases at a store and got back in my car. Deep within me, the Spirit of God kept speaking to me: “Don’t go back to the office until you’ve at least driven once more around the square.”

And so, with some hesitancy, I headed back into town. As I turned the square’s third corner, I saw him. He was standing on the steps of the stone-front church, going through his sack. I stopped and looked, feeling both compelled to speak to him, yet wanting to drive on. The empty parking space on the corner seemed to be a sign from God: an invitation to park. I pulled in, got out and approached the town’s newest visitor.

“Looking for the pastor?” I asked.

“Not really,” he replied.

“Just resting.”

“Have you eaten today?”

“Oh, I ate something early this morning.”

“Would you like to have lunch with me?”

Do you have some work I could do for you?”

“No work,” I replied. “I commute here to work from the city, but I would like to take you to lunch.”

“Sure,” he replied with a smile.

As he began to gather his things, I asked some surface questions.
“Where you headed?”

“St. Louis.”

“Where you from?”

“Oh, all over; mostly Florida.”

“How long you been walking?”

“Fourteen years,” came the reply.

I knew I had met someone unusual. We sat across from each other in the same restaurant I had left only minutes earlier. His hair was long and straight, and he had a neatly trimmed dark beard. His skin was deeply tanned, and his face was weathered slightly beyond his 38 years. His eyes were dark yet clear, and he spoke with an eloquence and articulation that was startling.

He removed his jacket to reveal a bright red T-shirt that said,

“Jesus is The Never Ending Story.”

Then Daniel’s story began to unfold. He had seen rough times early in life. He’d made some wrong choices and reaped the consequences. Fourteen years earlier, while backpacking across the country, he had stopped on the beach in Daytona. He tried to hire on with some men who were putting up a large tent and some equipment. A concert, he thought. He was hired, but the tent would not house a concert but revival services, and in those services he saw life more clearly. He gave his life over to God.

“Nothing’s been the same since,” he said. “I felt the Lord telling me to keep walking, and so I did, some 14 years now.”

“Ever think of stopping?” I asked.

“Oh, once in a while, when it seems to get the best of me. But God has given me this calling. I give out Bibles. That’s what’s in my sack. I work to buy food and Bibles, and I give them out when His Spirit leads.”

I sat amazed. My homeless friend was not homeless. He was on a mission and lived this way by choice. The question burned inside for a moment and then I asked: “What’s it like?”

“What?”

“To walk into a town carrying all your things on your back and to show your sign?”

“Oh, it was humiliating at first. People would stare and make comments. Once someone tossed a piece of half-eaten bread and made a gesture that certainly didn’t make me feel welcome. But then it became humbling to realize that God was using me to touch lives and change people’s concepts of other folks like me.”

My concept was changing too. We finished our dessert and gathered his things. Just outside the door he paused. He turned to me and said, “Come ye blessed of my Father and inherit the kingdom I’ve prepared for you. For when I was hungry you gave me food, when I was thirsty you gave me drink, a stranger and you took me in.”

I felt as if we were on holy ground. “Could you use another Bible?” I asked. He said he preferred a certain translation. It traveled well and was not too heavy. It was also his personal favorite.

“I’ve read through it 14 times,” he said.

“I’m not sure we’ve got one of those, but let’s stop by our church and see.” I was able to find my new friend a Bible that would do well, and he seemed very grateful. “Where you headed from here?” I asked.

“Well, I found this little map on the back of this amusement park coupon.”

“Are you hoping to hire on there for a while?”

“No, I just figure I should go there. I figure someone under that star right there needs a Bible, so that’s where I’m going next.

“He smiled, and the warmth of his spirit radiated the sincerity of his mission.

I drove him back to the town square where we’d met two hours earlier, and as we drove, it started raining. We parked and unloaded his things.

“Would you sign my autograph book?” he asked. “I like to keep messages from folks I meet.”

I wrote in his little book that his commitment to his calling had touched my life. I encouraged him to stay strong. And I left him with a verse of scripture, Jeremiah 29:11. “I know the plans I have for you,” declared the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you a future and a hope.”

“Thanks, man,” he said. “I know we just met and we’re really just strangers, but I love you.”

“I know,” I said. “I love you, too.”

“The Lord is good.”

“Yes. He is. How long has it been since someone hugged you?” I asked.

“A long time,” he replied.

And so on the busy street corner in the drizzling rain, my new friend and I embraced, and I felt deep inside that I had been changed.

He put his things on his back, smiled his winning smile and said, “See you in the New Jerusalem.”

“I’ll be there!” was my reply.

He began his journey again. He headed away with his sign dangling from his bed roll and pack of Bibles.

He stopped, turned and said, “When you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?”

“You bet,” I shouted back. “God bless.”

“God bless.”

And that was the last I saw of him. Late that evening as I left my office, the wind blew strong. The cold front had setted hard upon the town. I bundled up and hurried to my car. As I sat back and reached for the emergency brake, I saw them-a pair of well-worn brown work gloves neatly laid over the length of the handle. I picked them up and thought of my friend and wondered if his hands would stay warm that night without them. I remembered his words:

“If you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?”

Today his gloves lie on my desk in my office. They help me to see the world and its people in anew way, and they help me remember those two hours with my unique friend and to pray for his ministry. “See you in the New Jerusalem,” he said. Yes Daniel, I know I will.

The above is a true story written and copywrited by Rev. Richard D. Ryan It has been published in Christian Reader Magazine, A Third Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul, and Stories of the Faithful Heart. I would like to thank Rev. Ryan for granting me permission to use it here. You may contact him at Old Capitol UMC, Corydon, IN or email Rev. Ryan at onevoice_47112@yahoo.com

Somewhere before 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. They could drive us kids crazy sometimes, because they were always together “against us.” (Okay, so it just seemed like that).

They were really just together in their love “for us”, making sure their brood understood the difference between right and wrong and the foundational principles of honesty, trustworthiness, and respect.) Sure, they argued (although, not that much), but there was never any doubt in our minds that any disagreements would be worked through and resolved. Most of my friends, unfortunately, didn’t feel that same sense of security when their folks argued.

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 right away fell in love. 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.”

I remember one night at dinner asking Dad how much money he made. (Doesn’t every teenager want to know!) Dad simply replied, “I don’t know, Mama handles all that.” I looked at Mom and asked, “Is that true? Dad really doesn’t know how much money he makes?” She replied, “Yes, he never has known, and he never asks.” All three of us kids looked at Dad for an explanation. His approach was a simple one. “If we want to buy something and Mama says we can afford it, we can afford it.”

For my mom and dad, marriage was never a 50/50 arrangement. It was 100/100 – each totally devoted to the happiness of the other. And, because of that, they each received even more joy than they gave. Dad once told me that “true love is when you actually care more about the other person – you love that person more – than you do yourself.”

One of my greatest lessons from Mom was the time I told her, as a boy in my mid-teens, that even after I got married one day, she’d always be my favorite girl. Immediately – in a kind but definitely serious manner – she said, “No I won’t be. When you get married your wife will be the most important person in your life, and that includes Daddy and me.” The biggest lesson about love and marriage that my mom and dad taught us kids was on 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
and 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 twelve 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.

It is by chance we met,
by choice we became friends.
Friendship is a strange thing—
we find ourselves telling each other
the deepest details of our lives,
things we don’t even share
with our families who raised us.
But what is a friend?
A confidant? A lover?
A fellow email junkie?
A shoulder to cry on?
An ear to listen?
A heart to feel?…
A friend is all these things…
and more.
No matter where we met,
I call you friend.
A word so small yet so large in feeling,
a word filled with emotion.

It is true great things
come in small packages.
Once the package of friendship
has been opened,
it can never be closed.
It is a constant book always written
waiting to be read and enjoyed.
We may have our disagreements,
we may argue,
we may concern one another,
friendship is a unique bond
that lasts through it all.

A part of me is put into my friends,
some it is my humor,
some it is my listening ear,
some it is real life experiences,
some it is my romanticism
but with all, it is friendship.

Friendships forged are a construct stronger
than steel built as a foundation,
necessary for life and necessary for love.
Friends—-you and me
You brought another friend
and then there were 3.
We started our group
Our circle of friends
and like that circle
There is no beginning or end…

A simple friend, when visiting, acts like a guest.
A real friend opens your refrigerator and helps himself
(and doesn’t feel even the least bit weird shutting your
Coke/Pepsi drawer with his foot!)

A simple friend has never seen you cry.
A real friend has shoulders soggy from your tears.

A simple friend doesn’t know your parents’ first names.
A real friend has their phone numbers in his address book.

A simple friend brings a bottle of wine to your party.
A real friend comes early to help you cook
and stays late to help you clean.

A simple friend hates it when you call
after they’ve gone to bed.
A real friend asks you why you took so long to call.

A simple friend seeks to talk with you
about your problems.
A real friend seeks to help you with your problems.

A simple friend wonders about your romantic history.
A real friend could blackmail you with it.

A simple friend thinks the friendship is over
when you have an argument.
A real friend calls you after you had a fight.

A simple friend expects you to always be there for them.
A real friend expects to always be there for you!

Friendship is a Golden Chain,
The links are friends so dear,
And like a rare and precious jewel
It’s treasured more each year…

It’s clasped together firmly
With a love that’s deep and true,
And it’s rich with happy memories
and fond recollections, too…

Time can’t destroy its beauty
For, as long as memory lives,
Years can’t erase the pleasure
That the joy of friendship gives…

For friendship is a priceless gift
That can’t be bought or sold,
But to have an understanding friend
Is worth far more than gold…

And the Golden Chain of Friendship
Is a strong and blessed tie
Binding kindred hearts together
As the years go passing by.

~Helen Steiner Rice

We sit and we type and we stare at our screens,
We can’t help but wonder what all of this means.
With mouse in hand …we roam through this maze,
On an infinite search…lost in a daze.

We chat with each other, we type all our woes
At times we’ll band together to gang up on our foes.
We wait for somebody, to type out our name
We want recognition, but it is always the same.

Soon friendships are formed – but – why we don’t know,
But some of these friendships, will flourish and grow.
We give kisses and hugs, and sometimes we’ll flirt,
In IMs we chat deeply, and reveal why we hurt.

Why is it on screen, we are so easily bold,
Telling our secrets, that have never been told.
The answer is simple, it is as clear as a bell,
We all have our problems, and need someone to tell.

We can’t tell real people, but tell someone we must
So we turn to our ‘puters …and to those we can trust.
Even though it sounds crazy…the truth still remains,
Most of my “friends” have no faces…and odd little names.

~Rusty Black, ©1996

If your bad habit screams, “Me First,” Break it.
If your spirit cries with thirst, Slake it.
If for company you yearn
And someone else’s trust you earn,
When friendship’s offered in return, Take it!

Just place your hand in his or hers; Grip it.
If imagined slight occurs, Skip it.
See what’s needed, then give more.
And if a weed springs up, before
It chokes the path to your friend’s door, Snip it!

If gratitude or praise is due, Heap it.
If a secret’s shared with you, Keep it.
When a seed has taken root,
Beside your friend stand resolute,
And when the full-grown tree bears fruit, Reap it!

~Mary Sullivan Georgetown, TX, USA

I never came to you, my friend,
and went away without
some new enrichment of the heart;
More faith and less of doubt,
more courage in the days ahead.
And often in great need coming to you,
I went away comforted indeed.
How can I find the shining word,
the glowing phrase that tells all that
your love has meant to me,
all that your friendship spells?
There is no word, no phrase for
you on whom I so depend.
All I can say to you is this,
God bless you precious friend.

-Grace Noll Crowell