A Blessing is in the eye of the beholder.
To be able to see is a blessing to the blind.
To be able to walk is a blessing to the crippled.
To have a home and a family is a blessing to the homeless.
And to live in freedom is a blessing to those under persecution.
Are the bumps in your road blessings and lessons?
Or are the bumps fears that rule you?
Yes, our lessons are extremely difficult sometimes!
But we all have a choice…the choice whether to confront them, or not.
Don’t be afraid of what might come.
Go ahead and grab a piece of paper.
Now look at yourself. Really look.
Are you blessing your body?
What are you reading?
What do you think about?
Years from now at your funeral, will people express their gratitude for your sharing?
Even in sorrow there is much to learn and teach others—sometimes what looks like a failure on the outside, ends up being the biggest blessing, somehow, somewhere, sometime!
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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“The notion that our lives are like the eternal cycle of the seasons does not deny the struggle or the joy, the loss or the gain, the darkness or the light, but encourages us to embrace it all—and to find in all of it opportunities for growth. We are here not only to transform the world but also to be transformed. In the visible world of nature, a great truth is concealed in plain sight: diminishment and beauty, darkness and light, death and life are not opposites. They are held together in the paradox of ‘hidden wholeness’.”
~Parker J. Palmer (founder of the Center for Courage & Renewal)
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
~Kahlil Gibran
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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When you are sad…I will dry your tears.
When you are scared…I will comfort your fears.
When you are worried…I will give you hope.
When you are confused…I will help you cope.
And when you are lost…And can’t see the light, I shall be your beacon…Shining ever so bright.
This is my oath…I pledge till the end.
Why you may ask? —Because you’re my friend.
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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To believe is to know that every day
is a new beginning.
It is to trust that miracles happen,
and dreams really do come true.
To believe is to see angels dancing among the clouds,
To know the wonder of a stardust sky
and the wisdom of the man in the moon.
To believe is to know the value of a nurturing heart,
The innocence of a child’s eyes
and the beauty of an aging hand,
for it is through their teachings we learn to love.
To believe is to find the strength
and courage that lies within us.
When it is time to pick up the pieces and begin again.
To believe is to know we are not alone,
That life is a gift and this is our time to cherish it.
To believe is to know that wonderful surprises
are just waiting to happen,
And all our hopes and dreams are within reach.
If only we believe.
~Author Unknown
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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A little girl went to her bedroom and pulled a glass jelly jar from its hiding place in the closet.
She poured the change out on the floor and counted it carefully. Three times, even. The total had to be exactly perfect. No chance here for mistakes.
Carefully placing the coins back in the jar and twisting on the cap, she slipped out the back door and made her way six blocks to Rexall’s Drug Store with the big red Indian Chief sign above the door.
She waited patiently for the pharmacist to give her some attention, but he was too busy at this moment.
Tess twisted her feet to make a scuffing noise. Nothing. She cleared her throat with the most disgusting sound she could muster. No good Finally she took a quarter from her jar and banged it on the glass counter. That did it!
“And what do you want?” the pharmacist asked in an annoyed tone of voice. “I’m talking to my brother from Chicago whom I haven’t seen in ages,” he said without waiting for a reply to his question.
“Well, I want to talk to you about my brother,” Tess answered back in the same annoyed tone. “He’s really, really sick…and I want to buy a miracle.”
“I beg your pardon?” said the pharmacist.
“His name is Andrew and he has something bad growing inside his head and my Daddy says only a miracle can save him now. So how much does a miracle cost?”
“We don’t sell miracles here, little girl. I’m sorry but I can’t help you,” the pharmacist said, softening a little.
“Listen, I have the money to pay for it. If it isn’t enough, I will get the rest. Just tell me how much it costs.”
The pharmacist’s brother was a well-dressed man. He stooped down and asked the little girl, “What kind of a miracle does your brother need?”
“I don’t know,” Tess replied with her eyes welling up. “I just know he’s really sick and Mommy says he needs an operation. But my Daddy can’t pay for it, so I want to use my money.”
“How much do you have?” asked the man from Chicago.
“One dollar and eleven cents,” Tess answered barely audibly.
“And it’s all the money I have, but I can get some more if I need to.”
“Well, what a coincidence,” smiled the man. “A dollar and eleven cents—the exact price of a miracle for little brothers.”
He took her money in one hand and with the other hand he grasped her mitten and said. “Take me to where you live. I want to see your brother and meet your parents. Let’s see if I have the miracle you need.”
That well dressed man was Dr. Carlton Armstrong, a surgeon, specializing in neuro-surgery. The operation was completed free of charge and it wasn’t long until Andrew was home again and doing well.
Mom and Dad were happily talking about the chain of events that had led them to this place.
“That surgery,” her Mom whispered, “was a real miracle. I wonder how much it would have cost?”
Tess smiled. She knew exactly how much a miracle cost—one dollar and eleven cents…plus the faith of a little child.
(Thanks for passing this on to me, Roger!)
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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The happier the memory, the deeper it hurts.
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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Many years ago three soldiers, hungry and weary of battle, came upon a small village. The villagers, suffering a meager harvest and the many years of war, quickly hid what little they had to eat and met the three at the village square, wringing their hands and bemoaning the lack of anything to eat.
The soldiers spoke quietly among themselves and the first soldier then turned to the village elders. “Your tired fields have left you nothing to share, so we will share what little we have: the secret of how to make soup from stones.”
Naturally the villagers were intrigued and soon a fire was put to the town’s greatest kettle as the soldiers dropped in three smooth stones. “Now this will be a fine soup”, said the second soldier; “but a pinch of salt and some parsley would make it wonderful!” Up jumped a villager, crying, “What luck! I’ve just remembered where some’s been left!” And off she ran, returning with an apron full of parsley and a turnip. As the kettle boiled on, the memory of the village improved: soon barley, carrots, beef and cream had found their way into the great pot, and a cask of wine was rolled into the square as all sat down to feast.
They ate and danced and sang well into the night, refreshed by the feast and their newfound friends. In the morning the three soldiers awoke to find the entire village standing before them. At their feet lay a satchel of the village’s best breads and cheese. “You have given us the greatest of gifts: the secret of how to make soup from stones,” said an elder, “and we shall never forget.” The third soldier turned to the crowd, and said: “There is no secret, but this is certain: it is only by sharing that we may make a feast.” And off the soldiers wandered, down the road.
~Author Unknown
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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What are you waiting for? …
You can’t think too small about your life because the world is waiting for you to play big.
There is so much to do…to see…to experience!
…
The silence of the dawning day,
Finding yourself in someone’s heart,
That smile that emerges from the tears,
Finding riches along the road you didn’t expect,
And this time of year, even the gently falling snow.
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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“My boyfriend and I were traveling through France when he crashed the car. It was 2 am on the eve of Hogmanay [the Scots word for the last day of the year], and a dark, foggy night. A car pulled over and three locals got out and helped us to push the car off the road, we got to talking and explained that we had very little money and were unsure what we were going to do. They offered us a bed for the night.
“Without them we would have been hopelessly stuck. Not only did they put us up for the evening, fed and watered us, they also took us to the train station and gave us our fare so we could reach our next destination.
“Their kindness helped us through a potentially very stressful time. I dread to think what we would have done without their help.”
~Wendy
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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