Hull everyone, just letting you know things are a little busy with family et al here, so taking a wee break from blogging. Am well and thoroughly enjoying our spring time :D
Sharing with you a beautiful digi image with some favourite flowers, forget-me-nots and a thought of great wisdom.
Indeed we can add to our joy by counting our blessings which are so many. This truly helps to bring things on a clearer perspective.
Thankfulness leads to joy - twins that lead to a contented heart.
~ ~ ~
I was sent this today by a very dear friend. Thought how well it tied in with this post which I had already begun, so add it here. May it bless you also.
The Pickle Jar
The pickle jar as far back as I can remember
sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents' bedroom. When he
got ready for bed, Dad would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar.
As a small boy, I was
always fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were dropped into the
jar. They landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty. Then
the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar was filled.
I used to squat on the floor in front of the
jar to admire the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's
treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom window. When the jar was
filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and roll the coins before taking
them to the bank. Taking the
coins to the bank was always a big production. Stacked neatly in a small
cardboard box, the coins were placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old
truck. Each and every time,
as we drove to the bank, Dad would look at me hopefully. 'Those coins are going
to keep you out of the textile mill, son. You're going to do better than me.
This old mill town's not going to hold you back.' Also, each and every time, as he slid the box
of rolled coins across the counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would
grin proudly. 'These are for my son's college fund. He'll never work at the
mill all his life like me.'
We would always celebrate each deposit by
stopping for an ice cream cone. I always got chocolate. Dad always got vanilla.
When the clerk at the ice cream parlor handed Dad his change, he would show me the few coins
nestled in his palm. 'When we get home, we'll start filling the jar again.' He
always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar. As they rattled around
with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at each other.
'You'll get to college on pennies, nickels,
dimes and quarters,' he said. 'But you'll get there; I'll see to that. No matter how rough things got at home, Dad
continued to doggedly drop his coins into the jar. Even the summer when Dad got
laid off from the mill, and Mama had to serve dried beans several times a week,
not a single dime was taken from the jar. To the contrary, as Dad looked across the table at me, pouring catsup
over my beans to make them more palatable, he became more determined than ever
to make a way out for me 'When you finish college, Son,' he told me, his eyes
glistening, 'You'll never have to eat beans again - unless you want to.'
The years passed, and I finished college and
took a job in another town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone
in their bedroom, and noticed that the pickle jar was gone. It had served its
purpose and had been
removed. A lump rose in my
throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser where the jar had always
stood. My dad was a man of few words: he never lectured me on the values of
determination, perseverance, and faith. The pickle jar had taught me all these
virtues far more eloquently than the most flowery of words could have done.
When I married, I told my wife Susan about
the significant part the lowly pickle jar had played in my life as a boy. In my
mind, it defined, more than anything else, how much my dad had loved me.
The first Christmas after our daughter
Jessica was born, we spent the holiday with my parents. After dinner, Mom and
Dad sat next to each other on the sofa, taking turns cuddling their first
grandchild. Jessica began to whimper softly, and Susan took her from Dad's
arms. 'She probably needs to be changed,' she said, carrying the baby into my
parents' bedroom to diaper her. When Susan came back into the living room,
there was a strange mist in her eyes.
She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking
my hand and leading me into the room. 'Look,' she said softly, her eyes
directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser. To my amazement, there,
as if it had never been removed, stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already
covered with coins..
I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down
into my pocket, and pulled out a fistful of coins. With a gamut of emotions
choking me, I dropped the coins into the jar. I looked up and saw that Dad,
carrying Jessica, had slipped quietly into the room. Our eyes locked, and I
knew he was feeling the same emotions I felt.
Neither one of us could speak.
This truly touched my heart. Sometimes we are
so busy adding up our troubles that we forget to count our blessings. Never
underestimate the power of your actions. With one small gesture you can change
a person's life, for better or for worse.
God puts us all in each other's lives to
impact one another in some way. Look for GOOD in others.
The best and most beautiful things cannot be
seen or touched - they must be felt with the heart ~ Helen Keller
Thanking the Lord for each of you, and praying for you that the LORD would be your Strength and Guide through each and every day,
Shaz in Oz.x
PS commenting will be limited, but appreciate everyone of yours..
