" „I want to know" 我只想知道„„
(By Oriah Mountain Dreamer, a Native American Elder, who speaks of being in touch with your wellspring of happiness, of being in tune with yourself.)
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, and if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide or fade it or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, and if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being a human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you're telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself, and if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
I want to know if you can be faithful and trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see the beauty even when it is not pretty every day, and if you can source your life from its presence.
I want to know if your can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon "Yes".
It doesn't interest me to know where you live, or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.
It doesn't interest me who you are, or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else fails away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself, and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
The only bed in town 意外的回报
"One of the most difficult things to give away is kindness, for it is usually returned." - Mark Ortman
With several major conventions in town, there was not a room to be rented anywhere. When an elderly couple walked in out of the cold rain, the desk clerk knew they would never find 1)lodging. In an act of kindness, he offered them the only bed in town, his own bed.
The couple at first refused, but through reason and kindness, he persuaded the couple to accept his offer. When they checked out the next morning, the elderly gentleman said to the desk clerk, "You are the kind of person who should be managing the best hotel in the United States. Maybe someday I'll build one." They 2)chuckled about that and the elderly couple left.
The incident and the elderly couple were forgotten by the desk clerk until two years later when he received a letter from the old man requesting he come up to New York and see him. There was a round-trip airline ticket with the letter.
The desk clerk thought, "Why not?" and took the flight to New York. The old man met him at the airport and immediately took him to a construction site to show him an enormous 3)castle-like structure being built there.
"That," 4)proclaimed the old man, "is the hotel I'm building for you to manage!"
The old man was William Waldorf Astor, and the hotel would soon be known as the Waldorf-Astoria. The former desk clerk, George C. Boldt, became the first manager.
Today is a Gift 活着是福
Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room.
One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window. The other man had to spend all his time
flat on his back.
The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation. And every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.
The man in the other bed began to live for those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.
The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape, and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.
As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.
One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man couldn't hear the band - he could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words. Days and weeks passed.
One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away. As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone. Slowly and painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the world outside. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it for himself. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed. It faced a blank wall.
The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window.
The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall. She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."
（怎样去听：1. 浏览，查生词。2. 泛听，培养语感。3. 精听，在大脑中映出每个单词。4. 听写，尽可能快的跟着材料听写。练完了，阁下也成精了，呵呵„„）
The Cost of Love 爱的代价
One day my daughter wanted to get paid for doing some routine household chores, so she gave me the following list:
For washing the car………………………….$5.00
For making my own bed this week……………….$1.00
Going to the provision shop…………………..$0.50
Playing with little sister …………………..$0.25
Taking out the rubbish……………………….$1.00
Getting a good report card……………………$5.00
And for sweeping the common corridor…………..$2.00
I looked at her standing there expecting payment. A thousand memories flashed through my mind. So I picked up a pen and turning the paper over, this is what I wrote:
For 9 months I carried you, growing inside me………………..NoCharge
For the nights I sat up with you, doctored and prayed for you….NoCharge
For the toys, food and clothes and wiping your nose…………..NoCharge
When you add it all up, the full cost of my love……………..NoCharge
Well, when she finished reading, she had great big tears in her eyes. She looked at me and said, "Mummy, I love you." Then she took the pen and in great big letters, she wrote, "PAID IN FULL".
I Can Sleep when the Wind Blows 风起入眠
Years ago a farmer owned land along the Atlantic seacoast. He constantly advertised for hired hands. Most people were reluctant to work on farms along the Atlantic. They dreaded the awful storms that raged across the Atlantic, wreaking havoc on the buildings and crops. As the farmer interviewed applicants for the job, he received a steady stream of refusals.
Finally, a short, thin man, well past middle age, approached the farmer. "Are you a good farmhand?" the farmer asked him.
"Well, I can sleep when the wind blows," answered the little man.
Although puzzled by this answer, the farmer, desperate for help, hired him.
The little man worked well around the farm, busy from dawn to dusk, and the farmer felt satisfied
with the man's work. Then one night the wind howled loudly in from offshore. Jumping out of bed, the farmer grabbed a lantern and rushed next door to the hired hand's sleeping quarters.
He shook the little man and yelled, "Get up! A storm is coming! Tie things down before they blow away!" The little man rolled over in bed and said firmly, "No sir. I told you, I can sleep when the wind blows."
Enraged by the old man's response, the farmer was tempted to fire him on the spot.
Instead, he hurried outside to prepare for the storm. To his amazement, he discovered that all of the haystacks had been covered with tarpaulins. The cows were in the barn, the chickens were in the coops, and the doors were barred. The shutters were tightly secured. Everything was tied down. Nothing could blow away. The farmer then understood what his hired hand meant, and he returned to bed to also sleep while the wind blew.
Free to Soar 断线的风筝
One windy spring day, I observed young people having fun using the wind to fly their kites. Multicolored creations of varying shapes and sizes filled the skies like beautiful birds darting and dancing in the heady atmosphere above the earth. As the strong winds gusted against the kites, a string kept them in check.
Instead of blowing away with the wind, they arose against it to achieve great heights. They shook and pulled, but the restraining string and the cumbersome tail kept them in tow, facing upward and against the wind. As the kites struggled and trembled against the string, they seemed to say, "Let me go! Let me go! I want to be free!" They soared beautifully even as they fought the imposed restriction of the string. Finally, one of the kites succeeded in breaking loose. "Free at last" it seemed to say. "Free to fly with the wind."
Yet freedom from restraint simply put it at the mercy of an unsympathetic breeze. It fluttered ungracefully to the ground and landed in a tangled mass of weeds and string against a dead bush. "Free at last" free to lie powerless in the dirt, to be blown helplessly along the ground, and to lodge lifeless against the first obstruction.
How much like kites we sometimes are. The Lord gives us adversity and restrictions, rules to follow from which we can grow and gain strength. Restraint is a necessary counterpart to the winds of opposition. Some of us tug at the rules so hard that we never soar to reach the heights we might have obtained. We keep part of the commandment and (pardon the pun) never rise high
enough to get our tails off the ground.
Let us each rise to the great heights our Heavenly Father has in store for us, recognizing that some of the restraints that we may chafe under are actually the steadying force that helps us ascend and achieve.
What Time is It? 时间观念谈
Before meeting with my friend Leticia from Honduras, Central America, I would ask her if she was arriving according to North American time or Latin American time. Smiling, she would answer, "A la hora Latina, of course." This meant that she would be late. The concept of time is very different for Latin Americans than for North Americans.
Life in the United States is fast-paced. There are fast food restaurants, overnight delivery services, shuttle services, instant cash machines, fast weight loss plans, and even instant minute rice.
1)Avidly following such sayings as, "The early bird gets the worm," and, "First come, first served," North Americans even have their meals in an efficient manner. Microwaves help nuke their early breakfasts, noon lunches, and five-o'clock dinners.
"Time is money" for big businesses. Everyone follows set agendas. Minutes are taken at meetings that are precisely scheduled. North Americans take pride in 2)juggling busy work schedules and still finding time to spend with family and friends.
Latin Americans stroll leisurely through life. They 3)amble past open-air restaurants, across shaded 4)patios tucked behind walls of 5)Bougainvillea. In the cafes, the service is slow but
6)courteous. Outside on the streets, people walk by, not for weight purposes, but to get somewhere. Buses arrive and depart on their own schedule, sometimes sooner or later than their printed times. And if you miss the bus, wait. One will come along eventually. Mid-morning breakfasts are homemade. Lunch is around three in the afternoon and dinner could be anytime after the arranged time. No one follows a set agenda, but business is accomplished at a 7)gradual and comfortable pace. Watches are not followed precisely, and one barely ever hears the question, "What time is it?"
This cultural difference has proven to be a problem for many North Americans visiting Latin American countries and vice versa. For example, this problem has 8)escalated on the issue of adoption. While in Honduras the summer of 1989, I translated for couples from the United States who were looking for children to adopt from Central America. All legal procedures were transacted between a lawyer from the U.S. and a Honduran lawyer. Legal matters on the North
American end were handled almost immediately. The Honduran lawyer, however, was considerably slower with field work and paper work and was unable to give definite dates or times for the completion of the adoption. This created a cultural barrier and added to the confusion of the situation.
Without understanding these cultural differences, one could eventually feel offended. Having lived for five years in the Dominican Republic, I am able to understand the two concepts of time but am torn between them. People in the United States, while accomplishing much, need to live less by the clock and stroll through more of their days. Although Latin America can sometimes be very frustrating and remind us that, indeed, patience is a virtue, one should slow down long enough to enjoy life's simple pleasure. So whenever I am asked, "Why are you late?" I simply reply, "According to whose time?"
If Only I had Known 假如我知道„„
Thomas Carlyle lived from 1795 until 1881. He was a Scot essayist and historian. During his lifetime he became one of the world's greatest writers. But he was a human and humans make mistakes.
On October 17, 1826, Carlyle married his secretary Jane Welsh. She was an intelligent, attractive and somewhat temperamental daughter of a well-to-do doctor. They had their quarrels and misunderstandings, but still loved each other dearly.
After their marriage, Jane continued to serve as his secretary. But, after several years of marriage, Jane became ill. Being a hard worker, Carlyle became so absorbed in his writings that he let Jane continue working for several weeks after she became ill. She had cancer, and though it was one of the slow growing kind, she finally became confined to her bed. Although Carlyle loved her dearly, he very seldom found time to stay with her long. He was busy with his work.
When Jane died they carried her to the cemetery for the service. The day was a miserable day. It was raining hard and the mud was deep. Following the funeral Carlyle went back to his home. He was taking it pretty hard. He went up the stairs to Jane's room and sat down in the chair next to her bed. He sat there thinking about how little time he had spent with her and wishing so much he had a chance to do it differently. Noticing her diary on a table beside the bed, he picked it up and began to read it. Suddenly he seemed shocked. He saw it. There, on one page, she had written a single line. "Yesterday he spent an hour with me and it was like heaven; I love him so."
Something dawned on him that he had not noticed before. He had been too busy to notice that he meant so much to her. He thought of all the times he had gone about his work without thinking about and noticing her. Then Carlyle turned the page in the diary. There he noticed she had written some words that broke his heart. "I have listened all day to hear his steps in the hall, but now it is late and I guess he won't come today."
Carlyle read a little more in the book. Then he threw it down and ran out of the house. Some of his friends found him at the grave, his face buried in the mud. His eyes were red from weeping. Tears continued to roll down his cheeks. He kept repeating over and over again, "If I had only known, if I had only known." But it was too late for Carlyle. She was dead.
After Jane's death, Carlyle made little attempt to write again. The historians say he lived another 15 years, "weary, bored and a partial recluse." I share the story with in the hope that you will not make the same mistake. While our loved ones must have the money we make to live, it is the love we have that they really want. Give it now before it is too late.
托马斯·卡莱尔（1795——1881）是苏格兰的散文家和历史学家，也是世界上一流的作家。但无论这位作家有多么地了不起，他毕竟也是一个凡人，凡人就免不了会犯错误。在1826年，10月17日，卡莱尔与他的秘书简·威尔斯结了婚。简的父亲是一位非常富有的医生，她聪明、美丽，但就是有点喜怒无常。虽然夫妇俩不时也会吵吵架，但感情还是蛮好的。结了婚后，简仍给卡莱尔当秘书。可是几年后，简却病倒了。但简还是继续带病工作了好几周，由于卡莱尔对写作非常地投入，所以，他并没有阻止简。简得的是癌症，虽然发作得比较慢，但最终，她还是病倒在床。尽管卡莱尔非常地爱简，但因为忙于工作，他很少抽时间来陪简。简死后，她的亲朋好友都到她的墓地参加葬礼。那是一个悲痛的日子。天上下着滂沱大雨，道路泥泞不堪。葬礼后，卡莱尔回到家里，心情非常沉重。他爬上楼梯，来到简的房间，坐在她床边的椅子上。回想起自己很少抽时间陪伴爱侣，卡莱尔非常地后悔，恨不得时间可以倒流。卡莱尔瞥见桌上放着简的日记本，便拿起来看。突然，他好象感到非常震惊。他看到了这样的一句话，“昨天，他陪了我一个小时，我感觉到了天堂般幸福。我喜欢他这样做。”他开始意识到一些曾被自己忽略了的事情。他一直以来都忙于工作，竟然不知道妻子是那么地需要自己。他回想起自己埋头工作，置妻子于一边的日子。翻看着简的日记，他留意到几句令他伤心欲绝的话：“我一整天都在留意他的脚步声，但现在为时已晚了，我想他今天不会来了。”卡莱尔再读了一会儿，然后丢下了日记本，冲出了屋外。朋友们在墓地里找到了他。他的脸粘满了泥浆，眼睛哭得红肿不堪，眼泪不停地在他脸庞上滑落, 他不停地念叨着, " 如果我知道, 如果我知道„„," 但一切对于卡莱尔来讲都太晚了，简已经不在人世了。自从简死后, 卡莱尔就没怎么再写作了。据这位历史学家称，在他妻子死后的15年, 他的生活完全变了样, 生活对于他来讲是 “苦闷、无趣、寂寞的”。我把这个故事告诉大家，就是希望大家不要重蹈覆辙，悲剧重演。爱人是需要我们努力工作赚钱，但其实他（她）们更需要的是我们的爱。趁还来得及，去关怀你的爱人吧。
The Baby Eagle Story 小鹰的故事
Once upon a time there was a baby eagle living in a nest 1)perched on a cliff overlooking a beautiful valley with waterfalls and streams, trees and lots of little animals, 2)scurrying about enjoying their lives.
The baby eagle liked the nest. It was the only world he had ever known. It was warm and comfortable, had a great view, and even better, he had all the food and love and attention that a great mother eagle could provide. Many times each day the mother would 3)swoop down from the sky and land in the nest and feed the baby eagle delicious 4)morsels of food. She was like a god to him, he had no idea where she came from or how she worked her magic.
The baby eagle was hungry all the time, but the mother eagle would always come just in time with the food and love and attention he 5)craved. The baby eagle grew strong. His vision grew very sharp. He felt good all the time.
Until one day, the mother stopped coming to the nest.
The baby eagle was hungry. "I'm sure to die," said the baby eagle, all the time.
"Very soon, death is coming," he cried, with tears streaming down his face. Over and over. But there was no one there to hear him.
Then one day the mother eagle appeared at the top of the mountain cliff, with a big bowl of delicious food and she looked down at her baby. The baby looked up at the mother and cried "Why did you abandon me? I'm going to die any minute. How could you do this to me?"
The mother said, "Here is some very tasty and nourishing food, all you have to do is come get it."
"Come get it!" said the baby, with much anger. "How?"
The mother flew away.
The baby cried and cried and cried.
A few days later, "I'm going to end it all," he said. "I give up. It is time for me to die."
He didn't know his mother was nearby. She swooped down to the nest with his last meal.
"Eat this, it's your last meal," she said.
The baby cried, but he ate and 6)whined and whined about what a bad mother she was.
"You're a terrible mother," he said. Then she pushed him out of the nest.
Picked up speed.
Faster and faster.
He screamed. "I'm dying I'm dying," he cried. He picked up more speed.
He looked up at his mother. "How could you do this to me?"
He looked down.
The ground rushed closer, faster and faster. He could visualize his own death so clearly, coming so
soon, and cried and whined and complained. "This isn't fair!" he screamed.
Something strange happens.
The air caught behind his arms and they 7)snapped away from his body, with a feeling unlike anything he had ever experienced. He looked down and saw the sky. He wasn't moving towards the ground anymore, his eyes were pointed up at the sun.
"Huh?" he said. "What is going on here!"
"You're flying," his mother said.
"This is fun!" laughed the baby eagle, as he soared and dived and swooped.
"Yes it is!" said the mother.
Consider… YOU. In all time before now and in all time to come, there has never been and will never be anyone just like you. You are unique in the entire history and future of the universe. Wow! Stop and think about that. You're better than one in a million, or a billion, or a 1)gazillion…
You are the only one like you in a sea of 2)infinity!!!
You're amazing! You're awesome! And by the way, TAG, you're it. As amazing and awesome as you already are, you can be even more so. Beautiful young people are the 3)whimsey of nature, but beautiful old people are true works of art. But you don't become "beautiful" just 4)by virtue of the aging process.
Real beauty comes from learning, growing, and loving in the ways of life. That is the Art of Life. You can learn slowly, and sometimes painfully, by just waiting for life to happen to you. Or you can choose to accelerate your growth and intentionally 5)devour life and all it offers. You are the artist that paints your future with the brush of today.
Paint a Masterpiece.
God gives every bird its food, but he doesn't throw it into its nest. Wherever you want to go, whatever you want to do, it's truly up to you.