Weybridge & Hampton Court Hypnotherapy

Wellbeing, Therapy & Lifestyle Consultancy

 Gaynor Polirer    01932 844702    

Dip.Hyp.       M.C.D. (MT)       M.C.M.A.

Email:  gaynor@naturalpathweybridge.com

A Collection of Inspiring and Uplifting Stories: If you know of others that you think would fit in with this theme please email them to me or send a link. All stories are printed in full below the index. Scroll down to see the list. The pictures are not related to each story, just various ones I thought were worth saving.

Dance Like Nobody's Watching

Life Changing Experiences

Priorities

Precious Little Time

Perhaps He Wanted To Encourage You

A Better Pilot

From The Mouth of Babes

Learning Patience With God

Young Pup

Light of My Day

Miracles Do Happen

The Voice

The Comfort Zone

A True Miracle

Information Please

1000 Marbles

My Brick Wall

Dance Like Nobody's Watching

Joe was the kind of guy you love to hate. He was always in a good mood and always had something positive to say. When someone would ask him how he was doing, he would reply, "If I were any better, I would be twins!"

He was a unique manager because he had several waiters who had followed him around from restaurant to restaurant. The reason the waiters followed Joe was because of his attitude. He was a natural motivator. If an employee was having a bad day, Joe was there telling the employee how to look on the positive side of the situation. Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up to Joe and asked him, "I don't get it! You can't be a positive person all of the time. How do you do it?"

Joe replied, "Each morning I wake up and say to myself, Joe, you have two choices today. You can choose to be in a good mood or you can choose to be in a bad mood.' I choose to be in a good mood. Each time something bad happens, I can choose to be a victim or I can choose to learn from it. I choose to learn from it. Every time someone comes to me complaining, I can choose to accept their complaining or I can point out the positive side of life. I choose the positive side of life."

"Yeah, right, it's not that easy," I protested.

"Yes, it is," Joe, said. "Life is all about choices. When you cut away all the junk, every situation is a choice. You choose how you react to situations. You choose how people will affect your mood. You choose to be in a good mood or bad mood. The bottom line: It's your choice how you live life."

I reflected on what Joe said.

Soon thereafter, I left the restaurant industry to start my own business. We lost touch, but I often thought about him when I made a choice about life instead of reacting to it.

Several years later, I heard that Joe did something you are never supposed to do in a restaurant business: he left the back door open one morning and was held up at gunpoint by three armed robbers.

While trying to open the safe, his hand, shaking from nervousness, slipped off the combination. The robbers panicked and shot him. Luckily, Joe was found relatively quickly and rushed to the local trauma center.

After 18 hours of surgery and weeks of intensive care, Joe was released from the hospital with fragments of the bullets still in his body.

I saw Joe about six months after the accident. When I asked him how he was, he said, "If I were any better, I'd be twins. Want to see my scars?"

I declined to see his wounds, but did ask him what had gone through his mind as the robbery took place. "The first thing that went through my mind was that I should have locked the back door," Joe  replied. "Then, as I lay on the floor, I remembered that I had two choices: I could choose to live, or I could choose to die. I chose to live."

"Weren't you scared? Did you lose consciousness?" I asked.

Joe continued, "The paramedics were great. They kept telling me I was going to be fine. But when they wheeled me into the emergency room and I saw the expressions on the faces of the doctors and nurses, I got really scared. In their eyes, I read, 'He's a dead man.' I knew I needed to take action."

"What did you do?" I asked.

"Well, there was a big, burly nurse shouting questions at me," said

Joe. "She asked if I was allergic to anything. 'Yes,' I replied. The doctors and nurses stopped working as they waited for my reply. I took a deep breath and yelled, 'Bullets!' Over their laughter, I told them, 'I am choosing to live. Operate on me as if I am alive, not dead.'"

Joe lived thanks to the skill of his doctors, but also because of his amazing attitude. I learned from him that every day we have the choice to live fully. Attitude, after all, is everything.

- Work like you don't need the money

- Love like it's never going to hurt

- Dance like nobody's watching

*Author Unknown

Life Changing Experiences

We touch the lives of others in ways we often never know. People sometimes come into our personal world for fleeting moments and can leave us forever changed. We have more power to create or to destroy than we can imagine. We can leave things or individuals better or worse than we found them. A look, a word, a gesture has tremendous impact and frequently we blither along through our existence unaware of the mighty power that our communication wields.

Here's an example:

It was a rainy, humid day: the mother of all bad hair days. I was riding on a bus downtown to go to work. The windows on the bus were covered in condensation so thick you couldn't see outside. Everyone was wilting. I was sitting next to a man in a business suit and didn't pay much attention until we both got off at the same stop and walked to the same newsstand to get a morning paper.

The man running the stand was obviously having a bad day. He was rude, abrupt and unsmiling as we purchased our papers, which served to only add more gloom to my day. The businessman caught my eye and smiled. He then proceeded to smile brightly, thank the newsstand proprietor for the paper and for being open on such a morning to make sure we were able to get our papers. In short, he expressed his appreciation for something most of us would take for granted.

The man running the news stand responded only with a grunt and a sour expression. The businessman then pleasantly wished him a pleasant day.

As we turned away, I asked this man why he had continued to be pleasant to the newsman when he obviously didn't care about and didn't respond to his expression of appreciation and friendliness. The businessman grinned at me and said, "Why would I let someone else control what I say and what I feel or what kind of day I'm going to have?"

We then separated to go to our respective work places. To this day, I don't know who that business man was, where he worked, or anything else about him. I never saw him again, even though I looked for him on the bus on other days. He appeared briefly in my life and disappeared just as quickly. I don't even remember what he looked like. But I've never forgotten the words he said or the way his smile seemed like a shaft of light on a gloomy day.

That was a good 25 years ago, but the impact this had on my life has lasted. I never had a chance to thank him personally, but the way in which I try to choose to look at life as a result of those words is his legacy to me and my thanks to him.

Our interactions with the people we encounter can impact at least the next five people that person encounters. A smile and words of simple appreciation multiply themselves geometrically.

We cannot control people and situations that come to us, but we can always control our response to them. And in such positive decisions lie our control and personal power to make a positive difference. And it's something anyone and everyone can do. It is a real legacy that can impact both the present and the future.

By Gail Pursell Elliott.

Priorities

An expert in time management was speaking to a group of business students and, to drive home a point, used an illustration those students will never forget. As he stood in front of the group of high-powered overachievers he said, "Okay, time for a quiz" and he pulled out a one-gallon, mason jar and set it on the table in front of him. He also produced about a dozen fist-sized rocks and carefully placed them, one at a time, into the jar.

When the jar was filled to the top and no more rocks would fit inside, he asked, "Is this jar full?"

Everyone in the class yelled, "Yes."

The time management expert replied, "Really?"

He reached under the table and pulled out a bucket of gravel. He dumped some gravel in and shook the jar causing pieces of gravel to work themselves down into the spaces between the big rocks. He then asked the group once more, "Is the jar full?"

By this time the class was on to him. "Probably not," one of them answered.

"Good!" he replied. He reached under the table and brought out a bucket of sand. He started dumping the sand in the jar and it went into all of the spaces left between the rocks and the gravel. Once more he asked the question, "Is this jar full?"

"No!" the class shouted. Once again he said, "Good." Then he grabbed a pitcher of water and began to pour it in until the jar was filled to the brim. Then he looked at the class and asked, "What is the point of this illustration?"

One eager beaver raised his hand and said, "The point is, no matter how full your schedule is, if you try really hard you can always fit some more things in it!"

"No," the speaker replied, that's not the point. The truth this illustration teaches us is: If you don't put the big rocks in first, you'll never get them in at all.

What are the 'big rocks' in your life -- time with your loved ones, your faith, your education, your dreams, a worthy cause, teaching or mentoring others? Remember to put these BIG ROCKS in first or you'll never get them in at all." So, tonight, or in the morning, when you are reflecting on this short story, ask yourself this question: What are the 'big rocks' in my life? Then, put those in your jar first.

*Stephen Covey

Precious Little Time

The man came home from work late again, tired and irritated, to find his 5-year-old son waiting for him at the door.

Daddy, may I ask you a question?"

"Yeah, sure, what is it?" replied the man.

"Daddy, how much money do you make an hour?"

"That's none of your business! What makes you ask such a thing?" the man said angrily.

"I just want to know. Please tell me, how much do you make an hour?" pleaded the little boy.

"If you must know, I make $20.00 an hour."

"Oh," the little boy replied, head bowed.

Looking up, he said, "Daddy, may I borrow $10.00 please?"

The father was furious. "If the only reason you wanted to know how much money I make is just so you can borrow some to buy a silly toy or some other nonsense, then you march yourself straight to your room and go to bed. Think about why you're being so selfish. I work long, hard hours everyday and don't have time for such childish games." The little boy quietly went to his room and shut the door.

The man sat down and started to get even madder about the little boy's questioning. How dare he ask such questions only to get some money?

After an hour or so, the man had calmed down, and started to think he may have been a little hard on his son. Maybe there was something he really needed to buy with that $10.00, and he really didn't ask for money very often.

The man went to the Door of the little boy's room and opened the door. "Are you asleep son?" he asked.

"No daddy, I'm awake," replied the boy.

"I've been thinking, maybe I was too hard on you earlier," said the man. "It's been a long day and I took my aggravation out on you. Here's that $10.00 you asked for."

The little boy sat straight up, beaming. "Oh, thank you daddy!" he yelled. Then, reaching under his pillow, he pulled out some more crumpled up bills. The man, since the boy already had money, started to get angry again. The little boy slowly counted out his money, and then looked up at the man.

"Why did you want more money if you already had some?" the father grumbled.

"Because I didn't have enough, but now I do," the little boy replied.

"Daddy, I have $20.00 now. Can I buy an hour of your time?"

By Anita Barany

Perhaps He Wanted To Encourage You

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, 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."

Epilogue . . .. There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations. Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is doubled. If you want to feel rich, just count all of the things you have that money can't buy. "Today is a gift, that's why it is called the present."

--Author Unknown

A Better Pilot

Many years ago as a boy, an acquaintance of mine dreamed of being a fighter pilot... the very best! Some years later he had joined the U S Air Force and got his chance to go to flight school. He related that when he first got there, he was told in clear and certain terms that he was - as of that very moment - a pilot.

He was then quickly informed that he just needed to improve greatly in one area - that of experience - to be a better one. This was a concept and an attitude that was to serve him well in the challenging times. He was to draw from this not only as a pilot, but also in his daily living!

When the monotony of repeated practice drills got overwhelming, he only had to remember, "You are a fighter pilot - you only need to improve in experience to be a better one" - it somehow became a little easier.

Sometimes frustration, lack of sleep (because of long hours needed for study), and a constant nagging fear of failure were almost too much for him. He felt like quitting! It was then he needed to remember what he'd been told: "You are a fighter pilot - you need only to improve your experience to be a better one"!

Daily he remembered... and renewed his commitment to his dream. When his schooling was completed and he graduated at the top of his class - he was just a little taller - Ashe saluted, then accepted his diploma. He really was a pilot! Of course... he had been one from day one!

Now... he was a better one! So much better in fact, that he was asked to stay and teach at this very same school. He had something of great value, some-thing others wanted, his experience! He was a flight instructor for a number of years before he retired as certainly one of the best!

Through all this, the rewards given him by senior officers and peers were nothing compared to the reward he had given himself! He realized his dream.... he was the best pilot he could be!

Something needs to be said here for experience. You see, you can study and learn - all there is to "know" about a particular thing. My friend knew all about the aircraft - the hydraulic systems, the gages, lights and controls, and all of its aerodynamics and capabilities. But until he strapped on the parachute and logged some flight-time... he did not reach his full potential... and he did not realize his dream to be the best!

If you think about it, this makes all the sense in the world! We are - at least on the inside - whatever we truly want to be! We owe it to ourselves to go after the experience... to be a better "pilot"! It makes it all a little easier - with a daily commitment to our dreams...and not giving up... but remembering what we've been told!

By Larry Anderson

From The Mouth of Babes

To 'sacrifice' means to give up something in exchange for something better. We decided to make a sacrifice and exchange city life and move to a seaside village with our children aged 9 and 3 years old. We had a beautiful home and plenty of money but little real security because crime was on the increase every day. We never knew if we would all make it safely home at night.

We were very happy in our new town but life was very difficult economically. Income is based on the tourist seasons and jobs are few and far between. There is a local saying "How do you make a small fortune on the Garden Route? Arrive with a big one." Although many of the long-standing residents are well off, it is a very competitive environment for newcomers. We have had to adjust to an enormous extent over the past 4 years. Our currency has become measured in 'life style’, which is based on golden beaches, green forests, meandering rivers, the wonder of seeing the whales or dolphins, the enjoyment of good friends or the beauty of a spectacular sunrise or sunset.

Reading the newspapers from the big cities assured us that we had made the right choice. However, it was not always easy to explain to the children why they could no longer have what they were used to especially when our 'rich' friends come from the city to visit. They have so much but think they have so little and are always looking for more.

However, our little daughter put it all into perspective one day. Our visiting friend's son preferred riding in the back of our beat up little 'bakkie' (pickup) to his father's big Mercedes. Our little daughter called me and said, "Mom, please help me to explain to James that he is wrong. He says that 'today, if you don't have money you are nothing.' I know that is not true. If you do have money you share it with your friends and if they don't have money and you do, you share it with them. That is what makes us all rich." She has seen our networking and understands the old fashioned values of community sharing. It made me realize that the sacrifice was well worth it. Our kids understand that and they may not have all the spoils of city life but they do have a solid set of values and they know that our most precious gifts are good friends and a wonderful environment.

Author - Shanette Elliott

Learning Patience With God

My mother was dying of leukemia. My two older sisters, father, and I had shared the last three weeks in the hospital room with her. In two years, she had gone from a strong matriarch to a helpless invalid.

For the last three days, she had been in a semi-conscious state of moaning and lifelessness. She could no longer speak through her dry, swollen lips. Her eyes had the blank void of a moonless midnight.

On the night of the third day, I knew what I must do. I must cease being the selfish, clinging son. I sped purposefully to the chapel. There I gave God permission to take my mother. I could no longer stand to see her suffer, so I prayed for the permanent healing that only death can bring.

I returned to the room with a peaceful heart for I knew by the next morning my mother would also be at peace. I had the best night's sleep in weeks. The next morning, as the sun broke through the window, I awoke. My first thoughts were, "It's over". But then a noise, a stirring directed my attention from the window to the bed. A small movement made me realize that my mother was still alive. It was all I could do to keep from screaming aloud, "God, how can You do this to me? I became a selfless son, and gave You permission to end this, and You still kept her in her misery." But before I could have exclaimed this, I was shocked to see that there was more than just a movement.

My mother rolled onto her side, and looked into the glare of the newly risen sun. Then, as the sun made sparkling starbursts in her eyes, she licked her parched lips, and said "Gee, it's going to be a beautiful day today". Needless to say this got our attention quickly. Being the youngest, and fastest, I was first to her bedside. "Mom, it's me, Jerry, do you recognize me"? "Of course I do Jerry", she replied.

We all took our turns talking to her. Other relatives came and were able to talk to her, as she answered not in her old voice, but rather in the voice of a child. The doctor's explanation was that the brain stem was being destroyed, accounting for the sudden change. It was a joyous day of laughing, and celebrating life with our family. That night we all went to sleep peacefully.

The next morning, we were awoken to the stirring of angel's wings, and my mother was finally healed of her suffering. She had awakened to the Risen Son.

The next few days were hectic with funeral plans. It was only after the funeral that I stopped to think of what had happened. If God had answered my prayer, in my time, in my way, my final memories of my mother would have been that of a helpless invalid, with void eyes, lying motionless in a deathbed. Instead, God answered my prayer in his time, in his omniscient way.

Now, my memories of my mother are of a day of laughing and rejoicing. Since that time I have had many rocky roads. Financial failure. A divorce. The loss of my father. But throughout it all, regardless of how stormy the night might be, I know that through God's love, and perfect timing, I can awaken the next morning to a newly risen sun, or to the Risen Son, and say "Gee, it's going to be a beautiful day today."

by Jerry L. Haynes

Young Pup

New to my first "real job" out of college, I have no idea how much there is to learn. I naively assume being on time and doing a good job is the be-all and end-all. Am I wet behind the ears or what?

Myra is queen bee in this office. Her title may be secretary, but she reigns supreme...in the unofficial power structure, that is. It's imperative to stay on her good side. And I stray on to her bad side...seemingly just by breathing! (I AM a young pup, you know!) For the sake of peace in the office, not to mention my career, I've got to redeem myself. I vacate my chair for her the minute she joins the office coffee klatch. I eat lunch with her. I listen attentively to her stories. Of course, nothing works! And the harder I try, the worse it gets.

April 15 is nearing. Minnesota's winter may officially be over, but our accounting office is a blizzard of tax returns. And Myra's snowed with appointments, photocopies etc. She complains bitterly that "no one understands" how difficult her job is!

We're closed on April 15th, but on April 14th, Myra gets a drop-dead gorgeous floral arrangement. "Myra, you're the greatest!" proclaims the card accompanying peach roses with the works; ribbon, baby's breath, leather leaf etc. She lights up like a Christmas tree and immediately calls the florist.

Those roses stay on her desk 'til they're dead and dried. She takes the entire arrangement home...doesn't even throw away the dead brown fern. And it's THE hot topic of the coffee klatch 'til I'm laid off next fall. She asks her boyfriend, "all her friends" and "all the guys at the office" who sent it. Of course everyone tells her they'd love to take credit, but they can't. And the florist? Sworn to secrecy!

Myra...it's been 20 years, but I remain eternally grateful to you for that lesson. At the time, I could only afford $20 for half a dozen roses, and I wish I could have sent you a truckload! Those roses were much cheaper than a college degree and far more valuable than a CPA certificate. You taught me that each one of us really needs concrete acknowledgement that we're valued and recognition that our efforts are appreciated.

By Ruth Ellen Billion

The Light of My Day

As most of you know most jobs today come with a lot of stress. I work for an Insurance company and we are going through a lot of changes right now and it is causing a lot of stress for all of the people in my department as well as the agents.

A few weeks ago I was having a very bad day and was about ready to start looking elsewhere for a job that was not as stressful. Something happened that day to change my way of thinking and I am so appreciative of this young lady. Things have been stressful for me personally as well as at work. I want to let her know that the small act of kindness touched my heart.

In my cubicle I have a small collection of lighthouses and everyone on my team knows that I collect them. I have them sitting on top of the cubicle to let people know where I am sitting in case they have to find me for any number of reasons.

I came in to the office and was standing at my cubicle waiting to log in and get the day started when Crystal came over to my cubicle. I turned around and she said hello. I said hi and asked her if she needed anything. She said, "I bought you something." I looked at her with a puzzled look and said "Well, thank you, but why would you buy me anything." I had never spoke to this young lady before. She said, "Every day I stand up and look across the room and see your lighthouses. I was out shopping with my mom over the weekend and saw this and thought you would like it." In her hand she had a small globe with a lighthouse and ship in it. I gave her a hug and thanked her. I don't think she knows how much that small act of kindness changed my day.

I kept the small globe on my desk for a few days. Now it sits on my television in my apartment. I hope for anyone that reads this you remember, no matter what the gesture is you could change someone's day.

By Tammy Mansfield

Miracles Do Happen

I'm a radiographer (Aussie version of an X-ray technician) in a small private practice. A patient whose doctors had just discovered he had bowel cancer came to me for a CT scan and, unfortunately, the result was not good, with huge metastases in his liver. Once this type of cancer has reached that stage it's usually only a matter of time before the end.

He suspected the truth and even though it's not my place to discuss the results with the patients, while waiting for his family to come and collect him we had a chat. I told him about another patient whose first scan showed tumors on both kidneys that were inoperable and a sure death sentence who'd gone to a Naturopath-MD near our practice. Set on a path of a healthy diet, meditation, visualization and a lot of mind power, this man had astounded us all. About eight months and three scans later, the tumors had totally disappeared.

I told the current patient that miracles do happen. He asked for a pen and paper, wrote down those three words and stuck the note in his shirt pocket, and asked for the name of the Naturopath-MD.

After the conservative treatment of bowel surgery and chemotherapy, he returned for a follow-up scan, and his liver had improved far more than expected. This, he believed, was due to the alternative treatment supplementing the conservative.

Over the next few months he returned for regular follow-up scans. The last time I saw him I was absolutely thrilled to find only a trace of the biggest metastasis left. He did come back once more, unfortunately while I was on vacation. But he asked the office staff to give me a message. Apparently he patted his pocket and said, "Tell her I still read it every day." And yes, his last scan was perfectly normal.

Miracles do happen.

By Marg Riseley

The Voice

I believe all of us have heard a voice, perhaps "The Voice." The Voice may or may not have sounded like the one in Field of Dreams. It may have been a voice we recognized; it may have been a family member, it may have been a woman or a man, but we have all heard The Voice. Field of Dreams is a movie about many things, including Baseball, Family, Dreams, and more. None are more important to me than The Voice.

The first time the movie was on network television, I heard The Voice. My grandparents were soon having a 50th wedding anniversary celebration and the family had asked that no one bring gifts. Since gifts weren't expected or requested, I hadn't thought much about giving them anything. The Voice told me to go write them a letter. Now. At 11:00 pm on a Sunday night, when I had to get up early to go to work. I went in and wrote the first draft of a letter that I ended up reading to them at their party, in front of many family members and friends. It was a way to show my love for them, by telling them how my life is different because of them. Following The Voice in this instance wasn't especially hard nor did it lead to the kind of changes that Ray Kinsella's Voice did, but it was important for my growth, and in the end, valuable to my Grandparents.

When we hear The Voice, I believe it is always for the greater good, even if it doesn't seem as such at first. Listening to, and taking action on The Voice's words is a habit, and when The Voice gives us "easy" tasks like writing a letter it is an opportunity to practice our listening skills. Townsfolk and family members declared Ray crazy, for doing something that well, seemed crazy! He was laughed at and rebuked in his community, and came within hours of losing his farm, his business and his home. Ray had every reason not to listen to the Voice. And many times so do we.

Our history books are full of people who heard The Voice, listened, and acted. Martin Luther King, Jr., The Disciples of Jesus, the Founding Fathers of the United States, Gandhi, Mother Theresa, Christopher Columbus, Florence Nightingale. These people, with their faults and foibles, all heard and listened to the Voice and made our world a better place. As important as these famous people and their actions are, the people you know and that live in your community (or your household) who have listened to The Voice to help themselves and others around them, are just as instructive.

We hear a voice, or see the vision as Ray did, picturing the ball field in his cornfield, but we don't listen, we don't act. Usually the voice I hear is clearer than was Ray's - I've been lucky. That doesn't mean the choices are easy, or the outcomes assured. There have been times I have listened, and times when I haven't. Often when I haven't listened, The Voice became more persistent - forcing me to listen and ever urging me to act.

Your spiritual background and beliefs may give you a name for the Voice. You may call it God's Voice, Allah's Voice, your inner knower, your Mom, your conscience, or something else. We all are tapped into this spiritual power - and hearing The Voice is one proof of that fact. To me the question isn't whether we hear the Voice, it is whether or not we listen.

"If you build it he will come." "Ease His pain." "Go the Distance." These are the words The Voice said during the movie. The movie, through it's story, gives us the answers to these initially puzzling requests. The question the movie doesn't answer is, "What words am I hearing, and what am I doing about it?" "What is my Field of Dreams?"

Questions worth asking and answering.

Here's to you finding your field of dreams,

By Kevin Eikenberry

The Comfort Zone

About 10 years ago, I started a job as a trainer for a Telemarketing agency. In one of my first classes the head trainer told a very motivating story that I would like to share with you.

He began by drawing a diagram of a stick man standing in the middle of a circle. To make it more interesting, he drew things like a house, a car, and a few friends inside the circle.

He asked the question "Can anyone tell me what this is?" In a long silence, one guy decided to throw out "the world?" The trainer said, "That's close, this is your Comfort Zone. Inside your circle you have all the things that are important to you. Your home, your family, your friends, and your job. People feel that inside this circle they are safe from any danger or conflict.

"Can anyone tell me what happens when you step out of this circle?" A strong silence came over the room. The same eager guy abruptly announced, "You are afraid". Another guy said "You make mistakes". The silence continued and the trainer smiled and said, "When you make mistakes what can the result be?" The first guy shouts, "You learn something."

"Exactly, you are learning." The trainer turned to the board and drew an arrow pointing from the stick man directly to the outside of the circle. He proceeded to say "When you leave your Comfort Zone you put yourself out there, in front of the world to be in a situations that you are not comfortable with. The end result is that you have learned something that you did not already know, you expand your knowledge to become a better person." He turned again to the board and drew a bigger circle around the original circle, and added a few new things like more friends, a bigger house etc.

"The moral of the story is that if you stay inside your Comfort Zone you will never be able to expand your horizons and learn. When you step out of your Comfort Zone you will eventually make your circle bigger, to challenge your mind and grow to be stronger, and all in all a better person."

By Megan Gebhardt of Portland OR

A True Miracle

It was one of the hottest days of the dry season. We had not seen rain in almost a month. The crops were dying. Cows had stopped giving milk. The creeks and streams were long gone back into the earth. It was a dry season that would bankrupt seven farmers before it was through.

Every day, my husband and his brothers would go about the arduous process of trying to get water to the fields. Lately this process had involved taking a truck to the local water rendering plant and filling it up with water. But severe rationing had cut everyone off. If we didn’t see some rain soon we would lose everything.

It was on this day that I learned the true lesson of sharing and witnessed the only miracle I have seen with my own eyes.

I was in the kitchen making lunch for my husband and his brothers when I saw my six-year old son, Billy, walking toward the woods. He wasn’t walking with the usual carefree abandon of a youth but with a serious purpose. I could only see his back. He was obviously walking with a great effort...trying to be as still as possible.

Minutes after he disappeared into the woods, he came running out again, toward the house. I went back to making sandwiches; thinking that whatever task he had been doing was completed. Moments later, however, he was once again walking in that slow purposeful stride toward the woods. This activity went on for an hour: walk carefully to the woods, run back to the house.

Finally I couldn’t take it any longer and I crept out of the house and followed him on his journey (being very careful not to be seen...as he was obviously doing important work and didn’t need his Mommy checking up on him).

He was cupping both hands in front of him as he walked; being very careful not to spill the water he held in them...maybe two or three tablespoons were held in his tiny hands. I sneaked close as he went into the woods. Branches and thorns slapped his little face but he did not try to avoid them. He had a much higher purpose.

As I leaned in to spy on him, I saw the most amazing site. Several large deer loomed in front of him. Billy walked right up to them. I almost screamed for him to get away. A huge buck with elaborate antlers was dangerously close. But the buck did not threaten him...he didn’t even move as Billy knelt down. And I saw a tiny fawn laying on the ground, obviously suffering from dehydration and heat exhaustion, lift its head with great effort to lap up the water cupped in my beautiful boy’s hand.

When the water was gone, Billy jumped up to run back to the house and I hid behind a tree. I followed him back to the house; to a spigot that we had shut off the water to. Billy opened it all the way up and a small trickle began to creep out. He knelt there, letting the drip drip slowly fill up his makeshift `cup`, as the sun beat down on his little back. And it came clear to me. The trouble he had gotten into for playing with the hose the week before. The lecture he had received about the importance of not wasting water. The reason he didn’t ask me to help him. It took almost twenty minutes for the drops to fill his hands.

When he stood up and began the trek back, I was there in front of him. His little eyes just filled with tears. "I’m not wasting", was all he said. As he began his walk, I joined him... with a small pot of water from the kitchen. I let him tend to the fawn. I stayed away. It was his job. I stood on the edge of the woods watching the most beautiful heart I have ever known working so hard to save another life.

As the tears that rolled down my face began to hit the ground, other drops...and more drops...and more suddenly joined them. I looked up at the sky. It was as if God, himself, was weeping with pride. Some will probably say that this was all just a huge coincidence. That miracles don’t really exist. That it was bound to rain sometime. And I can’t argue with that...I’m not going to try. All I can say is that the rain that came that day saved our farm...just like that actions of one little boy saved another.

I don’t know if anyone will read this...but I had to send it out. To honor the memory of my beautiful Billy, who was taken from me much too soon.... But not before showing me the true face of Love, in a little sunburned body.

The author of this story is unknown.

1000 Marbles

The older I get, the more I enjoy Saturday mornings. Perhaps it’s the quiet solitude that comes with being the first to rise or maybe it’s the unbounded joy of not having to be at work. Either way, the first few hours of a Saturday morning are most enjoyable.

A few weeks ago, I was shuffling toward the basement with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and the morning paper in the other. What began as a typical Saturday morning, turned into one of those lessons that life seems to hand you from time to time.

I turned the dial up into the phone portion of the band on my ham radio in order to listen to a Saturday morning swap net. Along the way, I came across an older sounding chap with a tremendous signal and a golden voice. You know the kind. He sounded like he should be in the broadcasting business. He was telling whomever he was talking with something about “a thousand marbles”.

I was intrigued and stopped to listen to what he had to say. “Well, Tom, it sure sounds like you’re busy with your job. I’m sure they pay you well but it’s a shame you have to be away from home and your family so much. Hard to believe a young fellow should have to work sixty or seventy hours a week to make ends meet. Too bad you missed your daughter’s dance recital.”

He continued, “Let me tell you something, Tom, something that has helped me keep a good perspective on my own priorities.” And that’s when he began to explain his theory of “a thousand marbles”.

“You see, I sat down one day and did a little arithmetic. The average person lives about seventy-five years. I know, some live more and some live less, but on average, folks live about seventy-five years.” “Now then, I multiplied 75 times 52 and I came up with 3900, which is the number of Saturdays that the average person has in their entire lifetime. Now stick with me, Tom, I’m getting to the important part.”

“It took me until I was fifty-five years old to think about all this in any detail” he went on, “and by that time I had lived through over twenty-eight hundred Saturdays. I got to thinking that if I lived to be seventy-five, I only had about a thousand of them left to enjoy.”

“So I went to a toy store and bought every single marble they had. I ended up having to visit three toy stores to round-up 1000 marbles. I took them home and put them inside of a large, clear plastic container right here next to my gear. Every Saturday since then, I have taken one marble out and thrown it away.”

“I found that by watching the marbles diminish, I focused more on the really important things in life. There is nothing like watching your time here on this earth run out to help get your priorities straight.”

“Now let me tell you one last thing before I sign-off with you and take my lovely wife out for breakfast. This morning, I took the very last marble out of the container. I figure if I make it until next Saturday, then I have been given a little extra time. And the one thing we can all use is a little more time.”

“It was nice to meet you, Tom. I hope you spend more time with your family and I hope to meet you again here on the band. 75 year Old Man, this is D9NZQ, clear and going QRT, good morning!”

You could have heard a pin drop on the band when this fellow signed off. I guess he gave us all a lot to think about. I had planned to work on the antenna that morning and then I was going to meet up with a few hams to work on the next club newsletter. Instead, I went upstairs and woke my wife up with a kiss. “C’mon honey, I’m taking you and the kids to breakfast.”

“What brought this on?” she asked with a smile. “Oh, nothing special, it’s just been a long time since we spent a Saturday together with the kids.” “Hey, can we stop at a toy store while we’re out? I need to buy some marbles.”

Story submitted by Joyce Arnold

My Brick Wall

Being unemployed use to be the worst nightmare I could imagine. In fact, twenty-five years ago I wrote it down at a self-development workshop as the one thing that worried me most in life. This is a brief story about a two-year long nightmare that I finally made it through. At 55, armed with a Ph.D. in psychology, exposure to top-class business and professional training and 30 years of management experience in three different career fields, I couldn't even get an entry level job at a temporary employment agency. To say this was demeaning was just the beginning to a horror story that wouldn't seem to go away.

This nightmare went on for nearly two years. It was a state of frustration and desperation that was pushing me past any limits I thought I had. Every empty day spent waiting for a phone call or a letter that never came stretched my patience so thin that I could see through it. I felt like I was being ordered to idle my engine when all I wanted to do was screech my tires. I did a count of all the letters, resumes and applications I sent off. I was supporting Wal-Mart and the U.S. Post office in supplies and postage with money I didn't have. I had a six-inch thick file of rejection letters, and they only constituted one third of all that I sent out. Yet I continued and had to wonder why?

There is not much I didn't try and that made things seem even worse. I networked, surfed the Internet daily, read all the want ads and called friends. I visited job fairs, scanned professional magazines, and sent impressive letters to target companies. I sought employment counseling services, made the rounds with all the veteran's organizations and pestered private employment agencies. I even hired a headhunter. Zero results. I got angry and wondered why I was being singled out with punishment that gouged my soul.

It is not that I was being too selective or that I kept trying the same thing over and over again expecting different results. I changed my resume a couple of hundred times, I customized it and my letters each time I sent them out and I was totally flexible about what I could do, where I could go and how much money I needed to make. I asked for feedback and looked for skeletons in my closet to remove. If I was any more flexible and adaptable I would be a pool of blubbering jelly.

I guess we all have our invincible brick walls that keep getting higher and higher in response to our increased effort to tear them down. This situation I was in was maddening. The more I tried, the worse it got. I know I did this all to myself but that self-revelation didn't make things better at all, only worse. And sitting back and accepting this sorry state of affairs was not something that was part of my nature. This vicious circle was making me dizzy.

Let's be honest here about how all this started. Not long ago I had what most people would be pleased to have an all-American family, a great job, nice house in a scenic part of the country, plenty of friends and even money in the bank. But I was missing the one thing I thought I wanted and needed most- to be with my true love. Thus began my journey to hell, which left me homeless, jobless and broke. But that is a story in itself.

I have at least made it back to the surface. I finally found my true love and I finally figured out how to eat a little of my cake and still have some left over to enjoy. The key was in closing the gap in my expectations as to what I deserved and what I could live with. The irony is that, after two years of getting nowhere, I finally got three great job offers all in one week, in three different occupations. I couldn't have asked for a better closing scenario.

In looking back, at least there has been a silver lining in my dark cloud. These last few years in darkness have lit some candles for me. I have always known that we usually learn more from mistakes. I made plenty of mistakes to help get myself to the state of joblessness I was in. And, the frustration of getting nowhere despite my perseverance has actually begun to teach me some important lessons. These lessons haven't come easy and although I have never given birth, I sort of have an idea of what that process feels like.

The first lesson I am still trying to learn is the importance of humility. No matter how much education, training, experience or skills I have, I am never too good to work as a security guard. That is if they would have hired me! Being over-educated and over-qualified was an excuse I quickly got tired of hearing. I felt that was my loss and their gain, but that rationalization didn't help either. Becoming humble is requiring me to shed my expectations and preferences- almost completely, and this isn't coming easy. Pride is a difficult thing to swallow.

The second lesson I am learning is becoming aware of the connection of things I did in the past that helped shape this miserable present state of unemployment in which I was stuck. These were the bad choices and irresponsible behavior I willfully participated in earlier without regard for the possible consequences. I had a good life. I just wanted more. I also had plenty of good jobs in my life but didn't respect employers well enough to give my full attention and effort to them. I took those jobs for granted. Now I will "worship" the job I was lucky enough to get. Karma is a hard thing to avoid or accept.

The third lesson I am trying to learn is to want what I have fully without gazing enviously over at greener pastures. I have good health, true love, a meaningful job and a nice home. I even have an older daughter whom I walked out on when she was only six, to visit now. I secretly knew I wouldn't ever get a job so long as I couldn't be content without one. That was a tough paradox to figure out, but well worth the effort in the end.

The final lesson I am learning is more of a reality. We are all alone with our brick walls. This is a very private test that no one else can understand or help with. On the other hand, we all have our own brick walls. My unemployment frustration was just someone else's physical handicap and that handicap is someone else's loss of a loved one and so on. Maybe this critical life experience is a way we can all connect on common ground. At least we should start talking about our own brick walls and asking others about theirs. My two year tribulation had some other important lessons:

1. To defeat your brick wall, you must adopt a competitive strategy to win or die and never give up. The worse it gets, the more you try.

2. You have to be brutally honest with yourself as to the reasons behind your brick wall. You have done something wrong and it needs to be changed. You can't lie or rationalize your way out of this type of conflict.

3. You have to be completely open to what the solution can be, without putting any qualifications on it. You have to learn to take what you get, willfully and happily.

Story submitted by William S. Cottringer, Ph.D. 

That is the last one at the moment.