October 26, 2006

Jack tossed the papers on my desk -- his eyebrows knit into a straight line as he glared at me.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

He jabbed a finger at the proposal. "Next time you want to change anything, ask me first," he said, turning on his heels and leaving me stewing in anger.

How dare he treat me like that, I thought. I had changed one long sentence, and corrected grammar -- something I thought I was paid to do.

It's not that I hadn't been warned. The other women, who had served in my place before me, called him names I couldn't repeat. One co-worker took me aside the first day. "He's personally responsible for two different secretaries leaving the firm," she whispered.

As the weeks went by, I grew to despise Jack. It was against everything I believed in -- turn the other cheek and love your enemies. But Jack quickly slapped a verbal insult on any cheek turned his way. I prayed about it, but to be honest, I wanted to put him in his place, not love him.

One day, another of his episodes left me in tears. I stormed into his office, prepared to lose my job if needed, but not before I let the man know how I felt. I opened the door and Jack glanced up.

"What?" he said abruptly.

Suddenly I knew what I had to do. After all, he deserved it.

I sat across from him. "Jack, the way you've been treating me is wrong. I've never had anyone speak to me that way. As a professional, it's wrong, and it's wrong for me to allow it to continue," I said.

Jack snickered nervously and leaned back in his chair. I closed my eyes briefly. God help me, I prayed.

"I want to make you a promise. I will be a friend," I said. "I will treat you as you deserve to be treated, with respect and kindness. You deserve that," I said. "Everybody does." I slipped out of the chair and closed the door behind me.

Jack avoided me the rest of the week. Proposals, specs, and letters appeared on my desk while I was at lunch, and the corrected versions were not seen again. I brought cookies to the office one day and left a batch on Jack's desk. Another day I left a note. "Hope your day is going great," it read.

Over the next few weeks, Jack reappeared. He was reserved, but there were no other episodes. Co-workers cornered me in the break room.

"Guess you got to Jack," they said. "You must have told him off good." I shook my head.

"Jack and I are becoming friends," I said in faith. I refused to talk about him. Every time I saw Jack in the hall, I smiled at him.

After all, that's what friends do.

One year after our "talk", I discovered I had breast cancer. I was 32, the mother of three beautiful young children, and scared. The cancer had metastasized to my lymph nodes and the statistics were not great for long-term survival. After surgery, I visited with friends and loved ones who tried to find the right words to say. No one knew what to say. Many said the wrong things . Others wept, and I tried to encourage them. I clung to hope.

The last day of my hospital stay, the door darkened and Jack stood awkwardly on the threshold. I waved him in with a smile and he walked over to my bed and, without a word, placed a bundle beside me. Inside lay several bulbs.

"Tulips," he said.

I smiled, not understanding.

He cleared his throat. "If you plant them when you get home, they'll come up next spring." He shuffled his feet. "I just wanted you to know that I think you'll be there to see them when they come up."

Tears clouded my eyes and I reached out my hand.

"Thank you," I whispered.

Jack grasped my hand and gruffly replied, "You're welcome. You can't see it now, but next spring you'll see the colors I picked out for you." He turned and left without a word.

I have seen those red and white striped tulips push through the soil every spring for over ten years now. In fact, this September the doctor will declare me cured. I've seen my children graduate from high school and enter college.

In a moment when I prayed for just the right word, a man with very few words said all the right things.

After all, that's what friends do.

October 24, 2006

Two Days We Should Not Worry
by: Author Unknown


There are two days in every week about which we should not worry,
two days which should be kept free from fear and apprehension.

One of these days is Yesterday with all its mistakes and cares,
its faults and blunders, its aches and pains.

Yesterday has passed forever beyond our control.
All the money in the world cannot bring back Yesterday.

We cannot undo a single act we performed;
we cannot erase a single word we said.
Yesterday is gone forever.

The other day we should not worry about is Tomorrow
with all its possible adversities, its burdens,
its large promise and its poor performance;
Tomorrow is also beyond our immediate control.

Tomorrow's sun will rise,
either in splendor or behind a mask of clouds, but it will rise.
Until it does, we have no stake in Tomorrow,
for it is yet to be born.

This leaves only one day, Today.
Any person can fight the battle of just one day.
It is when you and I add the burdens of those two awful eternities
Yesterday and Tomorrow that we break down.

It is not the experience of Today that drives a person mad,
it is the remorse or bitterness of something which happened Yesterday and the dread of what Tomorrow may bring.

Let us, therefore, Live but one day at a time.

October 23, 2006

My family and I recently attended a Sweet 15. In the Hispanic culture, it is more traditionally know as a Quinceanera. I wanted to share with you some special moments that I witnessed that day.

I saw a moment during the church service, a mother's true love for her daughter. Mom stood up and shared some special thoughts of what she described as her strong-willed daughter. As she began to speak, her voice began to shake. She spoke with pure conviction of the bond they shared with one another. Everyone in the church began to feel the true love they had for one another. If mom had only kept talking, I believe all the parents, especially the moms in attendance would have been in tears.

There was another moment, one that made me believe of a daddy's love for his little girl. This took place at the reception. You need to first paint a picture in your mind of how special it must be for a father to dance his last dance, if you will, with his little girl.

The young girl looked especially beautiful that day, almost magical in her long white dress. Her cheeks looked like roses and her blue eyes like flowers. The curls in her hair bounced as she walked in the room. You could see her sparkle as she walked along to the middle of the dance floor. She looked like Cinderella and daddy like Prince Charmin standing there holding her hand.

"The Dance" by Garth Brooks began to play and the magic unfolded as they held each other and began to dance. As the dad held his young daughter, they looked like they were dancing on air. Her dress swayed from side to side as he held her tight. How special this must have felt to be in her daddy's arms that night.

The song finally came to an end and it was time for daddy to let go…but he couldn't. He stood there big and strong, as his body began to shake, and then broke down as he began to cry. It was a very special moment. Here was this giant of a man, towering over his young child, but yet with the innocence of a baby he fought hard to hold back his tears. He held his little girl by her arms as he leaned over and gave her a big kiss on her forehead. He embraced her as he wiped the tears streaming down his face.

As I stood there watching all this happen, I felt a big lump in my throat and I quickly began to share his pain. It made me sad but yet, at the same time, it made me happy. This is what it was all about. Daddy had always been there for his little girl.

As Garth Brooks sang his last note, I could feel dad "looking back on the times he shared" just like the song was saying. Daddy kissed her again and then his little girl turned and walked away.

Hug you children everyday and tell them you love them. Time stands still for no one. One day you'll be looking back and your memories will seem nothing more than a dream.