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Bob Was a Great Teacher | | Bob was a great teacher and he continued to teach even after his passing. His students looked to him as a teacher of life and not just history. When they came to his high school and found themselves in his class they were all of a sudden members of a new and exciting family. The other students would take them in and introduce them to the way of study and sharing that worked so well and helped so many. Every student had a partner - a study partner, a person who they would sit next to in class, take notes with, share their understandings of the lessons and study with after class. They would also take tests together. It worked best this way because everybody had someone to work with. This made for a genuine interest in the material, which was interesting anyway, but would come alive when each team had its study time. |
Bob was the type of teacher who liked to test new ideas. When he had taken the job, he asked permission of the Principal to use this method. It had been studied in universities in the east and found to be effective. He wanted to try it on High School level students. The Principal said that he could have a year to give it a chance, but that if grades showed a decline, he would have to return to the old way of teaching. As it turned out, the grade average for the class went up a full grade point. Students wanted to stay after class and ask questions about the lessons every day. There was always a hum in Bob's classroom and he didn't discourage it. He felt that if students needed to talk and network that they should be allowed to as long as it didn't disturb the overall harmony. When he lectured though, all was quiet and everybody listened closely to what Bob would teach, because he was excited about history and he made the lessons exciting too. |
When Bob became sick, he shared the doctor's report with his class. He said that he had cancer and that it was probably incurable. He also said that he would work as long as he could and would talk to anybody who wanted to talk about it. His willingness to talk about death and dying made the subject part of his history lesson. He talked about famous people who had lived full and rich lives and how when it had come time for them to go to the other side that they died knowing that they had done their best in life and would welcome whatever came next. |
Bob gave clear instructions as to what his memorial service should be. He wanted all his friends, family and students to have a party on the beach. There was to be live music and wonderful food and if there was wind, kites were to be flown. And Bob asked that there be a big bowl of chrysanthemums and that it have enough flowers for everybody to have at least one. So they all gathered on the special day. Bob had lasted a year, and continued to teach right up until the last month. He went peacefully, in his home, surrounded by close friends. The gathering on the beach was tense at first. No one knew what it would be like and how to cope with this great loss in their lives. There were readings and some gentle prayers but nothing heavy or depressing. Some kites were sent up in the gentle breeze and people mingled around the central circle where the bowl of flowers was. |
Then came the time to hand out the chrysanthemums. Bob's brother asked that everybody who wanted to could take a flower. He then invited everyone who wanted to, to go in some small boats out to the one-mile buoy to let Bob go. Most of the group went and when the boats were gently floating out in the bay one mile from the beach, Bob's brother tearfully put his flower over the side onto the water. One by one, all the others did the same until there were a hundred chrysanthemums floating on the water. |
Back on the beach the band played dance music and the food was spread out on a long table. People danced and ate and talked until sunset. Talking about what they had learned from Bob and about how they were going to go on with their lives gave them hope. You see, Bob had taught them how to live, and by his example he had taught them how to die too. The chrysanthemums floating out in the current of the bay, one mile off shore, would float out to sea and from there would go all around the world. Bob had taught his students how to let him go, and by doing that he had taught them how to go out into the world and live their lives to the fullest they could possibly be. |
contributed by Jack McKinnon
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| Our grandchildren seem to be saying the most beautiful things these days. This next story comes from a lovely lady, Terri, and I hope you'll visit her Website.
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I'll Hold Your Hand |
Last year I had surgery to remove a tumor from my thyroid gland. I had staples across the front of my neck for a week afterward (a true Frankenstein look) and then a very angry looking red scar after the staples were removed. Since I couldn't tolerate a collar against the wound, I became very creative at wearing scarves. My granddaughter Caitlynd, 3 1/2 years old at the time, also started wearing scarves. The two of us had a grand time picking out the perfect scarves for our outfits and finding unique ways to tie them.
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As I opened my closet door to choose our scarves for Caitlynd's fourth birthday, my precious granddaughter put her hand on my forearm and said, “Let's not wear a scarf today.” |
Looking into her serious little face, I took a deep breath and closed the closet door. On the way out of the house, I took a quick look in the mirror and felt the tears rise in my eyes. Her birthday party was a big affair and I knew people were going to stare at my now, bright pink scar and whisper about it behind their hands. To this day, I don't know if Caitlynd saw the well of tears I fought back or sensed my hesitant mood, but as we walked out the door she said, |
“Don't worry Grammy, I'll hold your hand.” And she did, all day long. I haven't worn a scarf since.
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contributed by Terri McPherson
WiseHearts! Universal Hope For A WiseHearted Planet! |
When Lightning Bugs Look Like Fireworks
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On The Fourth of July, my wife and I went a couple blocks from our house to a huge hill where we could enjoy the view and the fireworks not only from the town we live in but from nearby towns as well. It was a hot night but there was a wonderful breeze, and you could see a long ways in all directions. It wasn't as visible as if we were right there where they were shooting them off, but we could still get a good view of the festivities. |
I wanted to see Caleb's (my 3 year old) reaction to the fireworks. He sat with us all of two minutes before he started tumbling down the hill and giggling. |
“Caleb, come here.” |
He would reluctantly come back by us and to sit for a spell. |
“See the pretty colors over there?” |
“OOOOOhhhhhhhh! .” he replied, all the while looking in a different direction from where the fireworks were actually going off. |
“Heeee heeeee!” He giggled as he tumbled down the steep hill again.
“Caleb, come here and watch with Daddy.” |
“OK Dad.” |
Back up the hill he would come. I tried getting him to concentrate on the fireworks again. He watched for another twenty seconds before he started walking away from us. Suddenly he let out a squeal of delight. |
“Finally, he was enjoying the fireworks,” I thought. |
He yelled out, “Look at all the lightning bugs!” |
I sighed and looked down the hill as indeed there were literally hundreds of fireflies that were stealing Daddy's thunder. I tried in vain one last time to get him to watch with me. |
“Caleb, tell me what colors you see.” |
“That's a green one Daddy! And a red one!” |
This lasted another minute or so before he started tickling Connor (our 11 month old) in his stroller. Then he was off tumbling down the hill again saying, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” with each spin of his body. I started to call out to him again when Kristi, my beloved bride, leaned over to me and whispered, “Michael, just let him be a kid. There will be other years.” |
I had been getting so irritated that he wouldn't sit by us and take in the fireworks. I guess I had this preconceived notion that he would sit on my lap and just squeal with delight every time one exploded. Then he was going to ask me if they were magic, so that his proud Daddy could stick his concave chest out, and explain away. Luckily my understanding wife was there and was able to gently nudge me back to reality. |
There was nothing wrong with my expectations, but once again my impatience was getting in the way of enjoying time with my wife and sons. I should have picked up on the cues and tumbled down the hill with my boy. Fireworks have been around for hundreds of years but my boy was only goingto be three years old for another week I bet when you tumble down the hill, the lightning bugs look like fireworks going off. |
I guess I'll have to start a new tradition on the Fourth of July. And from what my three year old tells me, the show goes on every night! |
Contributed by Michael T. Powers
Thunder27's
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The Right Thing to Do | My husband went shopping for a video cassette recorder (VCR). He found a popular second hand store that had a good reputation. Even still, he was a bit tentative in purchasing a used item so he asked the salesgirl to put in a movie and show him how well it works. The salesgirl was only too happy to do this and as my husband was quite satisfied with the quality of the machine, a sale was made. |
When my husband brought the machine home he immediately worked at setting it up in the rec room and then proudly called the kids to see what he had purchased. He started to plug in one of our videos and discovered that the movie he had viewed at the store was still in the VCR. |
My husband said, “The salesgirl must have forgotten to remove this.”
I just looked at him while thinking that it was a bonus for us that we now had a free movie. |
My husband said, “The right thing to do would be to take this back to the store.” |
I agreed with him and was full of quiet emotion. Shame for my initial thoughts. Admiration for my husband in not hesitating a moment in voicing what should be done. My husband made the extra trip back to the store and returned the movie while I thought how fortunate my children were to have witnessed this lesson and to have a loving father who tries to teach The Right Thing To Do. |
Author Anonymous
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GOOD THINGS
| by Russ Grover
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| About a year ago, a couple with three children moved into the apartment next door to me. I never hear any noise from the children, but the parents were always yelling at the kids, not in a constructive tone, but more on the threatening side. When I am in my bathroom it is quite loud.
| We met often in the hallway when we were coming or going. I always spoke, but the only answer I ever got was a hello from the four-year old girl. I usually go out for breakfast and one day when I returned they were just coming from their apartment and the little girl was holding the door open for the others. I remained in the car doing unnecessary things because I wasn't too eager to be snubbed. The parents were telling her to hurry and get in the car (they were parked next to me). I looked up and saw the little girl was still holding the door open, waiting for me.
| I am handicapped to the point that I can't hurry at anything, but I hurried as much as I could and thanked her. She was smiling from ear to ear.
| That afternoon I was at the K-Mart and I saw a white teddy bear. I thought of the little girl and said to myself, "I bet she would like that" so I bought it.
| I forgot to tell you how much I was touched by her act of kindness. I wrote a note saying how much her act of kindness had touched a soft spot in an old man's heart and I didn't even know her name.
| The next day there was a knock on the door and it was the little girl and her father. She was so proud of her bear and thanked me like I had never been thanked before. Then I noticed her mother and the other children were there in the hall too. The mother and father both thanked me.
| Now when we meet in the hall we all speak, and in a friendly manner I might add. As time passes, I don't hear that yelling as often, in fact, hardly at all.
| Last night we had about 4 inches of snow. I looked out at my car and wondered how I was going to keep my doctor's appointment because I can only exert myself just so long and then rest for a while. I didn't have that much time. The temperature was zero, so I bundled up and went out to remove the snow. When I opened the outside door, there was my car with all the snow removed. I can't express how I felt at that moment. The man next door was the only person I knew in the whole building, so when I saw him the next day, I asked him if he was the good guy that removed my snow. He said NO. He wanted to but his wife said she wanted to do it.
| Isn't it amazing how the small kind act of a 4-year-old girl can change so many things for the better?
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My guardian angel says that more good things come from small acts.
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| Russ Grover
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| Russ, from Toledo, Ohio, says: "I am 84 years old and have been retired for 34 years and have lived alone for 15 years. My health is good, but I expect the next 84 years to be more difficult."
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BANJO
| By Pamela Kristy Barton
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| He walked as only the very oldest could shuffle in. He was stooped over; his short steps dragged on the carpet. When he reached the counter he carefully placed his gnarled fingertips on the edge and straightened his back so he was standing three inches taller.
| "Is 77 too old to learn the banjo?" he rasped.
| "It's never too old to learn to play" I replied, suppressing my doubts. Arthritic knuckles and his feeble gait told me I was giving false encouragement. I reached for the instructor's schedule and gave the rates, the available times and the additional information that he would need. To my surprise and delight, Carl began banjo lessons three days later with my most patient teacher.
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With nothing to do at home but practice, Carl made incredible progress. First thing after breakfast he dutifully put in his required half-hour. While awaiting lunch he picked up his banjo again "for just a couple minutes." After his nap, he again put on his finger picks. Since TV was difficult for his sight and hearing, he might as well pluck away on the banjo in the evenings, too. Carl was always early for lessons so it was a surprise when he didn't arrive one Tuesday.
| The next morning I listened to the answering machine with dismay.
| "Carl's in the hospital" the voice recorded, "with a stroke."
| Two months later, I shared the newspaper obituary with the banjo teacher. We both shed tears for a surprisingly adept banjo student.
| Several months later, a tiny woman came into the store carrying a begonia.
"This is for Carl's banjo teacher," she said. "I'm his wife, Mary."
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"How is it that Carl wanted to play banjo?" I asked.
| Mary took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You know little boys! Well, Carl was at some show when he was 10 years old. With a couple buddies he edged up to the stage to watch the performers. When they were packing up their instruments, the banjo player said to Carl, "You wanna see this up close?" Carl scrambled up on stage and from then on he wanted to play banjo."
| Carl had waited 67 years to fulfill a dream! Mary slid the plant on the counter toward me.
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"Thank you for the best six months of his life."
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| Pamela Kristy Barton, Stanwood, Washington
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| About this writer:
| I have been a teacher, a school librarian, a mom and a music store owner...through it all, I've done a little art, a bit of writing, a few crafts. I love to read, enjoy cooking and canning, and playing my autoharp. I've had some tough times, but overall I look back on 58 years of a good life. If I'm so blessed, I would like to open a bed and breakfast in the northwest and do more writing, including books for teen readers.
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TAKING OFF THE MASK
| by Michael Powers
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| I wrote a story a while ago called Tuxedo Swimming -- a humorous story about my experience taking my son swimming at the local YMCA. I was overwhelmed with emails from those who had read it. I was quite humbled by what everyone wrote as I went through about a hundred emails that day, and all of them were very encouraging.
| But then, just before I went to work that night I read one from a lady who was not very happy with me. She said: "I just read your piece in Heartwarmers. My first and only thought was: Why did you ask your wife to call the YMCA? You have enough time to write this story, but you can't be bothered to make a simple phone call yourself? Men like you who treat their "lovely wives" like secretaries make me angry. It's clear you are really full of yourself."
| I went from flying with the eagles on top of the mountain, to plummeting at breakneck speed to the bottom of the mud and slime-filled swamp. Literally one negative one wiped out a hundred positive emails.
| As I was taking my 40-minute drive to work that night I had a lot of time to think about it. My head kept telling me that this person didn't know me and that if she did she wouldn't feel this way... But my heart felt like it had been cut by a knife. Her words hurt me, and the harder I tried to think only of the positive ones, my mind was pulled like a piece of metal to a huge magnet, back to what she wrote...
| What is it about our nature that makes us dwell so much more on negative things than on positive ones? I had enough positive feedback to last me for a year, but I continually beat myself with thoughts of her note. It brought my attention to the old saying, "It takes twenty positive comments to make up for just one negative comment."
| It took me a day or so before I was able to get it out of my mind. My first thought was to email her back and tell her that I had my wife type it up as I did not have the time to respond to her. But I decided not to. After a few days I did write her back, explaining that I work third shift, that the YMCA is open only after I go to sleep for the day, that I love and respect my wife and am very appreciative of all she does for me in raising our kids and helping me do so many things for my video business, etc. However, I also thanked her for her openness and honesty, and for taking the time to respond to me. I believe one should always look for a grain of truth in every criticism, and it brought my attention to all the overlooked things that my wife does for me.
| It also made me more aware of my words and how they can hurt people. As a husband, father, coach, and human being, I know how powerful my words are to my wife, kids, players, and those I come into contact with every day. For example, my coaching philosophy is based on getting a player to play hard because they want to, and because they respect and love me. Not because I am yelling and screaming at them for what they do wrong. If I have to correct a player I try and sandwich anything of a corrective nature with two positive things they do well. For example: "Jamie, you are an awesome point guard and I am so thankful for the opportunity to coach you. The one thing you need to work on to make you a better player is using your left hand to dribble and pass with. When you get better at that, you are going to be simply unstoppable!" As compared to: "Jamie! When are you going to learn to use your left hand!! We are not in Junior High anymore!! I can't believe that you haven't learned that by now!! If you don't start getting better at it, I'm going to sit your butt down for the rest of the stinkin' season!"
| Words are powerful... As I dwelt more and more on what the lady wrote to me I thought about the stinging, hurtful words I say in my own house that would shock my basketball players who only know me as a positive coach. You see, the ones I love the most are the ones I hurt the most. I put on my positive face when I leave my house, but when I get home, sometimes I take off my mask, hang it by the door, and become someone I am not very proud of. I am getting better at learning to treat my wife and kids with the same love, respect, and honor that I treat those outside of my home with. But I still fail my family at times, and if for nothing else I thank that woman for sending me that email.
| Words... Little ink spots on a piece of paper, or syllables uttered by a tongue. They don't seem like much sometimes, but they are a powerful force that can be used to build people up, or tear people down. I, for one, am going to try harder to build up. I know I will fail at times, but Lord willing, I will get better.
| "The tongue that brings healing is a tree of life, but a deceitful tongue crushes the spirit." (Proverbs 15:4)
| Thanks for listening.
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| Michael Powers
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| About this writer:
| Michael is happily married to his high school sweetheart Kristi, and has two boys: Caleb (4 years old) and Connor (1 year old.) Several of his stories will be published this coming spring and he is working on his first book. He owns a video production business, coaches high school girls basketball, and is the founder of "Straight From the Heart," a free daily E-Zine that features inspirational and uplifting stories, often by published writers.
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THE ACT OF LOVE
| by Anita Burney
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| A few years ago a car full of teenagers careened around the corner I live on, hit the van parked across the street from me, bounced to my side of the street, hit my mailbox, and came to rest in my front yard. I immediately called 911, then hurried out to see if anyone was hurt.
| The driver of the car seemed to be the only one injured with a bump on his head. He got out of the car and sat on my front porch with me as we waited for the police and ambulance. He was sobbing as he confided to me that he was 16 and had just gotten his driver's license. His aunt was visiting from out of town and she had graciously let him drive her brand new car so he could show off to his friends. Every time he looked at that car sitting on my front lawn, completely totaled, he sobbed harder.
| Soon his mother and his aunt arrived on the scene. His aunt glanced at her car, then turned to her nephew. Without a word, she opened her arms. Never will I forget the look of relief on that boy's face as he ran to his aunt, nor will I ever forget that act of love from the aunt. She certainly knew to show how much more she loved her nephew than that "bucket of bolts" resting on my front lawn!
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| Anita Burney
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| About the writer:
| I am 63 years young and a retired consultant for Jostens Printing and Publishing Co. I live in Topeka, Kansas with my cat, Shadow. I have two grown children and two living grandchildren. I lost my oldest grandson in an auto accident at the age of 20. How I wish the car had been the only thing demolished on that fateful night! My hobbies are crocheting and reading. I love to write.
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MICHAEL AND THE FUNERAL
| by Lynne
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| When Michael, my son, was 5 years old, his paternal grandmother, Amanda Ivey, passed away from cancer. This came about in September of 1987, approximately two months after my divorce from his father was finalized. Of course, the very last thing on this Earth that I wanted to do was to be in the same place with either him or anyone from his immediate family. My separation and divorce were anything BUT "nice and civil" and I had no desire to be around any of them at all. But, under certain circumstances, you have to rise above the pettiness and hard feelings of a bad situation, and place yourself above it.
| I read about Amanda's death in the local newspaper in the break-room of the local Rose's Department Store, where I was working full-time. I talked to my personnel manager that morning and she agreed to let me take off from work early the next day, so that I could take Michael to the funeral.
| The next day I left work at 1:00 p.m. and went by the Baptist church nursery where Michael was a pre-kindergarten student and explained to his teachers, Mrs. Lib Chappelear and Mrs. Myrtle Williams, what was going on. His other teacher, Mrs. Belle Cardenas, lived next-door to his grandparents and had already told them that I would probably come by early to get him. He was in the process of taking an afternoon nap with his class, when Mrs. Lib went in, woke him up from his nap, and told him that I was there to pick him up, instead of his Papa. He was happy to see me, but very confused about why I was there. I had told him the night before that his Grandma Amanda had died and we needed to go and pay our respects to the family at the funeral home. Since he had never been to a funeral, he didn't think of it as being a big deal.
| I took him home to our apartment and gave him a bath and changed him into some dressier clothes than the play clothes that he had worn to nursery that morning. He had a solid white shirt and a pair of navy dress pants that he wanted to wear. He also had a plaid clip on tie that he wanted to wear, to prove that he was a big boy. He did look quite spiffy, if I do say so myself. I had just enough time to hop in the shower, wash my hair, and throw on a dress before I had to hustle him out of the door.
| When we got to the funeral home, we had to go in through the front door. I stopped to sign the guest-book with both of our names. I took Michael to the front of the room where his grandmother was lying in her casket. He had never seen a dead person before, and I was worried about how he would handle this. He asked me a couple of questions about her being able to hear him or feel any more pain. I told him that he could talk to her all that he wanted, that she was in heaven with God now and could hear him just fine. And that she was not in pain anymore.
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He remembered going to visit her in the hospital with his dad on the weekends and saw how much pain and suffering that she had been in. I picked him up so that he could see her more closely and tell her goodbye in his own way. He bent over and kissed her on the cheek.
| The visitor's room was starting to become crowded, so we had to go and sit down in the back of the room. There were people in there that had been friends with my ex-mother-in-law's family for years. I could hear the comments and whispers, and feel the stinging stares as we were sitting down. All of the sudden, the room grew very quiet and the organist began to play "Amazing Grace" on the organ.
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Just then, Michael's bright blue eyes widened and he started laughing and he had an amused look about him, when he asked me at the top of his lungs, "Mama, I wonder, since grandma is dead now, who will get her empty bedroom? I wonder if Chuck (his uncle) or my daddy will get it."
| He didn't understand that this was solemn occasion and it was not appropriate for him to be laughing at a time like this. I felt my face suddenly grow really red and hot, when I realized that everyone in that room had heard him and turned around to look. This one lady in particular that Michael seemed to know that I didn't and he had been periodically talking to, that was sitting directly behind me, loudly announced at the top of her lungs, "SO YOU MUST BE MICHAEL'S MOTHER..." Needless to say, the next hour at that service went by way too slowly for me.
| We went out to the cemetery and Michael was amused by all of the heavy equipment that the men from the funeral home had with them. We stayed behind after the preacher finished preaching the graveside portion of the service, because Michael wanted to stay and watch what they did after it was all over with. I think the entire process was exciting to him and he thought that the earthmovers were awesome. I don't think that he grasped the concept that the men were burying his grandma six feet under the Earth. In his five-year old mind, he thought that they were just playing with the land moving equipment out there at the cemetery.
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Ultimately, I think that his first funeral was classified as being a good learning experience for him. In some respects, this feels as if it happened merely seconds ago. In others, it feels as if it was 100 lifetimes ago. He is an 18-year old senior in high school now and has attended several other family funerals throughout the years.
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| Lynne
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