"A sick man turned to his doctor, as he was preparing to leave the  
examination room and said, "Doctor, I am afraid to die. Tell me what 
lies on the other side."  Very quietly, the doctor said, "I don't know."    
"You don't know? You, a Christian man, do not know what is on the 
other side?"   The doctor was holding the handle of the door; on the 
other side of  which came a sound of scratching and whining, and 
as he opened the door,   a dog sprang into the room and leaped on 
him with an eager show of gladness. Turning to the patient, the 
doctor said, "Did you notice my dog? He's never been in this room 
before. He didn't know what was inside. He knew nothing except 
that his master was here, and when the door opened, he sprang in 
without fear. I know little of what is on the other side of death, but 
I do know one thing....I know my Master is there and that is enough."

A STORY TO LIVE BY 
by Ann Wells of the Los Angeles Times

My brother-in-law opened the bottom drawer of my sister's bureau and lifted out 
a tissue wrapped package.

"This is lingerie." He discarded the tissue and handed me the slip.

It was exquisite; silk, hand made and trimmed with a cobweb of lace. The price 
tag with an astronomical figure on it was still attached.

"Jan bought this the first time we went to New York, at least 8 or 9 years ago. 
She never wore it. She was saving it for a special occasion. Well, I guess this 
is the occasion.

He took the slip from me and put it on the bed with the other clothes we were 
taking to the mortician. His hands lingered on the soft material for a moment, 
then he slammed the drawer shut and turned to me.

"Don't ever save anything for a special occasion. Every day you're alive is a 
special occasion."

I remembered those words through the funeral and the days that followed when 
I helped him and my niece attend to all the sad chores that follow an unexpected 
death. I thought about them on the plane returning to California from the 
Midwestern town where my sister's family live. I thought about all the things 
that she hadn't seen or heard or done. I thought about the things she had done 
without realising they were special.

I'm still thinking about his words, and they've changed my life. I'm reading more 
and doing less. I'm sitting on the deck and admiring the view without worrying 
about the weeds in the garden. I'm spending more time with my family and friends 
and less time at committee meetings. Whenever possible, life should be a pattern 
of experience to savour, not endure. I'm trying to recognise these moments now 
and cherish them.

I'm not 'saving' anything; we use our good china and crystal for every special 
event - such as losing a pound, getting the sink unstopped, the first camellia 
blossom. I wear my good blazer to the market if I feel like it. My theory is if 
I look prosperous, I can shell out $29.49 for one small bag of groceries without 
wincing. I'm not saving my good perfume for special parties; clerks in hardware 
stores and tellers in banks have noses that function as well as my party-going 
friends.

"Some day" and "one of these days" are losing their grip on my vocabulary. 
If it's worth seeing or hearing or doing, I want to see and hear and do it now. 
I'm not sure what my sister would have done had she known she wouldn't be 
here for the tomorrow we all take for granted. I think she would have called 
family members and a few close friends. She might have called a few former 
friends to apologize and mend fences for past squabbles. I like to think she 
would have gone out for a Chinese dinner, her favorite food. I'm guessing - 
I'll never know.

It's those little things left undone that would make me angry if I knew my hours 
were limited. Angry because I put off seeing good friends whom I was going to 
get in touch with some day. Angry because I hadn't written certain letters that 
I intended to write one of these days. Angry and sorry that I didn't tell my 
husband and daughter often enough how much I truly love them. I'm trying 
very hard not to put off, hold back, or save anything that would add laughter 
and lustre to our lives.

And every morning when I open my eyes, I tell myself that it is special. 
Every day, every minute, every breath truly is . . . a gift from God."

 

Message:  EVERY DAY IS A GIFT.  THAT IS WHY THEY CALL IT THE PRESENT.

 

IF I HAD MY LIFE TO LIVE OVER
by Irma Bombeck

I would have talked less and listened more.

I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and 
the sofa faded.

I would have eaten the popcorn in the "good" living room and worried much 
less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.

I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather rambling about his 
youth.

I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day 
because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.

I would have burned the pink candle sculped like a rose before it melted 
in storage.

I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass 
stains.

I would have cried and laughed less while watching television, and more 
while watching life.

I would have gone to bed when I was sick, instead of pretending the earth 
would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day.

I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't 
show soil or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.

Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every 
moment, realising that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance 
in life to assist God in a miracle.

When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, "Later. Now go 
get washed up for dinner."

There would have been more "I love you's" and more "I'm sorry's"

. . . but mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute . . . 
look at it and really see it . . . and never give it back.

In memory of Erma Bombeck, who lost her fight with cancer.


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