The below story is one veteran's way of finding some meaning in the life we have left. I placed it here to help some of my brothers find there way back. I hope it helps them and I hope it helps others to understand what it is like to be a "Vietnam Veteran".


The Long Road Home

By T. Evans

Oh Vietnam, what else can you take from me. You have my mind and my body, but you will never get my soul. That belongs to my wife, my family, and me. Your blood riddled soil has stolen many a poor boy, from life, living, and the pursuit of happiness; however, you have not won the war, your are still a Prisoner of War, you are not FREE, but I AM. It has taken most of my life to figure out the equation to deal with your wrath, but I have a handle on it now and would like to share my successes with what is left of the Vietnam veteran society.

The words of a famous President, "Ask not, what your country can do for YOU, Ask what YOU can do for your country." Those words more than any other words that come to mind, made us, the Vietnam veteran, proud of what we did and who we are today. The journey home has taken almost 30 years of denial, guilt, therapy plus medication, and the finial acceptance of who I am; a husband, father, and a human being. The first years were all denial. People always asked my how I got hurt, my response was, "oh, I got hurt playing tennis." Then I would order another round for the bar, and go home blotto every night. Years went by, drowning in a bottle of booze that would take away the pain, (I thought). All the booze did was cover up the scars of a war that made sense when you were there, but made no sense when upon return to the States you were scorned by the very people you thought you were there to protect from the spread of communism.

It was American patriotism that our generation believed in; our fathers fought WWII and freed the world from the dark forces that threatened our very existence. My father fought in WWII and Korea. He turned to the bottle to cover up his PTSD, and thank God he got sober 10 months before his death at the age of 46. The Vietnam veteran fought, won, and lost because of political decisions that were made by the politicians during this time period. In Tet 68 we had the North Vietnamese Army beaten into a thread of existence. We could have walked into Hanoi and raised the United Nations Flag on top of their capitol building, but the politicians said NO. I realize the politicians were under fire from the citizens in their respective districts, but it was no excuse to turn their backs on the very men who had just defeated the North Vietnamese Army. From that point on it was all down hill; the pressure by the American people to end the war was a better political choice, and the withdrawal of American and Allied troops began.

In retrospect; Vietnam was an internal civil war, much like our own civil war. The American Civil War was about white men having ownership of black people who were kidnapped from their own country against their own will and forced into slavery. North Vietnam was a communist country fighting against a corrupt but free South Vietnamese government. In 1967 some of the American soldiers joked that the reason we were in Vietnam was to protect the Coca-Cola bottling plant in Saigon. Is it right to become involved in another countries civil war? My conclusion after 30 years of mental turmoil, if you send one American or Allied boy to a foreign country to fight a battle, it must be only to fight to the death and WIN. The United Nations flag must be blowing in the wind over the defeated country. The price of freedom is very costly, but the price of being a free loser is even higher.

The road back has been a real hell, but it is a hell that for me was worth all the effort I endured. What is life without a purpose? It's an existence. The answers to finding ones purpose is an exhaustive search that lies deep within your soul.


In 1981, I was a musical instrument repairman. One day a parade went by my shop, I went out to see what it was all about, and to my amazement, it was a parade honoring some local Vietnam veterans. I couldn't believe it, I had never heard of such an event. It was the first parade given in the country to honor Vietnam veterans. The parade was put on the local American Legion and local county government officials. It was truly an uplifting experience.

My wife was watching television one night and called out, "come quick"; the vets that were in the parade had a telethon about a new vets group, The Organization of Vietnam veterans. Along with the telethon they were showing an interview with a Vietnam vet who had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. We couldn't believe some of the symptoms the vet had were very similar to many of the problems I was experiencing. I called in and found out they were having a meeting at the local American Legion. The time came around for the meeting and I was really getting stressed out, but after about an hour of hearing some of the vets speak they asked if anyone would like to join. I happened to be the first new member to join (# 9), and from that point on my life began to change. I felt a bound of camaraderie that I hadn't felt since the war. I actually thought I was going crazy with some of the thoughts I was having, but most of the men in the organization were having some the same thoughts and I felt like I had finally found some answers. As I look back at it now, it was just the beginning of the long road home.

My high school senior picture, this was taken about the same time my class was graduating. It was a sign of the times, as you can tell by the look in my eyes. Many years have come and gone since The Nam, and many transformations have taken place in the rebirth of a civilized human being. I have to give a lot credit to the Organization of Vietnam veterans (OVV) for getting my healing process off the ground. As you will see in the end it was my wife of 23 years, and my children that stuck with through all the years of therapy and soul searching for answers.

OVV had purpose and a mission in the early 80's, The Wall, community awareness, and above all listening to what each other had to say and help each other through the years of stored up pain and anger. I was very fortunate to be in the first VA Outreach therapy program in our area, but first there was The Wall.

OVV represented The State of New York in the Welcome Home Parade in Washington D.C., the same weekend as the dedication of The Wall. The Wall stirred up memories that I had been hiding for years. When you look at The Wall you see a reflection of yourself in the highly polished Vermont granite. At first I was upset about the design, but once you visit The Wall a profound wave of emotions are released. For me it was the first time I was able to cry since the war; not even my father dying in my arms along a roadside brought a tear to my war hardened empty shell.

The dedication ceremony was somewhat moving but not as much as the two vets who traded holding the American Flag for 48 hours; because the congress at the time voted not to have an American Flag the site. I believe the rational behind their decision was since we did not win the war it would be a disgrace to fly Old Glory over the loser's memorial. I believe that decision gave me the strength too be proud of who I am and what I did. While at the dedication I was in the front row of the handicapped section, General Westmoreland stopped and shook my hand. You could tell by the look in his eyes how sorry he was for not being given the chance to fight to the death; instead being branded as a man who was ordered not WIN.


A friend of mine, Bob from OVV, read the first three pages. He told me to go on with the story there's much more. The more I read this text over and over again; there really is no conclusion, just and ending. I sat and thought about it for a while; there really isn't and ending to the story. It's like a really bad movie; it ends and leaves you without a conclusion. The story line was there, the content was there, and BOOM just like a trip wire it's over. That really speaks well for the condition, PTSD. There really is never an ending, just constant reminder that we all have to learn to live with.

My secret is to stay completely focused on what ever makes me happy. In my situation my choices are narrowed down, due to physical conditions that are a result of Vietnam. I am just lucky I really enjoy working with computers. So I sit everyday in front of a monitor and stay occupied 8 to 10 hours a day. Me at my work area. It may sound like, "what's this guy talking about, I hate computers." That's just the point I am doing what I like to do, and it keeps me focused enough so I don't think about Vietnam all the time. But that's not an answer too: The Long Road Home? For me it is. For all of you still looking for answers. Do what you like!

I wish I had the answers, but I don't. That's why they have group therapy so you can deal with your past and get on with your future. Remember; my future started when I found The Organization of Vietnam Veteran's, and The Paralyzed Veterans of America.

We are not getting any younger, and the VA budget is frozen. By the way, it's frozen by the same government body who sent us all to Vietnam. Don't take me wrong, I would volunteer again in an instant for military duty, to protect our freedom, and fight to the death for the country I love. You have to get involved, write some letters, and start complaining to the people who put us in this situation; the very people your supposed to be voting for. You wouldn't be reading this if you weren't connected to the Internet. You can locate all of your elected officials email addresses just by a simple search. We can't let the very system that took are victory away, take away our VA Hospitals, too. I am telling you from being in the system from my teens, and the big 50, is staring me right in the eye in a couple of months, our benefits and services are being cut to the bone. So, if you still don't want to do anything about your PTSD, do something about our hospitals. The day may come when you have no choice, and the program will be cut and you won't get the help you need

I didn't spend all these painful weeks it took me to compose this story to be meant as a political statement. I wrote because I wanted to share how I found, The Long Road Home, and if it just helps one veteran seek help for his or her problem with PTSD. Then I have done what this little story was all about: The Long Road Home.


Taking the 2nd step

I was still self-medicating myself every night, by drinking myself silly so I could get some sleep. I still drank for the first few years of therapy, but I was becoming a babbling idiot. My wife was about to leave. I had to make a decision the booze or my family. It's been 14 years since I have taken a drink.

That was the turning point to the healing process. The years of covered up and deeply hidden emotions and horrors began to low like a river. I won't elaborate on any of the topics we covered in those years, the stories of the men that experienced the journey with me will be held in the strictest confidence until the day I die. I can tell you that everyone's own Vietnam was very different, but we all went on a painful journey of our souls together and now we all have our own separate lives. I will tell you this, PTSD is a real and valid condition that affects each individual in a different way, but the bottom line; it is a condition that never goes away and each individual has to learn to live with their ghosts because the ghosts never go away.

When we, returned to Washington D.C. for the dedication of the Three Man Monument. That was after two years of intense therapy. OVV was still a strong importance in my life, and sharing these feelings with men that had been in similar situations helped to deal with the intense emotions that The Wall unleashes. It is really hard to tell another person how to deal with so much emotion. That's why I believe in the group approach along with individual therapy sessions. I count myself lucky again, that was the early 80's and psychotherapy was accepted by the masses. Hell it's the 90's now, and it's even cooler. What I am trying to say here, if you have PTSD deal with it. The longer you wait, the longer it is going to take to learn to live with the condition

On my next visit The WALL was the most popular place to visit in Washington DC. A few years have passed, it's been cleaned, paved, and now has 2 flagpoles. At the memorial site there are large books located in several places to look up what panel #'s the names of your fallen comrades are etched on. I started at the top by the Lincoln Memorial side and proceeded down to the center. The beauty of this visit were all the messages and articles people left to the fallen hero's photo 1, photo 2, photo 3. The beautiful flower arrangement's, photo1, photo 2, my service organization, and finally to one of my buddies I grew up with. The emotions The Wall opens up are painful and sometimes too powerful to deal with. You should really go with your family or a group, on this visit I teamed up with Jim and Steve, fellow OVV members.

As you emerge from the canyon of fallen hero's, you follow the path to the Vietnam Monument, a beautiful, but powerful representation of 3 combat veterans. Photo 1, photo 2, photo 3, and photo 4. The work of art is spectacular, you can tell by the look in their eyes, the scars war leaves on the human psyche where they are imprinted forever.


At the end of that day I looked up saw beauty, I knew from that moment on, there was a reason I survived. I had no idea at the time what the reason was. As I look back upon the day now, it was another turning point in my quest to live in coexistence with the memories that would never go away.


My last parade

Return to forever: upon return from The Wall II, The Monument, it was time to stop drinking booze and get on what I thought would be the cure. Quitting the booze was hard, but not as hard as dealing with the explosive emotions that followed. I fell into a deep depression; I had feelings of suicide that drove me to a breakdown. My therapist told me that checking into to a psyche unit would be an option to consider. I was already diagnosed by a VA Psychiatrist, that I had PTSD. So I checked into a VA psyche unit for severe depression and PTSD treatment. I stayed for 6 weeks; it was before they had real PTSD units. It was quite an experience being in group therapy sessions with all types of psychiatric patients. I think out of 40 patients, 4 were being treated for PTSD. It was my first time being in such a place. To cut it to the quick, I faked my way out. The one positive event I can recall from this experience was the authorization of outpatient treatment for a private psychiatrist. He started me on the medicine I needed, and in a month my depression started to lift. Little by little I was able to function, and get back to working hard in group therapy. Now I had the medication, the group, 2 one on one counselors, and The Organization of Vietnam Veterans. My cup was full, and little by little things started looking a lot better.

The OVV was strong in those years and is still in existence today. Most are a great bunch of guys. We had parades, picnics, reunions, and camaraderie was at an all time high. This went on for a few years, everyone's families were all involved, the kids all played together, and everything seamed to be flowing like a river.

Another turning point: I was really getting burned out on everything being focused on Vietnam, but I hung in there for about ten years. The New York City Welcome Home Parade. It was the big one, and as it turns out it was my last one. The energy of the crowd was of celebration at it's highest, and for some it was the beginning of their journey on the long road home.

We started in Brooklyn, at the beginning of the bridge. They closed the bridge, the city stopped for a couple hours and I went on the parade of my life. At the beginning an active duty Army Captain said no wheelchairs over the bridge. There was a bunch of us in chairs, we looked at him an exchanged some Vietnam sayings and gestures, and off we went on the ride of a lifetime. I

knew as soon as I hit the bridge why no wheelchairs were aloud, but it was always the thrill of challenges like The Brooklyn Bridge, that have kept me going all these years. The bridge has expansion joints that are steel fingers with sharp edges about one inch apart. If your wheel happened to get stuck you would be in a world of hurt, but there were enough able bodied men that were just as psyched, and if there were a problem they would have carried my chair to the end of the parade route. The bridge also has steel spikes for traction; each spike is about one half to three quarters inches in length. I had a new pair of tires on my chair and by the time we hit Manhattan I must have worn six months of life off the tread.


The canyon of hero's is the name given to the street we were on. There was so much ticker tape coming down I would get a four foot high ball of paper in front of my chair. The guys from OVV that went with me would help me get cleaned off so we could keep going. I kept looking up and hoping that no one would throw a computer or something else heavy out of the windows of the giant buildings. On we went people cheering, police blockades, police on horses. It was at that time I wish every veteran that went to Vietnam could be there to feel the energy and the empathy from the crowds of people. Just imagine how sweet it would have been if the politicians would have let us finish winning the war, instead of making us withdraw and feel like losers. But History is history and we must continue no mater how much pain is involved.

By the time we reached the New York City Vietnam Veteran Memorial, "The Wall of Letters", my butt was dragging, but I made it to the end. The Wall was at end of a parade that made me feel life, feel pain, but most of all it made me feel whole again, a human being, not just some expendable damaged U.S. Government number.

The memorial is at the end of Wall St. and Water St. The message is so powerful you that must go with a group or your family. The letters are from veterans written home while serving in Vietnam. Every letter on the monument is so full of Vietnam emotions that it brings you to tears. I could finally cry again, something I could never do until that moment. I had tears before at the Washington D.C. Wall, but not like this. It was like I was finally home. I made a promise to myself that this was my last parade, and it was time to start to learn how to live life again.

I still have flash backs, fits of rage, bad nightmares, but most of all the guilt. Perhaps that is the one symptom that will never go away. I still get all of the symptoms, but through all the years of therapy, I have learned to live with my PTSD, and not let it take over my soul like it did when I didn't have the tools to fight back. I said it before and I will say it again, stop the drinking and the substance abuse, get on the right medication, and go to therapy, so you too, can learn how to exist with the demons of war. I have to say, if it weren't for my loving wife of 23 years, and my children, I probably wouldn't be sitting here writing this text. That perhaps, is my ace in the hole. I know there are many men who are homeless, single, divorced, and just alone out there going through this process. There are trained professionals out there that can help, the VA has special PTSD treatment centers that are excellent, but you must be willing to take the first step: To the long journey home.

This is dedicated to my wife and children for helping me learn to live life again.

T. Evans wrote the above article.
 

If Tomorrow starts without me....

A few weeks ago a woman teacher was killed in an
auto accident. She was
very, very well liked, so the school systems shut
down for her funeral
and it was on the news and so on.

On the day the workers came back to work, they found
this poem in their
e-mail that the deceased woman had sent on Friday
before she left for home.

If tomorrow starts without me,
And I'm not there to see,
If the sun should rise and find your eyes all filled
with tears for me;
I wish so much you wouldn't cry the way you did
today,
While thinking of the many things, we didn't get to
say.
I know how much you love me,
As much as I love you,
And each time that you think of me,
I know you'll miss me too;
But when tomorrow starts without me,
Please try to understand,
That an angel came and called my name,
And took me by the hand,
And said my place was ready,
In heaven far above,
And that I'd have to leave behind;
All those I dearly love.
But as I turned to walk away,
A tear fell from my eye
For all my life, I'd always thought,
I didn't want to die.
I had so much to live for, So much left yet to do,
It seemed almost impossible,
That I was leaving you.
I thought of all the yesterdays,
The good ones and the bad,
I thought of all the love we shared,
And all the fun we had.
If I could relive yesterday,
Just even for a while,
I'd say good-bye and kiss you
And maybe see you smile.
But then I fully realized,
That this could never be,
For emptiness and memories,
Would take the place of me.
And when I thought of worldly things,
I might miss come tomorrow,
I thought of you, and when I did,
My heart was filled with sorrow.
But when I walked through heaven's gates,
I felt so much at home.
When God looked down and smiled at me,
From His great golden throne,
He said, " This is eternity, And all I've promised
you."
Today your life on earth is past,
But here life starts anew.
I promise no tomorrow, But today will always last,
And since each day's the same way,
There's no longing for the past.
You have been so faithful, So trusting and so true.
Though there were times you did some things,
You knew you shouldn't do.
But you have been forgiven, And now at last you're
free.
So won't you come and take my hand, And share my
life with me?
So when tomorrow starts without me, Don't think
we're far apart,
For every time you think of me, I'm right here, in
Your heart.

MY SON

This is great, take a moment to read it, it will make your day!

The ending will surprise you.

Take my Son

A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often sit together and admire the great works of art.

When the Vietnam conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only son.

About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands.

He said, "Sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly. He often talked about you, and your love for art." The young man held out this package. "I know this isn't much. I'm not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this."

The father opened the package. It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man. He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting. The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture. "Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It's a gift."

The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected.

The man died a few months later. There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection.

On the platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel. "We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?"

There was silence.

Then a voice in the back of the room shouted, "We want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one."

But the auctioneer persisted. "Will somebody bid for this painting. Who will start the bidding? $100, $200?"

Another voice angrily. "We didn't come to see this painting. We came to see the Van Goghs, the Rembrandts. Get on with the real bids!"

But still the auctioneer continued. "The son! The son! Who'll take the son?"

Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room. It was the longtime gardener of the man and his son. "I'll give $10 for the painting." Being a poor man, it was all he could afford

"We have $10, who will bid $20?"

"Give it to him for $10. Let's see the masters."

"$10 is the bid, won't someone bid $20?"

The crowd was becoming angry. They didn't want the picture of the son.

They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.

The auctioneer pounded the gavel. "Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!"

A man sitting on the second row shouted, "Now let's get on with the collection!"

The auctioneer laid down his gavel. "I'm sorry, the auction is over."

"What about the paintings?"

"I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will. I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings.

The man who took the son gets everything!"

God gave His son 2,000 years ago to die on the cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message today is: "The son, the son, who'll take the son?"

Because, you see, whoever takes the Son gets everything.

FOR GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD HE GAVE HIS ONLY BEGOTTEN SON, WHO SO EVER BELIEVETH, SHALL HAVE ETERNAL LIFE...THAT'S LOVE


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God Belongs in Temples of Government
by Lawrence Kudlow
Posted Mar 11, 2005

Much has been written about the Supreme Court case of Van Orden v. Perry, which has at its center a monument of the Ten Commandments that has stood between the Texas State Capitol and the Texas Supreme Court in Austin since 1961. Thomas Van Orden wants to remove it. The state of Texas wants to keep it right where it is.

The Ten Commandments should stay right where they are--in all cases. Various monuments, structures and statues of the Ten Commandments can be found all over the United States, including some highly visible spots in Washington, D.C. Courtesy of "God in the Temples of Government," a photo essay by Carrie Devorah in Human Events (the crusading national conservative weekly), we are reminded of three prominent monuments in the capital city: Moses and the Ten Commandments can be found in the rotunda of the Library of Congress, on the rear facade of the U.S. Supreme Court and inside the Supreme Court's courtroom.

The Ten Commandments are literally chiseled into the American way of life. But there is a campaign going on that would rid this country of any and all religious references. This is part of the ongoing culture war that would stop religious expression in politics and the public square, even though we remain the most religious of all the major industrial countries. Fortunately, brave people like state Atty. Gen. Greg Abbott, who recently argued the Texas position in Van Orden v. Perry before the Supremes, want to keep it that way.

Religion has always been central to our national identity. Religious references do not violate the First Amendment, which was never intended to bar all religious expression or discussion from national discourse. James Madison himself, the author of the First Amendment, was sworn in with his left hand on the Bible. So was George Washington, and, I believe, every President since.

The Ten Commandments provide the very foundation of our nation's legal code. They also make up the basis of the moral values that thankfully guide us in our everyday lives.

I have a suspicion, however, that too many folks forget what's on that list of commandments, or maybe never learned them in the first place. And even if we do know the Ten Commandments by heart, it never hurts to read them through and contemplate them from time to time. So here's all 10:
1) I am the Lord thy God, thou shalt not have strange gods before me.

2) Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.

3) Remember that thou keep holy the Sabbath day.

4) Honor thy mother and father.

5) Thou shalt not kill.

6) Thou shalt not commit adultery.

7) Thou shalt not steal.

8) Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.

9) Thou shalt not covet they neighbor's wife.

10) Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's goods.
I have a few direct questions for you: Is it such a bad thing to think about not killing, not stealing, not lying and not committing adultery? Is it so bad to talk about honoring one's parents? Or to think about a power greater than oneself--about God or some higher deity? Or to set aside just one day a week as a spiritual day, separate from the material strivings of the other six days?

Attempting to live by these moral and religious values is a worthy endeavor. No one of us is perfect--that role is for God alone. But if we strive for better values in our day-to-day lives, if we seek to meet the age-old standards of goodness and honesty, if we try to help our neighbors in all we do, won't we be better people, even if our imperfections cause us to fall short?

I should think that anyone who strolls the grounds of the Texas state Capitol and for one moment stops to read the Ten Commandments on the monument that Abbott is trying to keep in place will be the better for it. Moral commandments--like most spiritual thoughts in this day and age--seem too few and far removed from our usual toils and tribulations. But deep down inside, we all have a desire to live as better citizens, better spouses, better parents, better co-workers and better friends.

An occasional reminder as to how to do this cannot be a bad thing. No--keeping the Ten Commandments in the public square must perforce be a good thing.


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Read this and then take a moment and Think about It??!!

This is why we shouldn't get stressed out over the little things.
After Sept. 11th, one company invited the remaining members of other companies who had been decimated by the attack on the Twin Towers to share their available office space. At a morning meeting, the head of security told stories of why these people were alive...... and all the stories were just:

The 'L I T T L E' things
As you might know, the head of the company got in late that day because his son started kindergarten.
Another fellow was alive because it was his turn to bring donuts.
One woman was late because her alarm clock didn't go off in time.
One was late because of being stuck on the NJ Turnpike because of an auto accident.
One of them missed his bus.
One spilled food on her clothes and had to take time to change.
One's car wouldn't start.
One went back to answer the telephone.
One had a child that dawdled and didn't! get ready as soon as he should have.
One couldn't get a taxi.
The one that struck me was the man who put on a new pair of shoes that morning, took the various means to get to work but before he got there, he developed a blister on his foot. He stopped at a drugstore to buy a Band-Aid. That is why he is alive today.

Now when I am stuck in traffic, miss an elevator, turn back to answer a ringing telephone all the little things that annoy me. I think to myself, this is exactly where God wants me to be at this very moment.

Next time your morning seems to be going wrong, the children are slow getting dressed, you can't seem to find the car keys, you hit every traffic light, don't get mad or frustrated; God is at work watching over you.

May God continue to bless you with all those annoying little things and may you remember their possible purpose.

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MARBLES

Babs Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily appraising a basket of freshly picked green peas.

I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller and the ragged boy next to me.

"Hello Barry, how are you today?"

"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas. sure look good."

"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"

"Fine. Gittin' stronger ! alla' time."

"Good. Anything I can help you with?"

"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."

"Would you like to take some home?"

"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."

"Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?"

"All I got's my prize marble here."

"Is that right? Let me see it."

"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."

"I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?"

"Not zackley . but almost."

"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble."

"Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller."

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile she said, "There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever. When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, perhaps."

I left the stand smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering.

Several years went by, each more rapid that the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.

Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts .... all very professional looking.

They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket.

Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one; each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.

"Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim "traded" them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size ... they came to pay their debt."

"We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world," she confided, "but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho."

With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.

Moral: We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds.

Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that takes our breath.

Today ... I wish you a day of ordinary miracles..... A fresh pot of coffee you didn't make yourself... An unexpected phone call from an old friend... Green stoplights on your way to work... The fastest line at the grocery store... A good sing-along song on the radio. Your keys right where you left them.

They say it takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, a day to love them, but an entire life to forget them.


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A young man learns what's most important in life from the guy next door.


It had been some time since Jack had seen the old man. College, girls, career, and life itself got in the way. In fact, Jack moved clear across the country in pursuit of his dreams. There, in the rush of his busy life, Jack had little time to think about the past and often no time to spend with his wife and son. He was working on his future, and nothing could stop him.

Over the phone, his mother told him, "Mr. Belser died last night. The funeral is Wednesday." Memories flashed through his mind like an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days.
"Jack, did you hear me?"

"Oh, sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard you. It's been so long since I thought of him. I'm sorry, but I honestly thought he died years ago," Jack said.

"Well, he didn't forget you. Every time I saw him he'd ask how you were doing! He'd reminisce about the many days you spent over 'his side of the fence' as he put it," Mom told him.

"I loved that old house he lived in," Jack said.

"You know, Jack, after your father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man's influence in your life," she said.

"He's the one who taught me carpentry," he said. "I wouldn't be in this business if it weren't for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were important...Mom, I'll be there for the funeral," Jack said.

As busy as he was, he kept his word. Jack caught the next flight to his hometown. Mr. Belser's funeral was small and uneventful. He had no children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away.

The night before he had to return home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to see the old house next door one more time.

Standing in the doorway, Jack paused for a moment. It was like crossing over into another dimension, a leap through space and time. The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step held memories. Every picture, every piece of furniture....Jack stopped suddenly.

"What's wrong, Jack?" his Mom asked.

"The box is gone," he said

"What box?" Mom asked.

"There was a small gold box that he kept locked on top of his desk. I must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he'd ever tell me was 'the thing I value most,'" Jack said.

It was gone. Everything about the house was exactly how Jack remembered it, except for the box. He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it.

"Now I'll never know what was so valuable to him," Jack said.! "I better get some sleep. I have an early flight home, Mom."

It had been about two weeks since Mr. Belser died. Returning home from work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox. "Signature required on a package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post office within the next three days," the note read.

Early the next day Jack retrieved the package. The small box was old and looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The handwriting was difficult to read, but the return address caught his attention. "Mr. Harold Belser" it read. Jack took the box out to his car and ripped open the package. There inside was the gold box and an envelope Jack's hands shook as he read the note inside.

"Upon my death, please forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett. It's the thing I valued most in my life." A small key was taped to the letter. His heart racing, as tears filling his eyes, Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside he found a beautiful gold pocket watch.

Running his fingers slow! ly over the finely etched casing, he unlatched the cover. Inside he found these words engraved:

"Jack, Thanks for your time! -Harold Belser."

"The thing he valued most...was...my time."

Jack held the watch for a few minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the next two days. "Why?" Janet, his assistant asked.

"I need some time to spend with my son," he said.

"Oh, by the way, Janet...thanks for your time!"

"Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by the moments that take our breath away,"



Think about this. You may not realize it, but it's 100% true.

1. At least 2 people in this world love you so much they would die for you.

2. At least 15 people in this world love you in some way.

3. A smile from you can bring happiness to anyone, even if they don't like you.

4. Every night, SOMEONE thinks about you before they go to sleep.

5. You mean the world to someone.

6. If not for you, someone may not be living.

7. You are special and unique.

8. When you think you have no chance of getting what you want, you probably won't get it, but if you trust God to do what's best, and wait on His time, sooner or later, you will get it or something better.

9. When you make the biggest mistake ever, something good can still come from it.

10. When you think the world has turned its back on you, take a look: you most likely turned your back on the world.

11. Someone that you don't even know exists loves you.

12. Always remember the compliments you received. Forget about the rude remarks.

13. Always tell someone how you feel about them; you ! will feel much better when they know and you'll both be happy.

14. If you have a great friend, take the time to let them know that they are great.

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