Here’s a step-by-step guide to installing love on the human machine.

Customer: I can do that.  I’m not very technical, but I think I am ready to install now.  What do I do first?

Tech Support: The first step is to open your HEART.  Have you located your HEART ma’am?

Customer: Yes I have, but there are several programmes running right now.  Is it okay to install while they are running?

Tech Support: What programmes are running ma’am?

Customer: Let me see…  I have PASTHURT.EXE, LOWESTEEM.EXE, GRUDGE.EXE, and RESENTMENT.COM running right now.

Tech Support: No Problem.  LOVE will automatically erase PASTHURT.EXE from your current operating system.  It may remain in your permanent memory, but it will no longer disrupt other programmes.  LOVE will eventually overwrite LOWESTEEM.EXE with a module of its own called HIGHESTEEM.EXE.  However, you have to completely turn off GRUDGE.EXE and RESENTMENT.COM.  Those programmes prevent LOVE from being properly installed.   Can you turn those off ma’am?

Customer: I don’t know how to turn them off.  Can you tell me how?

Tech Support: My pleasure.  Go to your Start menu and invoke FORGIVENESS.EXE.  Do this as many times as necessary until GRUDGE.EXE and RESENTMENT.COM have been completely erased.

Customer: Okay, I’m done.   Love has started installing itself automatically.  Is that normal?

Tech Support: Yes it is.   You should receive a message that says it will reisntall for the life of your heart.  Do you see that message?

Customer: Yes I do.   Is it completely installed?

Tech Support: Yes, but remember that you have only the base programme.  You need to begin connecting to other HEARTS in order to get the upgrades.

Customer: Oops… I have an error message already.  What should I do?

Tech Support: What does the message say?

Customer: It says “ERROR 412- PROGRAMME NOT RUN ON INTERNAL COMPONENTS”.  What does that mean?

Tech Support: Don’t worry ma’am, that’s a common problem.   It means that the LOVE programme is set up to run on external HEARTS but has not yet been run on your HEART.  It is one of those complicated programming things, but in non-technical terms it means – you have to “LOVE” your own machine before it can “LOVE” others.

Customer: So what should I do?

Tech Support: Can you find the directory called “SELF-ACCEPTANCE”?

Customer: Yes, I have it.

Tech Support: Excellent, you are getting good at this.

Customer: Thank you.

Tech Support: You’re welcome.  Click on the following files and then copy them to the “MYHEART” directory: FORGIVESELF.DOC, SELFESTEEM.TXT, REALISEWORTH.TXT, and GOODNESS.DOC.  The system will overwrite any conflicting files and begin patching any faulty programming.  Also, you need to delete SELFCRITIC.EXE from all directories, and then empty your recycle bin afterwards to make sure it is completely gone and never comes back.

Customer: Got it.  Hey!  My HEART is filling up with really neat files.  SMILE.MPG is playing on my monitor right now and it shows that WARMTH.COM, PEACE.EXE, and CONTENTMENT.COM are copying themselves all over my HEART!

Tech Support: Then LOVE is installed and running.  You should be able to handle it from here.  One more thing before I go.

Customer: Yes?

Tech Support: LOVE is freeware.  Be sure to give it and its various modules to everybody you meet.  They will in turn share it with other people and they will return some really neat modules back to you.

Customer: I will. Thank you for your help.

Enjoy!

With special thanks to www.knowledgeisking.com

A high school science teacher wanted to demonstrate a concept to his students. He takes a large-mouth jar and places several large rocks in it. He then asks the class, “Is it full?

“Unanimously, the class reply, “Yes!”

The teacher then takes a bucket of gravel and pours it into the jar. The small rocks settle into the spaces between the big rocks.

He then asks the class, “Is it full?”

This time there are some students holding back, but most reply, “Yes!”

The teacher then produces a large can of sand and proceeds to pour it into the jar. The sand fills up the spaces between the gravel.

For the third time, the teacher asks, “Is it full?

“Now most of the students are wary of answering, but again, many reply, “Yes!”

Then the teacher brings out a pitcher of water and pours it into the jar. The water saturates the sand. At this point the teacher asks the class, “What is the point of this demonstration?”

One bright young student raises his hand and then responds, “No matter how full one’s schedule is in life, he can always squeeze in more things!”

“No,” replies the teacher, “The point is that unless you first place the big rocks into the jar, you are never going to get them in. The big rocks are the important things in your life …your family, your friends, your personal growth. If you fill your life with small things, as demonstrated by the gravel, the sand, and the water…you will never have the time for the important things.

So, what are the “Big Rocks” in your life? Spending time with your children, your parents or your spouse? Taking the seminar or class to get the information and perspective you need to succeed? Making the time to set goals, plan or evaluate your progress? When you are hassled because there is no time, remember the story about the Big Rocks and the Jar!

We all know what it’s like to get that phone call in the middle of the night.  This night’s call was no different.

Jerking up to the ringing summons, I focused on the red illuminated numbers of my clock.  Midnight.  Panicky thoughts filled my sleep-dazed mind as I grabbed the receiver.  “Hello?”
My heart pounded; I gripped the phone tighter and eyed my husband, who was now turning to face my side of the bed.

“Mama?”

I could hardly hear the whisper over the static.  But my thoughts immediately went to my daughter.  When the desperate sound of a young crying voice became clearer on the line, I grabbed for my husband and squeezed his wrist.

“Mama, I know it’s late, but don’t…don’t say anything, until I finish.  And before you ask, yes, I’ve been drinking.  I nearly ran off the road a few miles back and…”

I drew in a sharp shallow breath, released my husband and pressed my hand against my forehead.  Sleep still fogged my mind, and I attempted to fight back the panic.  Something wasn’t right.

“And I got so scared.  All I could think about was how it would hurt you if a policeman came to your door and said I’d been killed.  I want…to come home. I know running away was wrong.  I know you’ve been worried sick. I should have called you days ago, but I was afraid…afraid…”

Sobs of deep-felt emotion flowed from the receiver and poured into my heart.  Immediately I pictured my daughter’s face in my mind and my fogged senses seemed to clear.  “I think…”

“No! Please let me finish! Please!”

She pleaded, not so much in anger but in desperation.  I paused and tried to think of what to say.  Before I could go on, she continued,

“I’m pregnant, Mama.  I know I shouldn’t be drinking now… especially now, but I’m scared, Mama, so scared!”

The voice broke again and I bit into my lip feeling my own eyes fill with moisture.  I looked at my husband who sat silently mouthing, “Who is it?”
I shook my head and when I didn’t answer, he jumped up and left the room, returning seconds later with the portable phone held to his ear.  She must have heard the click in the line because she continued,

“Are you still there?  Please don’t hang up on me!  I need you.  I feel so alone.”

I clutched the phone and stared at my husband, seeking guidance.  “I’m here, I wouldn’t hang up,” I said.

“I know I should have told you, Mama.  But when we talk, you just keep telling me what I should do.  You read all those pamphlets on how to talk about sex and all, but all you do is talk.  You don’t listen to me.  You never let me tell you how I feel.  It is as filmy feelings aren’t important.  Because you’re my mother, you think you have all the answers.  But sometimes I don’t need answers.  I just want someone to listen.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and stared at the how-to-talk- to-your-kids pamphlets scattered on my nightstand.  “I’m listening,” I whispered.

“You know, back there on the road, after I got the car under control, I started thinking about the baby and taking care of it.  Then I saw this phone booth and it was as if I could hear you preaching about people shouldn’t drink and drive.  So I called a taxi.  I want to come home.”

“That’s good, Honey,” I said as relief filled my chest.  My husband came closer, sat down beside me and laced his fingers through mine.  I knew from his touch that he thought I was doing and saying the right thing.

“But you know, I think I can drive now.”

“No!”  I snapped.  My muscles stiffened, and I tightened the clasp on my husband’s hand.  “Please, wait for the taxi.  Don’t hang up on me until the taxi gets there.”

“I just want to come home, Mama.”

“I know.  But do this for your mama.  Wait for the taxi, please.”  I listened to the silence in fear.  When I didn’t hear her answer, I bit into my lip and closed my eyes.  Somehow I had to stop her from driving.

“There’s the taxi, now.”

Only when I heard someone in the background asking about a Yellow Cab did I feel my tension easing.

“I’m coming home, Mama.”

There was a click and the phone went silent.  Moving from the bed with tears forming in my eyes, I walked out into the hall and went to stand in my sixteen-year-old daughter’s room.  The dark silence hung thick.  My husband came from behind, wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on the top of my head.  I wiped the tears from my cheeks.
“We have to learn to listen,” I said.

He pulled me around to face him.  “We’ll learn.  You’ll see.”

Then he took me into his arms and I buried my head in his shoulder.  I let him hold me for several moments, then I pulled back and stared back at the bed.  He studied me for a second, then asked, “Do you think she’ll ever know she dialed the wrong number?”

I looked at our sleeping daughter, then back at him.  “Maybe it wasn’t such a wrong number.”
“Mom, Dad, what are you doing?”  The muffled young voice came from under the covers.
I walked over to my daughter, who now sat up staring into the darkness.
“We’re practicing,” I answered.
“Practicing what?” she mumbled and laid back on the mattress, her eyes already closed in slumber.
“Listening,” I whispered, and brushed a hand over her cheek.

With special thanks to www.knowledgeisking.co.uk

A heartwarming Christmas story to get us into the spirit of things.

An Elf’s Tale – From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Christmas Cheer

It was six o’clock at the mall, and I was as exhausted as an elf on Christmas Eve.  In fact, I was an elf and it was Christmas Eve.  That December of my sixteenth year, I’d been working two jobs to help my parents with my school tuition and to make a little extra holiday money.  My second job was as an elf for Santa to help with kids’ photos.  Between my two jobs, I’d worked twelve hours straight the day before; on Christmas Eve, things were so busy at Santaland that I hadn’t even had a coffee break all day.  But this was it — only minutes more, and I’d have survived!

I looked over at Shelly, our manager, and she gave me an encouraging smile.  She was the reason I’d made it through.  She’d been thrown in as manager halfway through the season, and she’d made all the difference in the world.  My job had changed from stress-filled to challenging.  Instead of yelling at her workers to keep us in line, she encouraged us and stood behind us.  She made us pull together as a team.  Especially when things were their craziest, she always had a smile and an encouraging word.  Under her leadership, we’d achieved the highest number of mall photo sales in California.

I knew it was a difficult holiday season for her — she’d recently suffered a miscarriage.  I hoped she knew how great she was and what a difference she’d made to all her workers, and to all the little children who’d come to have their pictures taken.

Our booth was open until seven;  at six, things started to slow down and I finally took a break.  Although I didn’t have much money, I really wanted to buy a little gift for Shelly so that she’d know we appreciated her.  I got to a store that sold soap and lotion just as they put the grate down.  “Sorry, we’re closed!” barked the clerk, who looked as tired as I was and didn’t sound sorry at all.

I looked around and, to my dismay, found that all the stores had closed.  I’d been so tired I hadn’t noticed.

I was really bummed.  I had been working all day and had missed buying her a present by one minute.

On my way back to the Santa booth, I saw that Nordstrom was still open.  Fearful that they, too, would close at any moment, I hurried inside and followed the signs toward the Gift Gallery.  As I rushed through the store, I began to feel very conspicuous.  It seemed the other shoppers were all very well-dressed and wealthy — and here I was a broke teenager in an elf costume.  How could I even think I’d find something in such a posh store for under fifteen dollars?

I self-consciously jingled my way into the Gift Gallery.  A woman sales associate, who also looked as if she’d just stepped off a fashion runway, came over and asked if she could help me.  As she did, everyone in the department turned and stared.

As quietly as possible, I said, “No, that’s okay.  Just help somebody else.”

She looked right at me and smiled.  “No,” she said. “I want to help you.”

I told the woman who I was buying for and why, then I sheepishly admitted I only had fifteen dollars to spend.  She looked as pleased and thoughtful as if I’d just asked to spend $1500.  By now, the department had emptied, but she carefully went around, selecting a few things that would make a nice basket.  The total came to $14.09.

The store was closing; as she rang up the purchase, the lights were turned off.

I was thinking that if I could take them home and wrap them, I could make them really pretty but I didn’t have time.

As if reading my mind, the saleslady asked, “Do you need this wrapped?”

“Yes,” I said.

By now the store was closed.  Over the intercom, a voice asked if there were still customers in the store.  I knew this woman was probably as eager to get home on Christmas Eve as everybody else, and here she was stuck waiting on some kid with a measly purchase.

But she was gone in the back room a long time.  When she returned, she brought out the most beautiful basket I’d ever seen.  It was all wrapped up in silver and gold, and looked as if I’d spent fifty dollars on it — at least.  I couldn’t believe it.  I was so happy!

When I thanked her, she said, “You elves are out in the mall spreading joy to so many people, I just wanted to bring a little joy to you.”

“Merry Christmas, Shelly,” I said back at the booth.  My manager gasped when she saw the present; she was so touched and happy that she started crying.  I hoped it gave a happy start to her Christmas.

All through the holidays, I couldn’t stop thinking about the kindness and effort of the saleswoman, and how much joy she had brought to me, and in turn to my manager.  I thought the least I could do was to write a letter to the store and let them know about it.  About a week later, I got a reply from the store, thanking me for writing.

I thought that was the end of it, until mid-January.

That’s when I got a call from Stephanie, the sales associate.  She wanted to take me to lunch.  Me, a fifteen-dollar, sixteen-year-old customer.

When we met, Stephanie gave me a hug, and a present, and told me this story.

She had walked into a recent employee meeting to find herself on the list of nominees to be named the Nordstrom All-Star.  She was confused but excited, as she had never before been nominated.  At the point in the meeting when the winner was announced, they called Stephanie — she’d won!  When she went up front to accept the award, her manager read my letter out loud.  Everyone gave her a huge round of applause.

Winning meant that her picture was put up in the store lobby, she got new business cards with Nordstrom All-Star written on them, a 14-karat gold pin, a 100-dollar award, and was invited to represent her department at the regional meeting.

At the regional meeting, they read my letter and everyone gave Stephanie a standing ovation.  “This is what we want all of our employees to be like!” said the manager who read the letter.  She got to meet three of the Nordstrom brothers, who were each very complimentary.

I was already a little overwhelmed when Stephanie took my hand.  “But that’s not the best part, Tyree,” she said.  “The day of that first store meeting, I took a list of the nominees, and put your letter behind it, with the 100-dollar bill behind that.  I took it home and gave it to my father.  He read everything and looked at me and said, “When do you find out who won?”

“I said, ‘I won, Dad.’”

“He looked me right in the eye and said, ‘Stephanie, I’m really proud of you.’”

Quietly, she said, “My dad has never said he was proud of me.”

I think I’ll remember that moment all my life.  That was when I realized what a powerful gift appreciation can be.  Shelly’s appreciation of her workers had set into motion a chain of events — Stephanie’s beautiful basket, my letter, Nordstrom’s award — that had changed at least three lives.

Though I’d heard it all my life, it was the Christmas when I was an elf — and a broke teenager — that I truly came to understand that the littlest things can make the biggest difference.

Wishing you all a Merry Christmas and a happy and prosperous New Year!

A friend of ours was walking down a deserted Mexican beach at sunset.  As he walked along, he began to see another man in the distance.  As he grew nearer, he noticed that the local native kept leaning down, picking something up and throwing it out into the water.  Time and again he kept hurling things out into the ocean.

As our friend approached even closer, he noticed that the man was picking up starfish that had been washed up on the beach and, one at a time,he was throwing them back into the water.

Our friend was puzzled.  He approached the man and said, “Good evening, friend.  I was wondering what you are doing.”

“I’m throwing these starfish back into the ocean.  You see, it’s low tide right now and all of these starfish have been washed up onto the shore.  If I don’t throw them back into the sea, they’ll die up here from lack of oxygen.”

“I understand,” my friend replied, “but there must be thousands of starfish on this beach.  You can’t possibly get to all of them.  There are simply too many.  And don’t you realise this is probably happening on hundreds of beaches all up and down this coast.  Can’t you see that you can’t possibly make a difference?”

The local native smiled, bent down and picked up yet another starfish, and as he threw it back into the sea, he replied, “Made a difference to that one!”

Jack Canfield and Mark V Hansen

I’ve always loved this story and going over it again, while I’m sitting here typing it out on my computer, just reminds me that we are all important to someone or to something.

It reminds me that we all have the ability to make a difference – if we choose to do so. So the answer to the question is simple.  We make the world smile one face at a time.

Now I have to admit.  If it’s left to me on my own, then it’s never going to happen – but I can still make someone smile every day by doing just 1 Good Dee a Day.  I can still make a difference!   But when this idea came to me, I felt inspired by it.  If you, and other people that read this, feel inspired as well, and join me in my quest, then we get a step closer and we make more of a difference.

If all of us, then, continue to let other people in our life know what we’re doing, some of them will also become inspired to do 1 Good Deed a Day.  And as more and more of us continue to do our 1 Good Deed a Day – and share what we’re doing with others, we’ll gradually get to make the world smile.

Simple really!

So don’t hesitate.  In the words of Nike, “Just Do It!”.   Do it every day – and let everyone you know, know what you’re doing.  Share it on Facebook, Linkedin, Twitter or whatever socal media you choose to use.

Who knows what might happen.

To find out how  to join us click here.

I don’t remember exactly when I discovered how easy it is to make someone smile but I distinctly remember explaining it to my children when they were young.

It was a grey, miserable, winters’ day and the whole family had gone down to the beach for a walk.  We were well wrapped up against the cold wind and there were quite a lot of other people out for a breath of fresh air, despite the cold.

Hannah, my daughter, was only around 4 or 5 years old at the time and was as inquisitive as you would expect a child of that age to be.  We’d walked quite a long way along the beach and had turned back to make our way to the car to go home.  Hannah had been off running around with Alex, my son, but she was now starting to get a little cold and tired and was walking alongside me, holding my hand.

As we were walking back, Hannah made some remark about how everyone we saw was looking very cold and rather miserable.  A bit like the weather, really!  Certainly, no-one was looking particularly happy.  I suggested that it might be nice to do something to help cheer them up a bit.  ‘But what can we do?’  she asked.

There was an elderly couple coming heading towards us and I told her to wait until they got quite close to us and then give them the biggest smile she could manage, just to see what happens.

As they got close, Hannah beamed.  They could’t help but notice her and they beamed right back at her, then at me and my wife.

We returned their smiles and exchanged a brief greeting. After they had passed, Hannah turned to me excitedly and said, ‘Daddy, daddy.  They smiled back!’

This became a great game.  After that, Hannah smiled at everyone that came past on the way back to the car – and every one of them smiled back at her.  No exceptions.

You see.  As I told Hannah that day.  Smiles are contagious and, when you smile at someone, they can’t help but respond – and as they do so, their spirits lift as well.  They can’t help themselves.  The gift of a smile is, perhaps, the simplest ‘Good Deed’ that we can do for someone.

Go on!  Smile at someone today.  I dare you.

Steve B