Good things to come

Sometimes this is exactly how my wife and I feel through life lately.
But you just have to have faith and know that God does love you, and You can make it.

Bike peddles

Just this spring my son learned to get going on his bike by himself. Last year he started riding it by himself without the assistance of training wheels. The bike was still to big for him to strattle, let alone sit on the seat while standing; thus allowing himself to give a push of. We got it the year before when he turned 4. So he has been trying to get it down.
Well he would get really frustrated when he would fall down trying to turn the bike on our road when we would go for walks. He would get up kick the bike and say that he hated it. We would gently coax him and tell him that it was OK. Well I ended up telling him that it was a good crash each time that he would crash. After that when I wasn't around and he would crash he would tell me "I had a good crash Dad."
He now has the turning part down, and just in the last month has impressed me with his starting ability. We used to give him a push to get going and he relied on that to much, for when we had him try it on his own he would just get frustrated some more. He would try and push off but not get enough speed to hold his balance. Or he would turn the wheel and the bike would fall on him. Or he would get up on the bike but the peddles would be in the wrong position for him to push, and he would fall over. He did finally start to get it, he would prop up his bike next to a fence post, get on and peddle away. When
Then one day "Dad look!" He did it, all by him self with no external help. Yes he still struggled but he did it. There were a couple of times I tryed to assist hem and I got a "No Dad, I can do it." Now almost 2 weeks later he is flying around loving the freedom that the bike can give a kid.

We may struggle and struggle and struggle but we have to and need to keep going. There will be a day that it will just click. You will be riding that bike by yourself and you were able to get yourself started, you have that skill now and it is second nature. But in the mean time: Don't be afraid to get a push from someone that is there to help you learn.

love life

wes

The Sister's Grave

THE SISTER'S GRAVE.

There is a burial-ground that is sprinkled with green trees, and is a favorite resort not only with the bereaved, but with those whose feelings are not thus darkly overcast. I met there one morning a little girl with a half-playful countenance, busy blue eye, and sunny locks, bearing in one hand a small cup of china, and in the other a wreath of fresh flowers. Feeling a very natural curiosity to know what she could do with these bright things, in a place that seemed to partake so much of sadness, I watched her light motions. Reaching a retired grave, covered with a plain marble slab, she emptied the seed, which it appeared the cup contained, into the slight cavities which had been scooped out in the corners of the level tablet, and laid the wreath on its pure face.
"And why," I inquired, "my sweet child, do you put the seed in those little bowls there?"
"It is to bring the birds here," she replied with a half-wondering look: "they will light on this tree," pointing to the cypress above, "when they have eaten the seed, and sing."
"To whom do they sing?" I asked: "to you or to each other?"
"Oh! no," she quickly replied, "to my sister: she sleeps here."
"But your sister is dead?"
"Oh! yes, sir; but she hears the birds sing."
"Well, if she does hear the birds sing, she cannot see that wreath of flowers."
"But she knows I put it there; I told her, before they took her away from our house, I would come and see her every morning."
"You must" I continued, "have loved that sister very much; but you will never talk with her any more, never see her again."
"Yes, sir," she replied, with a brightened look, "I shall see her always in heaven."
"But she has gone there already, I trust."
"No, she stops under this tree till they bring me here, and then we are going to heaven together."
"But she has gone already, my child: you will meet her there, I hope; but certainly she is gone, and left you to come afterward."
She cast to me a look of inquiring disappointment, and the tears came to her eyes.


There are times that we get a big shot of reality that completely knocks us down and when it does, boy does it hurt. The trick is to not let that stop us. After we get through it there is a great lesson that we will see that we learned.

"I cannot stand it, boys!"

A BRAVE BOY

An interesting little boy, who could not swim, whilst skating on our river on New Year's Day, ran into a large air-hole. He kept himself for a time above water: the little boys, all gathered round the opening, tried to hand him poles; but the ice continued breaking, and he was still floating out of reach.
Despair at last seized his heart, and was visible in every face around. At this moment, when, exhausted, the poor little fellow was about to sink, a brave and generous hearted boy exclaimed, "I cannot stand it, boys!" He wheeled round, made a run, and dashed in at the risk of his own life, and seized the little boy and swam to the edge of the ice with him: after breaking his way to the more solid ice, he succeeded in handing him out to his companions, who then assisted him out. In Rome, this act of heroism would have insured this brave youth a civic crown. His name is Albert Hershbergar.

—Charleston (Va.) Republican.

"I cannot stand it, boys!" Let us live our life's like this, and be able to say this when our help is needed.

wes

Simple sacrifice

KINDNESS.

This word seldom begins an article in a newspaper, but "cruelty" or "murder" more often instead. It is a pleasure to record an act of kindness; painful that we have not frequent opportunities. Yet such an act made our heart glad, filled it with a new love for our kind, only a day or two since.

A school-girl, about ten years of age, was passing, with a smaller school-girl in her arms, whom she carried with much difficulty; for the weather was sultry. Other children were in company, with books in their hands. The whole party stopped to rest under the shade of a tree. Just then, a gentleman observed the group. His attention was particularly attracted by the child, still supported by the arm of her friend.

"What's the matter, my little Miss?" he inquired, in his kind, soft tone.

"She's sick, sir," replied the friend.

"And are you taking her home?"

"I'm trying, sir."

"How far off does she live?"

"Down by the Long Bridge."

"A mile or more! and you would carry her through the hot sun! No shade on the way either!"

"I must try, sir," answered the school girl.

"No, you must not," said the kind gentleman, "it would kill both of you."

A carriage passed at this moment. A word and a waving arm caused it to draw up to the pavement. All the party entered it, and all right merry, except the sick one; but even she looked up with a faint smile, fixing her large, tender eyes on the face of the stranger. The driver had been instructed fully as to his destination, had been paid too, and now drove away.

"Poor little girl!" said the gentleman to himself, in a low voice.

"Good bye, sir!" said all the children, in a high tone.

—Washington News.


Do you feel like the little girl being carried, or the girl doing the carrying? How about the man that helped them? At one point or another in our lives we all will find ourselves in one of these positions. How will we react. Grateful we got help, or grateful that we were able to help.

At times through life I think that we forget who really is in control. And Yes we will make it through it.

STORM AT SEA.
We were crowded in the cabin;
Not a soul would dare to sleep:
It was midnight on the waters,
And a storm was on the deep.
'Tis a fearful thing, in winter
To be shattered in the blast,
And to hear the rattling trumpet
Thunder, "Cut away the mast!"
So we shuddered there in silence;
For the stoutest held his breath,
While the hungry sea was roaring,
And the breakers talked with Death.
As thus we sat in darkness,
Each one busy in his prayers,
"We are lost!" the captain shouted,
As he staggered down the stairs.
But his little daughter whispered,
As she took his icy hand,
"Isn't God upon the ocean
Just the same as on the land?"
Then we kissed the little maiden,
And we spoke in better cheer,
And we anchored safe in harbor
When the morn was shining clear.
J.T. Fields.


wes

Continuation of The Little Hero of Haarlem

Lets recall
With the instant perception which every child in Holland would have, the boy saw that the water must soon enlarge the hole through which it was now only dropping, and that utter and general ruin would be the consequence of the inundation of the country that must follow. To see, to throw away the flowers, to climb from stone to stone till he reached the hole, and to put his finger into it, was the work of a moment; and, to his delight, he finds that he has succeeded in stopping the flow of the water.

Now the Finish

This was all very well for a little while, and the child thought only of the success of his device. But the night was closing in, and with the night came the cold. The little boy looked around in vain. No one came. He shouted—he called loudly—no one answered. He resolved to stay there all night; but, alas! the cold was becoming every moment more biting, and the poor finger fixed in the hole began to feel benumbed, and the numbness soon extended to the hand, and thence throughout the whole arm. The pain became still greater, still harder to bear; but still the boy moved not. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he thought of his father, of his mother, of his little bed, where he might now be sleeping so soundly; but still the little fellow stirred not, for he knew that did he remove the small slender finger which he had opposed to the escape of the water, not only would he himself be drowned, but his father, his brothers, his neighbors—nay, the whole village.

We know not what faltering of purpose, what momentary failures of courage, there might have been during that long and terrible night; but certain it is, that, at day-break, he was found in the same painful position by a clergyman returning from attendance on a death-bed, who, as he advanced, thought he heard groans, and, bending over the dyke, discovered a child seated on a stone, writhing from pain, and with pale face and tearful eyes.

"Boy," he exclaimed, "what are you doing there?"

"I am hindering the water from running out," was the answer, in perfect simplicity, of the child, who, during the whole night, had been evincing such heroic fortitude and undaunted courage.



Somewhere during our life we might just happen to stumble upon  a  "sluice" discover a hole in the wood through which the water was flowing.And Yes we might just have to stick our finger in to keep the water from coming out.  And you know what we will be able to stick it out, because we each have an amazing power within.


wes

The Little Hero of Haarlem

I think that to many of us think that we don't have what it will take when it really comes down to it.  But you know what I think that we really do.  We really can make life a success. Here is a little story to give you some hope and courage.

THE LITTLE HERO OF HAARLEM.

At an early period in the history of Holland, a boy was born in Haarlem, a town remarkable for its variety of fortune in war, but happily still more so for its manufactures and inventions in peace. His father was a sluicer,—that is, one whose employment it was to open and shut the sluices, or large oak-gates, which, placed at certain regular distances, close the entrance of the canals, and secure Holland from the danger to which it seems exposed, of finding itself under water, rather than above it. When water is wanted, the sluicer raises the sluices more or less, as required, as a cook turns the cock of a fountain, and closes them again carefully at night; otherwise the water would flow into the canals, then overflow them, and inundate the whole country; so that even the little children in Holland are fully aware of the importance of a punctual discharge of the sluicer's duties. The boy was about eight years old, when, one day, he asked permission to take some cakes to a poor blind man, who lived at the other side of the dyke. His father gave him leave, but charged him not to stay too late. The child promised, and set off on his little journey. The blind man thankfully partook of his young friend's cakes; and the boy, mindful of his father's orders, did not wait, as usual, to hear one of the old man's stories; but, as soon as he had seen him eat one muffin, took leave of him to return home.

As he went along by the canals, then quite full,—for it was in October, and the autumn rains had swelled the waters,—the boy now stopped to pull the little blue flowers which his mother loved so well; now, in childish gayety, hummed some merry song. The road gradually became more solitary; and soon neither the joyous shout of the villager, returning to his cottage-home, nor the rough voice of the carter, grumbling at his lazy horses, was any longer to be heard. The little fellow now perceived that the blue of the flowers in his hand was scarcely distinguishable from the green of the surrounding herbage, and he looked up in some dismay. The night was falling; not, however, a dark winter night, but one of those beautiful, clear, moonlight nights, in which every object is perceptible, though not as distinctly as by day. The child thought of his father, of his injunction, and was preparing to quit the ravine in which he was almost buried, and to regain the beach, when suddenly a slight noise, like the trickling of water upon pebbles, attracted his attention. He was near one of the large sluices, and he now carefully examines it, and soon discovers a hole in the wood, through which the water was flowing. With the instant perception which every child in Holland would have, the boy saw that the water must soon enlarge the hole through which it was now only dropping, and that utter and general ruin would be the consequence of the inundation of the country that must follow. To see, to throw away the flowers, to climb from stone to stone till he reached the hole, and to put his finger into it, was the work of a moment; and, to his delight, he finds that he has succeeded in stopping the flow of the water.

The rest of the story tomorrow
.
wes

How do you control life? You learn to control your thoughts.
wes