The Charlie Schulz Philosophy
(This is marvelous!! Scroll thru slowly and read carefully to receive and enjoy full effect)
The following is the philosophy of Charles Schulz, the creator of the 'Peanuts' comic strip.
You don't have to actually answer the questions. Just ponder on them.
Just read the e-mail straight through, and you'll get the point.
1. Name the five wealthiest people in the world.
2. Name the last five Heisman trophy winners.
3. Name the last five winners of the Miss America pageant.
4 Name ten people who have won the Nobel or Pulitzer Prize.
5. Name the last half dozen Academy Award winners for best actor and actress.
6. Name the last decade's worth of World Series wi nners.
How did you do?
The point is, none of us remember the headliners of yesterday.
These are no second-rate achievers.
They are the best in their fields.
But the applause dies..
Awards tarnish..
Achievements are forgotten.
Accolades and certificates are buried with their owners.
Here's another quiz. See how you do on this one:
1. List a few teachers who aided your journey through school.
2. Name three friends who have helped you through a difficult time.
3. Name five people who have taught you something worthwhile.
4. Think of a few people who have made you feel appreciated and special.
5. Think of five people you enjoy spending time with.
Easier?
The lesson:
The people who make a difference in your life are not the ones with the
most credentials, the most money...or the most awards.
They simply are the ones who care the most
Pass this on to those people who have either made a difference in your life,
or whom you keep close in your heart, like I did.
'Don't worry about the world coming to an end today. It’s already tomorrow in Australia!'
''Be Yourself. Everyone Else Is Taken!"
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
The invisible mother
A friend emailed this to me. I love it.
The invisible mother
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the
way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and
ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm
on the phone?' Obviously, not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or
cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the
corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible.
The invisible Mom. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more:
Can you fix this? Can you tie this? & Can you open this? Some days
I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to
ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number
is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30,
please.'
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the
eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude -
but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen
again. She's going; she's going; she is gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a
friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip,
and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in.
I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so
well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself.
I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a
beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.'
It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe.
I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her
inscription:
'To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are
building when no one sees.'
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would
discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after
which I could pattern my work:
No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of
their names.
These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see
finished.
They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of
God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the
cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny
bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why
are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that
will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.' And the
workman replied, 'Because God sees.'
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place.
It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you, Charlotte.
I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you
does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no
cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You
are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will
become..'
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a
disease that is erasing my life.
It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centerdness. It is the
antidote to my strong, stubborn
pride.
I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As
one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see
finished, to work on something that their name will never
be on.
The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could
ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to
sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend
he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My Mom gets up at 4
in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a
turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That
would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him
to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his
friend, to add, 'you're gonna love it there.'
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're
doing it right.
And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at
what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world
by the sacrifices of invisible women.
Great Job, MOM!
Hope this encourages you when the going gets tough, as it sometimes
does. We never know what our finished products will turn out to be
because of our perseverance.
The invisible mother
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the
way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and
ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm
on the phone?' Obviously, not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or
cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the
corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible.
The invisible Mom. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more:
Can you fix this? Can you tie this? & Can you open this? Some days
I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to
ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number
is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30,
please.'
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the
eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude -
but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen
again. She's going; she's going; she is gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a
friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip,
and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in.
I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so
well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself.
I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a
beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.'
It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe.
I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her
inscription:
'To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are
building when no one sees.'
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would
discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after
which I could pattern my work:
No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of
their names.
These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see
finished.
They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of
God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the
cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny
bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why
are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that
will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.' And the
workman replied, 'Because God sees.'
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place.
It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you, Charlotte.
I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you
does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no
cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You
are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will
become..'
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a
disease that is erasing my life.
It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centerdness. It is the
antidote to my strong, stubborn
pride.
I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As
one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see
finished, to work on something that their name will never
be on.
The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could
ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to
sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend
he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My Mom gets up at 4
in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a
turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That
would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him
to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his
friend, to add, 'you're gonna love it there.'
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're
doing it right.
And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at
what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world
by the sacrifices of invisible women.
Great Job, MOM!
Hope this encourages you when the going gets tough, as it sometimes
does. We never know what our finished products will turn out to be
because of our perseverance.
Monday, September 21, 2009
A friend of mine posted this as his facebook status. I am not sure who the author is. I love it.
"You cannot legislate the poor into prosperity by legislating the wealthy out of prosperity. What one person receives without working for, another person must work for without receiving. When half of the people get the idea that they do not have to work because the other half is going to take care of them... that is the beginning of the end of any nation. You cannot multiply wealth by dividing it."
Amen.
"You cannot legislate the poor into prosperity by legislating the wealthy out of prosperity. What one person receives without working for, another person must work for without receiving. When half of the people get the idea that they do not have to work because the other half is going to take care of them... that is the beginning of the end of any nation. You cannot multiply wealth by dividing it."
Amen.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sad news
Today on facebook I read some sad news. A girl I went to high school with died during childbirth. I was not really friends with her, but I knew who she was and I liked her. It's not often that you hear of women who die while giving birth. She was not due for two more weeks, but yesterday she had some bad pain and went to the hospital. Her blood pressure was very high and they gave her some medicine to treat it, but that put the baby in peril. So they delivered the baby via emergency c-section and the baby is fine. The mom's blood pressure plummeted and the doctors and nurses were not able to save her. I have been thinking about this all day. I feel so bad for the husband. It's hard enough to adjust to having an new baby, but to also deal with the loss of your spouse.... They have a daughter and then this new baby girl. I'm especially saddened when I think of this poor baby who must still be in the hospital. Who do the aides take this baby to when she starts to cry? Her mom is not there to nurse her, to hold her, to rock her and to kiss her. I'm sure the family must be there all the time to be with the baby. I think the baby must know that the person holding her is not her mom. My thoughts and prayers are with this family at this difficult time.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Memories of mom and dad
My parents went on their mission to Greece a couple weeks ago. They spent a week in the MTC then flew to the island of Cyprus last Monday. I think they will spend most, if not all, of their mission in Cyprus. I've been reflecting a lot about my childhood memories and my parents and thought I'd blog about some of them.
I remember my mother teaching me how to pray. I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember kneeling by the bed next to her and repeating her words.
I remember asking her to leave the hall light on and my bedroom door open because I was afraid of the dark (WAS?) She was so sweet and granted my request. My son is now asking for his bedroom door to be left open so his room won't be so dark, and I selfishly want it closed so he can't hear the noisy tv if Dave and I watch a loud movie. Selfish mom, I know.
I remember my mother rocking me. And rocking me.
I remember when she'd put me down for naps I'd mess up my hair and walk out and say, "mom, my nap is over!" thinking she'd believe me since my hair got messed up as I slept. Right?
I remember me lying in bed calling out, "Mom! Mom!" And she'd always come to the door calmly asking what she could do for me. And she did do what she could.
I remember loving her toes painted brown and thinking she had cute toes.
I remember eating tomato soup and my mom listening to Paul Harvey. Maybe that is why I love talk radio.
My dad:
I remember him "making" us get up and do scripture study as a family. Even half asleep we all got something out of it, if not years later.
I remember him making special breakfasts for when my brother had football games.
I remember him letting the stray cat that we took in stay in the house one night when it was sooooo cold outside.
I remember hugging him after he confirmed me a member of the church.
I remember the importance he placed on studying. Not on doing homework, but on studying. I'd say, "dad, I already DID my homework." His reply, "you have to study, not just do your homework." I wish I had done what he told me.
I remember when my family met me at the airport after the MTC when I was flying to Hungary. I briefly saw him, but then he got a call that my sister's car stalled on the highway. She was with her boyfriend (now husband). My dad went to go pick them up and dropped my sister off at the airport while he parked the car. I was about to board the plane and my sister came running through the airport and I got to see her one last time. Later I learned that after I boarded my dad asked if he could go in to see me, but they said no.
I love my parents and will miss them very much.
I remember my mother teaching me how to pray. I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember kneeling by the bed next to her and repeating her words.
I remember asking her to leave the hall light on and my bedroom door open because I was afraid of the dark (WAS?) She was so sweet and granted my request. My son is now asking for his bedroom door to be left open so his room won't be so dark, and I selfishly want it closed so he can't hear the noisy tv if Dave and I watch a loud movie. Selfish mom, I know.
I remember my mother rocking me. And rocking me.
I remember when she'd put me down for naps I'd mess up my hair and walk out and say, "mom, my nap is over!" thinking she'd believe me since my hair got messed up as I slept. Right?
I remember me lying in bed calling out, "Mom! Mom!" And she'd always come to the door calmly asking what she could do for me. And she did do what she could.
I remember loving her toes painted brown and thinking she had cute toes.
I remember eating tomato soup and my mom listening to Paul Harvey. Maybe that is why I love talk radio.
My dad:
I remember him "making" us get up and do scripture study as a family. Even half asleep we all got something out of it, if not years later.
I remember him making special breakfasts for when my brother had football games.
I remember him letting the stray cat that we took in stay in the house one night when it was sooooo cold outside.
I remember hugging him after he confirmed me a member of the church.
I remember the importance he placed on studying. Not on doing homework, but on studying. I'd say, "dad, I already DID my homework." His reply, "you have to study, not just do your homework." I wish I had done what he told me.
I remember when my family met me at the airport after the MTC when I was flying to Hungary. I briefly saw him, but then he got a call that my sister's car stalled on the highway. She was with her boyfriend (now husband). My dad went to go pick them up and dropped my sister off at the airport while he parked the car. I was about to board the plane and my sister came running through the airport and I got to see her one last time. Later I learned that after I boarded my dad asked if he could go in to see me, but they said no.
I love my parents and will miss them very much.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Temple
I took my kids to the Oquirrh Mountain temple open house last week with my sisters and their families. I love the temple and don't go often enough. I am grateful for the blessings temples offer and the knowledge I have that families can be together forever.
Friday, July 24, 2009
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