Net Miles Of Smiles

“Happiness cannot be traveled to, owned, earned, worn or consumed. Happiness is the spiritual experience of living every minute with love, grace and gratitude.”
~Denis Waitley

Comments (0) Jul 22 2008

The Difference Between Rich and Poor People

One day, the father of a very wealthy family took his son on a trip to the
country with the express purpose of showing him how poor people live.

They spent a couple of days and nights on the farm of what would be
considered
a very poor family.

On their return from their trip, the father asked his son, “How was the
trip?”

“It was great, Dad.”

“Did you see how poor people live?” the father asked.

“Oh yeah,” said the son.

“So, tell me, what did you learn from the trip?” asked the father.

The son answered: “I saw that we have one dog and they had four.

We have a pool that reaches to the middle of our garden and they have a
creek
that has no end.

We have imported lanterns in our garden and they have the stars at night.

Our patio reaches to the front yard and they have the whole horizon. We
have a
small piece of land to live on and they have fields that go beyond our
sight.

We have servants who serve us, but they serve others.

We buy our food, but they grow theirs.

We have walls around our property to protect us, they have friends to

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Comments (0) Jul 22 2008

It’s a phrase that my mother uses a lot.

I used to wonder, “how in the world can mother call them
beautiful?”

I am a logical, statistical man. I call things as I see them.
I didn’t see beauty.

My mother would tell people this with an enthusiasm they
could feel. She was genuine. She wasn’t telling them they
were beautiful to get something from them. Most of the
time, they were trying to get something from her.

I wondered for years what was wrong with Mother’s
perception and vision. Couldn’t she see that all of the people
she called beautiful, weren’t beautiful?

You were beautiful only if you had a certain figure and face
that was classed as beautiful by the laws of the world and
glamour. Yet when my mother spoke people smiled as
though Glamour magazine had listed them as one of the
beautiful people of the year.

It took me years to finally understand my mother’s vision
and the phrase, “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder”. My
mother had a spirit that could see the beauty in a person.
Most only look on the outside and then compare what they
see with the standards the world has given them.

That was what I was doing.

Today when you leave your house, carefully look at the first
person that you see and notice how beautiful they are.

They may be balding, fat, wrinkled, pimply, or any of the
other things the world frowns upon as beauty.

Look at them closely and look for the beauty.

If you really look, you’ll see it. I didn’t believe that at first
until I tried it. Sure enough, as I stared and opened another
set of eyes I was able to see the beauty in every person. No
matter how rough or worn a person looked, each pain etched
line held a glimpse of beauty.

You just had to look for the beauty. It’s there.

When you leave your home this morning, look hard at each
person. You will start to see a beauty of every human that
you didn’t know existed. Trust me and try this.
If you sincerely look, you will see it.

When you get home after seeing the beauty in faces you see,
Look in the mirror.

You are beautiful!!!!!

~Author Unknown

Comments (0) Jul 22 2008

A farmer had some puppies he needed to sell. He painted a sign advertising the 4 pups. And set about nailing it to a post o­n the edge of his yard. As he was driving the last nail into the post, he felt a tug o­n his overalls. He looked down into the eyes of a little boy.

“Mister,” he said, “I want to buy o­ne of your puppies.”

“Well,” said the farmer, as he rubbed the sweat off the back of his neck, “These puppies come from fine parents and cost a good deal of money.”

The boy dropped his head for a moment. Then reaching deep into his pocket, he pulled out a handful of change and held it up to the farmer.

“I’ve got thirty-nine cents. Is that enough to take a look?”

“Sure,” said the farmer. And with that he let out a whistle. “Here, Dolly!” he called.

Out from the doghouse and down the ramp ran Dolly followed by four little balls of fur. The little boy pressed his face against the chain link fence. His eyes danced with delight.

As the dogs made their way to the fence, the little boy noticed
something else stirring inside the doghouse. Slowly another little ball appeared this o­ne noticeably smaller. Down the ramp it slid. Then in a somewhat awkward manner, the little pup began hobbling toward the others, doing its best to catch up…

“I want that o­ne,” the little boy said, pointing to the runt. The farmer knelt down at the boy’s side and said, “Son, you don’t want that puppy. He will never be able to run and play with you like these other dogs would.”

With that the little boy stepped back from the fence, reached down, and began rolling up o­ne leg of his

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Comments (0) Jul 22 2008

Once upon a time, there was an island where all the feelings lived: Happiness, Sadness, Knowledge, and all of the others, including Love. One day it was announced to the feelings that the island would sink, so all constructed boats and left. Except for Love.

..

Love was the o­nly o­ne who stayed. Love wanted to hold out until the last possible moment.

..

When the island had almost sunk, Love decided to ask for help.

..

Richness was passing by Love in a grand boat. Love said,
“Richness, can you take me with you?”
Richness answered, “No, I can’t. There is a lot of gold and silver in my boat. There is no place here for you.”

..

Love decided to ask Vanity who was also passing by in a beautiful vessel. “Vanity, please help me!”
“I can’t help you, Love. You are all wet and might damage my boat,” Vanity answered.

..

Sadness was close by so Love asked, “Sadness, let me go with you.”
“Oh . . . Love, I am so sad that I need to be by myself!”

..

Happiness passed by Love, too, but she was so happy that she did not even hear when Love called her.

..

Suddenly, there was a voice, “Come, Love, I will take you.” It was an elder. So blessed and overjoyed, Love even forgot to ask the elder where they were going. When they arrived at dry land, the elder went

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Comments (0) Jul 22 2008

When an old lady died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland, it was believed that she had nothing left of any value. Later, when the nurses were going through her meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Ireland.

The old lady’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the North Ireland Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on her simple, but eloquent, poem. And this little old Scottish lady, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this “anonymous” poem “Crabby Old Woman.”

<><><><><><><><><>

What do you see, nurses?
What do you see?
What are you thinking
When you’re looking at me?

A crabby old woman,
Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit,
With faraway eyes?

Who dribbles her food
And makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice,
“I do wish you’d try!”

Who seems not to notice
The things that you do,
And forever is losing
A stocking or shoe?

Who, resisting or not,
Lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding,
The long day to fill?

Is that what you’re thinking?
Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse,
You’re not looking at me.

I’ll tell you who I am
As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding,
As I eat at your will.

I’m a small child of ten
With a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters,
Who love one another.

A young girl of sixteen
With wings on her feet
Dreaming that soon now
A lover she’ll meet.

A bride soon at twenty,
My heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows
That I promised to keep.

At twenty-five now,
I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide
And a secure happy home.

A woman of thirty,
My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other
With ties that should last.

At forty, my young sons
Have grown and are gone,
But my man’s beside me
To see I don’t mourn.

At fifty once more,
Babies play round my knee,
Again we know children,
My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me,
My husband is dead,
I look at the future,
I shudder with dread

For my young are all rearing
Young of their own,
And I think of the years
And the love that I’ve known.

I’m now an old woman
And nature is cruel;

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Comments (0) Jul 22 2008