In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called "places." These "places" make strange angles and curves. One Street crosses itself a time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been paid on account!
So, to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth Avenue, and became a "colony."
At the top of a squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. "Johnsy" was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at the table d'hôte of an Eighth Street "Delmonico's," and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted.
That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia, stalked about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Over on the east side this ravager strode boldly, smiting his victims by scores, but his feet trod slowly through the maze of the narrow and moss-grown "places."
Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric old gentleman. A mite of a little woman with blood thinned by California zephyrs was hardly fair game for the red-fisted, short-breathed old duffer. But Johnsy he smote; and she lay, scarcely moving, on her painted iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next brick house.
One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, gray eyebrow.
"She has one chance in - let us say, ten," he said, as he shook down the mercury in his clinical thermometer. " And that chance is for her to want to live. This way people have of lining-u on the side of the undertaker makes the entire pharmacopoeia look silly. Your little lady has made up her mind that she's not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?"
"She - she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day." said Sue.
"Paint? - bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice - a man for instance?"
"A man?" said Sue, with a jew's-harp twang in her voice. "Is a man worth - but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind."
"Well, it is the weakness, then," said the doctor. "I will do all that science, so far as it may filter through my efforts, can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the carriages in her funeral procession I subtract 50 per cent from the curative power of medicines. If you will get her to ask one question about the new winter styles in cloak sleeves I will promise you a one-in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten."
After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a pulp. Then she swaggered into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime.
Johnsy lay, scarcely making a ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep.
She arranged her board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story. Young artists must pave their way to Art by drawing pictures for magazine stories that young authors write to pave their way to Literature.
As Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a monocle of the figure of the hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside.
Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting - counting backward.
"Twelve," she said, and little later "eleven"; and then "ten," and "nine"; and then "eight" and "seven", almost together.
Sue look solicitously out of the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare, dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away. An old, old ivy vine, gnarled and decayed at the roots, climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken its leaves from the vine until its skeleton branches clung, almost bare, to the crumbling bricks.
"What is it, dear?" asked Sue.
"Six," said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one. There are only five left now."
"Five what, dear? Tell your Sudie."
"Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?"
"Oh, I never heard of such nonsense," complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. "What have old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so, you naughty girl. Don't be a goosey. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting well real soon were - let's see exactly what he said - he said the chances were ten to one! Why, that's almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on the street cars or walk past a new building. Try to take some broth now, and let Sudie go back to her drawing, so she can sell the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork chops for her greedy self."
"You needn't get any more wine," said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. "There goes another. No, I don't want any broth. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too."
"Johnsy, dear," said Sue, bending over her, "will you promise me to keep your eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am done working? I must hand those drawings in by to-morrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade down."
"Couldn't you draw in the other room?" asked Johnsy, coldly.
"I'd rather be here by you," said Sue. "Beside, I don't want you to keep looking at those silly ivy leaves."
"Tell me as soon as you have finished," said Johnsy, closing her eyes, and lying white and still as fallen statue, "because I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I want to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those poor, tired leaves."
"Try to sleep," said Sue. "I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old hermit miner. I'll not be gone a minute. Don't try to move 'til I come back."
Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. He was past sixty and had a Michael Angelo's Moses beard curling down from the head of a satyr along with the body of an imp. Behrman was a failure in art. Forty years he had wielded the brush without getting near enough to touch the hem of his Mistress's robe. He had been always about to paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it. For several years he had painted nothing except now and then a daub in the line of commerce or advertising. He earned a little by serving as a model to those young artists in the colony who could not pay the price of a professional. He drank gin to excess, and still talked of his coming masterpiece. For the rest he was a fierce little old man, who scoffed terribly at softness in any one, and who regarded himself as especial mastiff-in-waiting to protect the two young artists in the studio above.
Sue found Behrman smelling strongly of juniper berries in his dimly lighted den below. In one corner was a blank canvas on an easel that had been waiting there for twenty-five years to receive the first line of the masterpiece. She told him of Johnsy's fancy, and how she feared she would, indeed, light and fragile as a leaf herself, float away, when her slight hold upon the world grew weaker.
Old Behrman, with his red eyes plainly streaming, shouted his contempt and derision for such idiotic imaginings.
"Vass!" he cried. "Is dere people in de world mit der foolishness to die because leafs dey drop off from a confounded vine? I haf not heard of such a thing. No, I will not bose as a model for your fool hermit-dunderhead. Vy do you allow dot silly pusiness to come in der brain of her? Ach, dot poor leetle Miss Yohnsy."
"She is very ill and weak," said Sue, "and the fever has left her mind morbid and full of strange fancies. Very well, Mr. Behrman, if you do not care to pose for me, you needn't. But I think you are a horrid old - old flibbertigibbet."
"You are just like a woman!" yelled Behrman. "Who said I will not bose? Go on. I come mit you. For half an hour I haf peen trying to say dot I am ready to bose. Gott! dis is not any blace in which one so goot as Miss Yohnsy shall lie sick. Some day I vill baint a masterpiece, and ve shall all go away. Gott! yes."
Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to the window-sill, and motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in his old blue shirt, took his seat as the hermit miner on an upturned kettle for a rock.
When Sue awoke from an hour's sleep the next morning she found Johnsy with dull, wide-open eyes staring at the drawn green shade.
"Pull it up; I want to see," she ordered, in a whisper.
Wearily Sue obeyed.
But, lo! after the beating rain and fierce gusts of wind that had endured through the livelong night, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It was the last one on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, with its serrated edges tinted with the yellow of dissolution and decay, it hung bravely from the branch some twenty feet above the ground.
"It is the last one," said Johnsy. "I thought it would surely fall during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall to-day, and I shall die at the same time."
"Dear, dear!" said Sue, leaning her worn face down to the pillow, "think of me, if you won't think of yourself. What would I do?"
But Johnsy did not answer. The lonesomest thing in all the world is a soul when it is making ready to go on its mysterious, far journey. The fancy seemed to possess her more strongly as one by one the ties that bound her to friendship and to earth were loosed.
The day wore away, and even through the twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night the north wind was again loosed, while the rain still beat against the windows and pattered down from the low Dutch eaves.
When it was light enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.
The ivy leaf was still there.
Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was stirring her chicken broth over the gas stove.
"I've been a bad girl, Sudie," said Johnsy. "Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring a me a little broth now, and some milk with a little port in it, and - no; bring me a hand-mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you cook."
And hour later she said:
"Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples."
The doctor came in the afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go into the hallway as he left.
"Even chances," said the doctor, taking Sue's thin, shaking hand in his. "With good nursing you'll win." And now I must see another case I have downstairs. Behrman, his name is - some kind of an artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute. There is no hope for him; but he goes to the hospital to-day to be made more comfortable."
The next day the doctor said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You won. Nutrition and care now - that's all."
And that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, contentedly knitting a very blue and very useless woollen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her, pillows and all.
"I have something to tell you, white mouse," she said. "Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia to-day in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The janitor found him the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn't imagine where he had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colors mixed on it, and - look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's masterpiece - he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."
_________________ Your Admin, Gene. -=People who ask our advice almost never take it. Yet we should never refuse to give it, upon request, for it often helps us to see our own way more clearly. =-
Here are ten lines from the end of the story. Put them into the correct order to find out how Mr Behrman created his masterpiece. Try to do this without looking at the book.
a) There was a light he had taken outside. ___
b) Mr Behrman died of pneumonia today in the hospital. ___
c) There was green and yellow paint. ___
d) He was helpless with pain. ___
e) He painted his great masterpiece before the last leaf fell. ___
f) And they found some things. ___
g) The night had been so cold and wild. ___
h) Someone found him in his room. ___
i) There were materials for painting. ___
j) His clothes were as wet and cold as ice. ___
The O' Henry Twist
O' Henry is famous for surprise endings or "twists" in his stories. In The Last Leaf, Johnsy seems to be dying of pneumonia when the story begins, but it is Mr Behrman who dies in the end, while Johnsy survives. Now we know how Mr Behrman died, think of these other points:
• What did Mr. Behrman paint before he died?
• Try to describe his masterpiece.
• What did Mr. Behrman's painting do for Johnsy to help her survive?
• What feeling did it give her?
• Why does Sue call "The Last Leaf" Behrman's masterpiece?
Quote:
"She has one chance in - let us say, ten," he said, as he shook down the mercury in his clinical thermometer. " And that chance is for her to want to live. This way people have of lining-u on the side of the undertaker makes the entire pharmacopoeia look silly. Your little lady has made up her mind that she's not going to get well.
Quote:
"Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls I must go, too. I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?"
Quote:
But, lo! after the beating rain and fierce gusts of wind that had endured through the livelong night, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It was the last one on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, with its serrated edges tinted with the yellow of dissolution and decay, it hung bravely from the branch some twenty feet above the ground.
Quote:
some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colors mixed on it, and - look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's masterpiece - he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell.
_________________ Your Admin, Gene. -=People who ask our advice almost never take it. Yet we should never refuse to give it, upon request, for it often helps us to see our own way more clearly. =-
1) Mr Behrman died of pneumonia today in the hospital. (b)
2) Someone found him in his room. (h)
3) He was helpless with pain. (d)
4) His clothes were as wet and cold as ice. (j)
5) The night had been so cold and wild. (g)
6) And they found some things. (f)
7) There was a light he had taken outside. (a)
8) There were materials for painting. (i)
9) There was green and yellow paint. (c)
10) He painted his great masterpiece before the last leaf fell. (e)
------------------------------------------------------------------
A Sacrifice
A sacrifice is the act of giving up something, or not having something or doing something yourself, to help somebody else. We saw how Mr Behrman gave his life to help Johnsy in The Last Leaf. He made the greatest sacrifice anybody could make. But sacrifices are not always as great as Mr Behrman's. We make small sacrifices almost every day.
How about you? What is the greatest sacrifice you have ever made for your family or friends? An example of this may be when you have stayed at home to help your family instead of going out with friends. Think about something you decided not to do, so that you could help somebody else.
_________________ Your Admin, Gene. -=People who ask our advice almost never take it. Yet we should never refuse to give it, upon request, for it often helps us to see our own way more clearly. =-
I've been reading this forum for quite a while, well over a year. I found this site while looking for information I could share with my children because their father is an addict. After reading, and reading, and also learning from everyone here, I myself became hooked on how everyone here is coping with and or beating their addiction. I just want to start by saying Freedom, your posts are an inspiration. Keepitreal, your posts I really like b/c you take no b/s from anyone and you give sound advise to anyone who reads. Some here have become dear in my mind b/c I quietly sit here and read your life struggles without contributing. I hope to change that. One post at a time.
I couldn't help but reply to this story. It hit a nerve. Flaggin, your many act of insignificant sacrafices may be more than you realize (especially those posted here on the forum). Hopefully you don't have to have 20 years pass before you realize that. I've added a story that runs along the same lines - but the point is similar and clear.
One day, when I was a freshman in high school, I saw a kid from my class was walking home from school. His name was Kyle. It looked like he was carrying all of his books. I thought to myself, "Why would anyone bring home all his books on a Friday? He must really be a nerd." I had quite a weekend planned (parties and a football game with my friend tomorrow afternoon), so I shrugged my shoulders and went on. As I was walking, I saw a bunch of kids running toward him. They ran at him, knocking all his books out of his arms and tripping him so he landed in the dirt. His glasses went flying, and I saw them land in the grass about ten feet from him. He looked up and I saw this terrible sadness in his eyes. My heart went out to him. So, I jogged over to him and as he crawled around looking for his glasses, and I saw a tear in his eye.
As I handed him his glasses, I said, "Those guys are jerks. They really should get lives." He looked at me and said, "Hey thanks!" There was a big smile on his face. It was one of those smiles that showed real gratitude.
I helped him pick up his books, and asked him where he lived. As it turned out, he lived near me, so I asked him why I had never seen him before. He said he had gone to private school before now. I would have never hung out with a private school kid before.
We talked all the way home, and I carried his books. He turned out to be a pretty cool kid. I asked him if he wanted to play football on Saturday with me and my friends. He said yes. We hung all weekend and the more I got to know Kyle, the more I liked him. And my friends thought the same of him.
Monday morning came, and there was Kyle with the huge stack of books again. I stopped him and said, "Damn boy, you are gonna really build some serious muscles with this pile of books everyday!" He just laughed and handed me half the books. Over the next four years, Kyle and I became best friends. When we were seniors, began to think about college. Kyle decided on Georgetown, and I was going to Duke. I knew that we would always be friends, that the smiles would never be a problem. He was going to be a doctor, and I was going for business on a football scholarship. Kyle was valedictorian of our class.
I teased him all the time about being a nerd. He had to prepare a speech for graduation. I was so glad it wasn't me having to get up there and speak. Graduation day, I saw Kyle.
He looked great. He was one of those guys that really found himself during high school. He filled out and actually looked good in glasses. He had more dates than me and all the girls loved him! Boy, sometimes I was jealous.
Today was one of those days. I could see that he was nervous about his speech. So, I smacked him on the back and said, "Hey, big guy, you'll be great!" He looked at me with one of those looks (the really grateful one) and smiled. "Thanks," he said.
As he started his speech, he cleared his throat, and began. "Graduation is a time to thank those who helped you make it through those tough years. Your parents, your teachers, your siblings, maybe a coach . . . but mostly your friends. I am here to tell all of you that being a friend to someone is the best gift you can give them. I am going to tell you a story." I just looked at my friend with disbelief as he told the story of the first day we met. He had planned to kill himself over the weekend. He talked of how he had cleaned out his locker so his Mom wouldn't have to do it later and was carrying his stuff home. He looked hard at me and gave me a little smile. "Thankfully, I was saved. My friend saved me from doing the unspeakable." I heard the gasp go through the crowd as this handsome, popular boy told us all about his weakest moment.
I saw his Mom and dad looking at me and smiling that same grateful smile. Not until that moment did I realize its depth. Never underestimate the power of your actions.
With one small gesture you can change a person’s life. For better or for worse. Lord puts us all in each other’s lives to impact one another in some way. Look for Lord in others.
_________________ Who is Life and why is he handing out so many lemons
thank you. I dont think others understand what it does to me to know that I have been of any inspiration to them, for any reason, about anything. It has changed my life, this site. It has kept me sane in the most insane moments. It has given me a voice, when outside, I cant seem to find it. When I know Im helping someone too see that glare of a light, that gives them a ray of an idea, and at the same time helping myself by allowing a flow of thoughts once bottled and wilted to expand and form...I know what it did to me to find that itty bitty idea that:
I COULD AND WOULD IF I JUST 'DID', and I pray upon the same for others.
To take one step for me, into the unknown(that tiny piece of hope, that put a little grin on my face, like hm, maybe just maybe I could pull this off-... looking at the morning blue sky while being handcuffed), was like taking a million steps out of the pain and insanity I had come to believe would be my life-forever.
I struggle, and I fight, and Im nothing close to perfect, but if all I do for the rest of my life, is know that here I can be of some significance to someone elses pain that helps them grow and believe, I have lived. To never forget that here, I can release, I can become, I can share and grow, I can find honesty and guidance that I might not think of myself, then to take that outside to add to my daily awareness and struggles..then I shall be ok.
I hope that you have in the past year found here the powerful information needed to share with your children to offer them hope and trust. And I hope that for the years to come, you continue to share with us your own story. For as stated here in the thread, the significance of our actions are sometimes unknown by us, but through others they can change the courses of where we thought we were, where we may have believed we were destined to be, or where we thought we could never go. I read your post, and I am in tears...knowing someone else, thinks of my words as an inspiration. To know that all along, (along with everyone else here) someone unknown has been reading....and finding pieces here to add to their own to make something more than now.To create something they can trust with in themselves to keep up the pace life is walking, keeping one foot in front of the other, no matter how many struggling hills we must climb. Just makes me wonder, how many others come here unknown, and how many others do all of us posters here on this site truely touch??
What a beautiful thought.
_________________ ~what happens to a person is less significant than what happens within them~
The success and hope I've found here have opened my eyes to the fact that there is hope in their fathers addiction. I haven't been with him in over 4 years and our relationship came to an end prior to me finding out he was an addict. I have since found out that the last few months before we split up that he was using crack once in a while with his friends. This past year has been a roller coaster for my girls (15 and 11). My oldest won't visit with her dad anymore but my youngest still holds hope that she will one day have her father back.
From what he's told me, he's been in recovery since August. I hope for my youngest that he is. I found it really hard to believe that a drug could become so all important in a persons life. That it could take a successful man with life in the palm of his hand and turn him into a person sitting on the sidewalk downtown holding out that same hand for money to buy food.
freedom, I do believe that this site is helping more than just those who post, as I said, as a reader here for so long, I have learned and grown and (I hope) helped my girls understand that the father they knew is not the father they now know. I have used snippets from many posts here over the last year to explain what I can to them and I believe they have accepted that they can still love the their dad, if not have the same relationship they once shared.
I hope everyone here had a wonderful Christmas.
ANM
_________________ Who is Life and why is he handing out so many lemons
ANM-You couldn't be more right, the info offered here is so helpful. It is comforting to have others who are in the same situation as you are and who can understand and support you. It is also helpful to have those who have or are using drugs to be able to fill in the blanks for things we just don't see or know about. Its quite enlightening.
I hope your husband will get healthy, but I think your children are blessed to have you there for them and that you are able to help them grasp what is going on, I'm sure its very confusing for them and they need your support. Best wishes.
Lucy
Someone sent this to me. It seemed to fit with the theme of this thread...and with the thoughts and feelings I have about everyone here on this site. You Make a Difference. Thank you
>>
>> A teacher in New York decided to honor each of her
>> seniors in High School by telling them the difference
>> each of them had made. She called each student to
>> the front of the class, one at a time.
>>
>> First, she told each of them how they had made a
>> difference to her, and the class. Then she presented
>> each of them with a blue ribbon, imprinted with gold
>> letters, which read, "Who I Am Makes a Difference."
>>
>> Afterwards, the teacher decided to do a class
>> project, to see what kind of impact recognition
>> would have on a Community. She gave each of
>> the students three more blue ribbons, and instructed
>> them to go out and spread this acknowledgment ceremony.
>> Then they were to follow up on the results, see who honored
>> whom, and report to the class in about a week.
>>
>> One of the boys in the class went to a junior executive in a
>> nearby Company, and honored him for helping him with his
>> career planning. He gave him a blue ribbon, and put it on his
>>shirt.
>> Then he gave him two extra ribbons and said, "We're doing a
>> class project on recognition, and we'd like for you to go
>> out, find somebody to honor, give them a blue ribbon, then give
>> them the extra blue ribbon so they can acknowledge a third person,
>> to keep this acknowledgment ceremony going. Then please
>> report back to me and tell me what happened."
>>
>> Later that day, the junior executive went in to
>> see his boss, who had been noted, by the way,
>> as being kind of a grouchy fellow. He sat his
>> boss down, and he told him that he deeply admired
>> him for being a creative genius. The boss seemed very
>> surprised. The junior executive asked him if he would
>> accept the gift of the blue ribbon, and would he give
>> him permission to put it on him. His surprised
>> boss said, "Well, sure." The junior executive took the
>> blue ribbon and placed it right on his boss's jacket,
>> above his heart. As he gave him the last extra ribbon,
>> he said, "Would you take this extra ribbon, and pass it
>> on by honoring somebody else. The young boy who first
>> gave me the ribbons is doing a project in school, and we
>> want to keep this recognition ceremony going and find out
>> how it affects people."
>>
>> That night, the boss came home to his 14-year-old
>> son, and sat him down. He said, "The most
>> incredible thing happened to me today. I was
>> in my office, and one of the junior executives came
>> in and told me he admired me, and gave me a blue
>> ribbon for being a creative genius. Imagine! He thinks I
>> am a creative genius! Then he put a blue ribbon
>> that says, "Who I Am Makes a Difference", on my
>> jacket above my heart. He gave me an extra ribbon and
>> asked me to find somebody else to honor. As I was
>> driving home tonight, I started thinking about whom
>> I would honor with this ribbon, and I thought about
>> you. I want to honor you. My days are hectic and
>> when I come home, I do not pay a lot of attention to
>> you. Sometimes I scream at you for not getting good
>> enough grades in school, and for your bedroom being
>> a mess. Somehow, tonight, I just wanted to sit here
>> and, well, just let you know that you do make a
>> difference to me. Besides your mother, you are the
>> most important person in my life. You're a great
>> kid, and I love you!"
>>
>> The startled boy started to sob and sob, and he
>> could not stop crying His whole body shook. He
>> looked up at his father and said through his tears,
>> "Dad, earlier tonight I sat in my room and wrote a
>> letter to you and Mom, explaining why I had took my
>> life, and I asked you to forgive me. I was going to
>> commit suicide tonight after you were asleep.
>> I just did not think that you cared at all. The
>> letter is upstairs. I don't think I need it after all."
>> His father walked upstairs and found a heartfelt
>> letter full of anguish and pain.
>>
>> The boss went back to work a changed man. He
>> was no longer a grouch, but made sure to let all
>> of his employees know that they made a difference.
>> The junior executive helped several other young
>> people with career planning, and never forgot to
>> let them know that they made a difference in his
>> life...one being the boss' son. In addition, the young
>> boy and his classmates learned a valuable lesson,
>> "Who you are DOES make a difference".
>>
>> You are under no obligation to pass this on to
>> anyone.... not to two people, or to two hundred. As
>> far as I am concerned, you can forget it and move
>> on. On the other hand, if you want, you could
>> send it to all of the people who mean something to
>> you, or send it to the one, two, or three people
>> who mean the most.
>>
>> On the other hand, just smile and know that I
>> think that you are important, or you would not
>> have received this in the first place. Who you are
>> does make a difference, and I wanted you to know
>> that.
>>
>> Isn't this a wonderful story? I'm passing the blue
>> ribbon to you, for who YOU are does make a difference, too.
>> May Lord BLESS YOU. Have an awesome day, and know that
>> someone has thought about you today!
>>
>> A prayer for today: Lord, Thank you for my friends and family
>> who really do make a difference to me. AMEN
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