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心灵鸡汤
evelyn
Be Still With God
By Nancy B. Gibbs
All day long I had been very busy; picking up trash, cleaning bathrooms and
scrubbing floors. My grown children were coming home for the weekend. I went
grocery shopping and prepared for a barbecue supper, complete with ribs and
chicken. I wanted everything to be perfect.
Suddenly, it dawned on me that I was dog-tired. I simply couldn't work as long as
I could when I was younger. "I've got to rest for a minute," I told my husband,
Roy, as I collapsed into my favorite rocking chair. Music was playing, my dog and
cat were chasing each other and the telephone rang.
A scripture from Psalm 46 popped into my mind. "Be still, and know that I am
God." I realized that I hadn't spent much time in prayer that day. Was I too busy
to even utter a simple word of thanks to God? Suddenly, the thought of my
beautiful patio came to mind. I can be quiet out there, I thought. I longed for a
few minutes alone with God.
Roy and I had invested a great deal of time and work in the patio that spring. The
flowers and hanging baskets were breathtaking. It was definitely a heavenly place
of rest and tranquility. If I can't be still with God in that environment, I can't be
still with Him anywhere, I thought. While Roy was talking on the telephone, I
slipped out the backdoor and sat down on my favorite patio chair. I closed my
eyes and began to pray, counting my many blessings.
A bird flew by me, chirping and singing. It interrupted my thoughts. It landed on
the bird feeder and began eating dinner as I watched. After a few minutes it flew
away, singing another song.
I closed my eyes again. A gust of wind blew, which caused my wind chimes to
dance. They made a joyful sound, but again I lost my concentration on God. I
squirmed and wiggled in my chair. I looked up toward the blue sky and saw the
clouds moving slowly toward the horizon. The wind died down. My wind chimes
finally became quiet.
Again, I bowed in prayer. "Honk, honk," I heard. I almost jumped out of my skin.
A neighbor was driving down the street. He waved at me and smiled. I waved
back, happy that he cared. I quickly tried once again to settle down, repeating
the familiar verse in my mind. Be still and know that I am God.
"I'm trying God. I really am," I whispered. "But you've got to help me here."
The backdoor opened. My husband walked outside. "I love you," he said. "I was
wondering where you were." I chuckled, as he came over and kissed me, then
turned around and went back inside.
"Where's the quiet time?" I asked God. My heart fluttered. There was no pain,
only a beat that interrupted me yet again. This is impossible, I thought. There's
no time to be still and to know that God is with me. There's too much going on in
the world and entirely too much activity
all around me.
Then it suddenly dawned on me. God was speaking to me the entire time I was
attempting to be still. I remembered the music playing as I'd begun my quiet
time. He sent a sparrow to lighten my life with song. He sent a gentle breeze. He
sent a neighbor to let me know that I had a friend. He sent my sweetheart to
offer sincere sentiments of love. He caused my heart to flutter to remind me of
life. While I was trying to count my blessings, God was busy multiplying them.
I laughed to realize that the "interruptions" of my quiet time with God were
special blessings He'd sent to show me He was with me the entire time.
Plant a Row for the Hungry
By Jeff Lowenfels
It was a cold night in Washington, D.C., and I was heading back to the hotel
when a man approached me. He asked if I would give him some money so he
could get something to eat. I'd read the signs: "Don't give money to
panhandlers." So I shook my head and kept walking.
I wasn't prepared for a reply, but with resignation, he said, "I really am homeless
and I really am hungry! You can come with me and watch me eat!" But I kept on
walking.
The incident bothered me for the rest of the week. I had money in my pocket and
it wouldn't have killed me to hand over a buck or two even if he had been lying.
On a frigid, cold night, no less, I assumed the worst of a fellow human being.
Flying back to Anchorage, I couldn't help thinking of him. I tried to rationalize my
failure to help by assuming government agencies, churches and charities were
there to feed him. Besides, you're not supposed to give money to panhandlers.
hungrySomewhere over Seattle, I started to write my weekly garden column for The
Anchorage Daily News. Out of the blue, I came up with an idea. Bean's Cafe, the
soup kitchen in Anchorage, feeds hundreds of hungry Alaskans every day. Why
not try to get all my readers to plant one row in their gardens dedicated to
Bean's? Dedicate a row and take it down to Bean's. Clean and simple.
We didn't keep records back then, but the idea began to take off. Folks would fax
me or call when they took something in. Those who only grew flowers donated
them. Food for the spirit. And salve for my conscience.
In 1995, the Garden Writers Association of America held their annual convention
in Anchorage and after learning of Anchorage's program, Plant a Row for Bean's
became Plant a Row For The Hungry. The original idea was to have every
member of the Garden Writers Association of America write or talk about planting
a row for the hungry sometime during the month of April.
As more and more people started working with the Plant a Row concept, new
variations cropped up, if you will pardon the pun. Many companies gave free seed
to customers and displayed the logo, which also appeared in national gardening
publications.
Row markers with the Plant a Row logo were distributed to gardeners to set apar
t
their "Row for the Hungry."
Garden editor Joan Jackson, backed by The San Jose Mercury News and
California's nearly year-round growing season, raised more than 30,000 pounds
of fruits and vegetables her first year, and showed GWAA how the program could
really work. Texas fruit farms donated food to their local food bank after being
inspired by Plant a Row. Today the program continues to thrive and grow.
I am stunned that millions of Americans are threatened by hunger. If every
gardener in America - and we're seventy million strong - plants one row for the
hungry, we can make quite a dent in the number of neighbors who don't have
enough to eat. Maybe then I will stop feeling guilty about abandoning a hungry
man I could have helped.
Beyond Expectations
By Milt Garrett
It seems a car dealership in my hometown of Albuquerque was selling, on
average, six to eight new cars a day, six days a week. I was also told that 72
percent of this dealership's first-time visitors returned for a second visit. (At that
time, the average for all dealerships in Albuquerque for second-time visitors was
8 percent.)
I was curious and intrigued. How does a car dealership get 72 percent of its
first-time visitors to return? And how can they sell six to eight cars a day in a
slumping car market?
When I walked into Saturn of Albuquerque that Friday four years ago, the
staff there didn't know me from Adam; yet they shared with me their pricing
policy, the profit margin on every model, and staff income. They even opened
their training manuals for my review and invited me back on Saturday if I wanted
more information (an invitation I heartily accepted).
I learned that this dealership (like all Saturn dealerships) has a "no-dicker
sticker" policy; that is, the price on the window is the price you pay for the
car. Period. You can't even negotiate for a free set of floor mats. Saturn abides
by its premise of selling high-quality automobiles for a reasonable price.
Furthermore, Saturn sales consultants (their term for customer-contact people)
aren't paid a commission - they're salaried. This means when you walk onto the
showroom floor you're not bombarded with what I refer to as "beyond eager"
sales people.
I expanded my research to other dealerships in Albuquerque. It turned out
that Ford Escorts, LTDs and Thunderbirds, as well as the Mercury Marquis, were
also sold as "no-dicker sticker" cars. As Bruce Sutherland at Richardson Ford said,
"We were losing our market to Saturn because of their pricing and salary
policies." He also said, "If we all did what Saturn was doing, we'd not only make
a decent living, but we'd also enjoy a better reputation."
On Sunday, the day after my second visit to the Saturn store (their term, not
mine), my wife, Jane, and I were walking as we frequently do. On this particular
June morning, Jane gently slipped her hand in mine and said tenderly, "I do
n't
know if you remember, but today's my fifth anniversary of being cancer-
free." She was diagnosed with breast cancer five years ago and had undergone
surgery. I was stunned, partially because I was embarrassed that I had forgotten,
and, partially, well, it seems we spend all of our time earning a living
and never stop to live our earnings. I mean, isn't this what it's really all about?
I didn't know what to do with Jane's information. I spoke to her tenderly. All
day. I took her to lunch. I bought the lunch. It was a nice, intimate day.
The next day, Monday, Jane went off to work teaching school. Still beside
myself not knowing what to do to mark this special occasion, I did the most
impetuous thing I've ever done in my life: I bought a new Saturn. I bought every
accessory they produce in Springhill, Tennessee, to hang on that car. There
wasn't an accessory made that I didn't buy. I didn't pick the color and I didn't
pick the model, but I paid cash and told them I'd bring Jane in on Wednesday at
4:30 to make those two decisions. I told them why I was buying the car, and
that it was my secret and they were not to reveal anything to her.
Tuesday morning, it dawned on me that Jane always wanted a white car. I
called our sales consultant at Saturn, and I asked him if he had anything white in
the store. He said he had one left but he couldn't guarantee it'd still be available
Wednesday at 4:30 because they were selling so fast. I said I'd take my chances
and asked him to put it in the showroom.
Wednesday came and went. Unexpectedly, someone in our family was
admitted to the hospital. So, it wasn't until 9:30 Saturday morning when, after
telling Jane the biggest lie to get her out of the house, we finally made our way to
the Saturn store. I quickly turned into the parking lot and Jane angrily asked,
"What are you doing? You promised me we'd get home right away." I said, "I'm
sorry, I forgot I have to pick up something here for my Kiwanis speech next
week."
Jane had never been in a Saturn store. When we went through the front door,
the Lord took control of her feet and her mouth. She saw that little white Saturn
coupe all the way across the showroom floor. She quickly passed a multi-colored
sea of automobiles, sat in the little white Saturn and said, "Oh, what a pretty little
car. Can I have a new car?" I said, "No. Not until Charlie graduates from
college." Our son, Charlie, was attending the University of New South Wales in
Sydney, Australia (we call that "out of state" tuition). She said, "I'm sick and
tired of driving that old Dodge, I want a new car." I said, "I promise, just three
more semesters and he'll be out."
Next, Jane walked around to the front of the car. As she looked it over, she
let out the most blood-curdling, shrill scream I'd ever heard in 29 years of
marriage.
Now, before I tell you why Jane screamed, let me tell you what our sales
consulta
nt had done. He had ordered a large, professionally engraved sign (white
letters on blue) and affixed the Saturn company logo on it. The sign stood alone
on the hood of the little white Saturn coupe. It said "Congratulations, Jane. This
car is yours. Five years cancer-free. Let's celebrate life. From Milt, Billy and
Team Saturn"
Every employee at Saturn of Albuquerque had endorsed the back of that sign.
Jane saw it, screamed, collapsed in my arms and bawled her eyes out. I didn't
know what to do. I was in tears. I took out my invoice from the previous
Monday, unfolded it and, pointing to the white coupe, said, "No, honey, this car
isn't yours. I bought you this one." I tapped the invoice with my index
finger. Jane said, "No, I want this one right here." Charlie, who was home from
college and with us, said, "No, Mom. Dad bought you anything you want in
Springhill, Tennessee or anything on the lot here." Jane said, "You don't
understand, I want this one."
While this conversation was going on, I looked around and discovered that
there was no one in the store. Our sales consultant had arranged it so that we
could share the moment alone. The mechanics, the clerical staff, the front-desk
receptionist, management and all sales consultants had left the store for the
sanctity of our event.
Even so, it's impossible to have a lot of privacy when so many people are
standing outside the showroom windows looking in. When Jane screamed and
collapsed in my arms, I saw everybody outside applaud and begin to cry. Every
new customer that came to the store in those minutes was not allowed to enter;
instead, the staff took them aside and explained what was happening.
Jane never drove the car until she took it through the showroom door that day
to drive it home.
Over the years, I've told this story in the United States, Australia and
Indonesia as an example of legendary service. A woman in my audience in San
Francisco from Anchorage, Alaska, heard the story; she called Saturn of
Albuquerque long distance and bought a new car. It's like Ken Blanchard says,
"It's only the stories told about us that differentiate us in the market place."
Just One Wish
By Margaret E. Mack
Fox River gave life to the country town of Colby Point, for the road and the river
ran alongside one another. Colby Point was really the name of a road that crept
between the hills and valleys of McHenry, Illinois. Homes were scattered here and
there - mostly summer homes and retirement homes. At the very end of the road
three houses all faced one another. Three sisters - all single, all seniors - lived in
one of the homes. Across the way their widowed first cousin lived in a yellow
house. Next to her lived their brother, Bill, and his wife Cleo.
Cleo had multiple sclerosis, so the pair had moved to Colby Point seeking a quiet,
relaxed life. Little did they know when they relocated to this serene area that 

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