A well known speaker started off his seminar by holding up a $20 bill. In the room of 200, he asked, who would like this $20 bill?

Hands started going up. He said, I am going to give this $20 to one of you but first, let me do this.

He proceeded to crumple the dollar bill up. He then asked, who still wants it?

Still the hands were up in the air.

Well, he replied, what if I do this? And he dropped it on the ground and started to grind it into the floor with his shoe.

He picked it up, now crumpled and dirty. Now who still wants it?

Still the hands went into the air.

My friends, you have all learned a very valuable lesson. No matter what I did to the money, you still wanted it because it did not decrease in value.

It is still worth $20.

Many times in our lives, we are dropped, crumpled, and ground into the dirt by the decisions we make and the circumstances that come our way.

We feel as though we are worthless. But no matter what has happened or what will happen, you will never lose your value: dirty or clean, crumpled or finely creased, you are still priceless to those who love you.

The worth of our lives comes not in what we do or who we know, but by WHO WE ARE.

You are special – Don’t ever forget it.

(author unknown)

[Vietnamese version]

Your presence is a present to the world.
You are unique and one of a kind.
Your life can be what you want it to be.
Take the days just one at a time.

Count your blessings, not your troubles.
You will make it through whatever comes along.
Within you are so many answers.
Understand, have courage, be strong.

Do not put limits on yourself.
So many dreams are waiting to be realized.
Decisions are too important to leave to chance.
Reach for your peak, your goal and you prize.

Nothing wastes more energy than worrying.
The longer one carries a problem the heavier it gets.
Do not take things too seriously.
Live a life of serenity, not a life of regrets.

Remember that a little love goes a long way.
Remember that a lot … goes forever.
Remember that friendship is a wise investment.
Life’s treasure are people together.

Realize that it is never too late.
Do ordinary things in an extraordinary way.
Have hearth and hope and happiness.
Take the time to wish upon a start.

AND DO NOT EVER FORGET…
FOR EVEN A DAY
HOW VERY SPECIAL YOU ARE!

[Vietnamese version]

Hãy tưởng tượng có một ngân hàng ghi vào tài khoản của bạn 86.400 đô la mỗi sáng. Tuy nhiên, phần sai ngạch của ngày này không được chuyển sang ngày khác. Mỗi đêm ngân hàng sẽ xóa hết phần bạn chưa dùng hết trong ngày.

Bạn sẽ làm gì… Dĩ nhiên là tận dụng từng đồng, đúng không…

Mỗi người trong chúng ta đều có một ngân hàng như thế, đó chính là Thời Gian.

Mỗi sáng nó ghi vào tài khoản của bạn 86. 400 giây. Khi đêm về, nó xóa hết phần thời gian bạn chưa kịp đầu tư vào việc có ích. Ngân hàng này không chuyển bất cứ khoản sai ngạch nào còn lại trong này và cũng không cho bạn chi trội.

Mỗi ngày bạn nhận được một tài khoản mới. Cứ đêm về phần dư lại trong ngày sẽ bị xóa. Nếu bạn không tận dụng được khoản gởi đó, người thiệt thòi chính là bạn. Không thể quay lại quá khứ, cũng không thể cưỡng lại “ngày mai”. Bạn phải sống trong hiện tại chỉ bằng khoản đã được gởi của chính ngày hôm nay. Vì vậy, hãy đầu tư thời gian của từng ngày một cách khôn ngoan để làm lợi nhiều nhất cho sức khỏe, hạnh phúc, và sự thành đạt của chính bản thân bạn.

Đồng hồ vẫn đều đều gõ nhịp, bạn hãy tận dụng ngày hôm nay.

Để hiểu được giá trị của một năm, hãy hỏi một học sinh vừa thi rớt.

Để hiểu được giá trị của một tháng, hãy hỏi một bà mẹ sinh non.

Để hiểu được giá trị của một tuần, hãy hỏi tổng biên tập của một tờ tuần báo.

Để hiểu được giá trị của một giờ, hãy hỏi người yêu nhau đang mong chờ được gặp mặt nhau.

Để hiểu được giá trị của một phút, hãy hỏi người vừa trễ tàu.

Để hiểu được giá trị của một giây, hãy hỏi một người vừa thoát hiểm trong gang tấc.

Để hiểu giá trị của một nghìn giây, hãy hỏi chủ nhân của một chiếc huy chương Thế Vận Hội.

Hãy biết trân trọng mỗi phút giây bạn đang có trong tay! Và cần phải trân trọng nó hơn nữa khi bạn sẻ chia thời gian với một ai đó đặc biệt, đặc biệt đến mức bạn phải dành thời gian của mình cho người ấy.

Hãy nhớ rằng thời gian thì không chờ đợi ai cả.

Bạn bè thực sự là tài sản hết sức quý báu của bạn. Họ đem lại nụ cười cho bạn, động viên bạn vươn đến thành công. Họ lắng nghe lời bạn nói, cho bạn một lời khen tặng, và nhất là họ muốn thổ lộ tâm tình với bạn.

Hãy thể hiện cho họ thấy bạn quan tâm tới họ đến nhường nào.

Hãy gửi thông điệp này đến bạn mình.

Nếu bạn cũng nhận được một thông điệp như thế từ người khác thì bạn biết rằng mình đã có một vòng tròn tình bạn.

Ngày hôm qua là quá khứ

Ngày mai là một điều bí ẩn

Còn hôm nay là một món quà

Chính vì vậy mà người ta vẫn gọi

Hiện tại là món quà của cuộc sống!

(st)

Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift – that is why we call it the present.

-author unknown

How much of your life is lost either dwelling on the past or worrying about the future? When your thoughts are imprisoned by the past or fearful of the future you miss out on one of life’s greatest gifts: that which is happening today and indeed this very moment.

When your mind is focused on yesterday or tomorrow, your involvement of the present moment is impoverished and today passes you by almost as a squandered opportunity or an unnoticed stranger. Do you ever reach Saturday and wonder where the week has gone? Do you feel that your children are growing up too fast? Do you know where your thoughts are when you are driving?

How many times have you wished your life away by dreaming of tomorrow’s temptations? If only it was the weekend… If only it was our next holiday… If only I was retired… How many times have you worried a day away, terrified by tomorrow’s trial?

What if I fail? What if I make a fool of myself? What if I don’t make it? How often have you felt yourself being pulled back by yesterday? I’ll never be able to change… I’ve always done it that way… I want to change but I’m scared to move on…

The reality is that when you are yearning for yesterday and either tempted or terrified by tomorrow, your ability to move forward will be confined by your inability to make the most of today. Throw off these shackles and release the power within so that you are set free to enjoy today in all its glory.

This is the key: putting your effort into today – putting your effort into the present moment. By doing so, you will reap the rewards of enjoying a new awareness of everything around you and this, in turn, will take you forward in a more constructive and fulfilling way.

Here are a few simple examples of being present in the moment – of enjoying the perfect present. If you have time to walk today, be aware of the landscape and the people you meet by coincidence. If you are driving today, observe speed limits and be completely aware of the traffic around you. When you eat today, be aware of what you are eating: chew your food slowly and thoroughly and enjoy the taste. When you are interacting with others today, give them your undivided attention: don’t interrupt and listen attentively before you speak.

Awareness of the present moment will make you feel in control of your life. Of course, learning from our mistakes, reminiscing over the past or planning for the future have their places but after you’ve done so, let these thoughts go. Today is what really matters, irrespective of how imperfect it might seem and it is your attitude towards today which counts. You may have control over very little today but one thing is for certain – you can choose your attitude towards today.

Enjoy the present moment. Then without dwelling on earlier or later, yesterday or tomorrow, past or future, be mindful of the gathering storm of your thoughts if they carry you away to another time frame under a cloud of pessimism. Quell the storm by reining your mind and your actions back to the perfect present and the world will open up to you with all of today’s wonderful opportunities.

By Evelyn Wander

I was the tender age of sixteen and my husband was only seventeen when we were married in 1966 in Welch, West Virginia. There weren’t many jobs available in our small town. We had been married only two months when my husband found out that Trailways Bus Lines was taking applications for various positions.
My husband drove one hundred miles to Roanoke, Virginia, to apply for a job with the bus company. They contacted him the next week to come back to take a test that was one of the requirements for being hired. So once again, he drove the one hundred miles to take the test. A few weeks later, he was notified that he had been accepted to a position as an apprentice mechanic. This offer was a great opportunity for us, but I was heartbroken when I found out that the job was in Roanoke and that we would have to move. We knew no one who lived there. It was very hard for me to move so far from my family and friends at such a young age. We found a small furnished apartment, and I was lucky to find a job as a sales clerk at Woolworth’s during the day, but my husband was scheduled to work from midnight to 8 a.m. So as he came home from work each morning, I was getting ready to leave to go to work.
Naturally, we had very little money, so when Valentine’s Day came around that first year, I knew we couldn’t afford to buy anything for each other. I felt so bad that I wouldn’t be able to buy him a present – not even a card.
After he left to go to work the night before Valentine’s Day, I couldn’t sleep. So I decided to stay up and make a Valentine’s Day card for him. I didn’t have any construction paper, so I had to use regular notebook paper. I worked so hard to compose a poem for him. I knew what I wanted to say, but I couldn’t seem to put it on paper. It took me most of the night, and by the time he came home the next morning it was done!
I had made a valentine for my valentine. I felt foolish and childish as I handed him my homemade valentine, hoping that he wouldn’t laugh at it. I held my breath and watched as he opened it and started reading it. On the front of the simple piece of paper, I had written the following:

We may not have a lot of money
To buy a card that’s cute and funny.
But what we have can take the place
Of a paper heart with fancy lace.
We have each other, and that’s the best,
Now open the card and read the rest.

On the inside, I had colored a large red heart and written “I Love You.” I stood waiting and watching, afraid that he would start laughing at any moment. When he had finished reading it, he slowly raised his head and looked at me. Then the corners of his mouth started moving up! But all he did was smile tenderly.
While looking into my eyes, he reached down into his pocket. When he pulled his hand out, he was holding something. He told me that he had made it for me during his lunch hour, but he had been afraid to give it to me. He said that he thought I might think it was silly, and that I might laugh at it.
I took his hand in mine and turned it over. As I looked down, he slowly opened his fingers, and I saw a small heart made out of aluminum. While I had stayed up all night making him a valentine card, he had been cutting out a heart for me from a piece of aluminum. He said the guys he worked with had laughed at him for making the heart, and he’d been worried about giving it to me.
I still have the aluminum heart, and I keep it in my desk. Every once in a while when I open the drawer and see it lying there, all those memories come flooding back to me. Over the years, we’ve been able to buy each other very nice, expensive presents for Valentine’s Day. But none has ever been as dear or meant as much as those handmade gifts made from our hearts the first year that we were married.

By James A. Kisner

Red roses were her favorites – her name was also Rose -
And every year her husband sent them, tied with pretty bows.
The year he died the roses were delivered to her door.
The card said, “Be my Valentine,” like all the years before.

Each year he sent her roses, and the note would always say,
“I love you even more this year than last year on this day.
My love for you will always grow with every passing year.”
She knew this was the last time that the roses would appear.

She thought, “He ordered roses in advance before this day.”
Her loving husband did not know that he would pass away.
He always liked to do things early, way before the time.
Then, if he got too busy, everything would work out fine.

She trimmed the stems and placed them in a very special vase,
Then sat the vase beside the portrait of his smiling face.
She would sit for hours, in her husband’s favorite chair,
While staring at his picture and the roses sitting there.

A year went by and it was hard to live without her mate,
With loneliness and solitude that had become her fate.
Then, the very hour, as on Valentines before,
The doorbell rang, and there were roses sitting by her door.

She brought the roses in, and then just looked at them in shock,
Then went to get the telephone, to call the florist shop.
The owner answered and she asked him if he would explain,
Why would someone do this to her, causing her such pain?

“I know your husband passed away more than a year ago,”
The owner said. “I knew you’d call, and you would want to know,
The flowers you received today were paid for in advance.
Your husband always planned ahead, he left nothing to chance.

“There is a standing order that I have on file down here,
And he has paid well in advance; you’ll get them every year.
There also is another thing that I think you should know:
He wrote a special little card . . . he did this years ago.

“Then, should ever I find out that he’s no longer here,
That’s the card that should be sent to you the following year.”
She thanked him and hung up the phone, her tears now flowing hard,
Her fingers shaking, as she slowly reached to get the card.

Inside the card she saw that he had written her a note.
Then, as she stared in total silence, this is what he wrote. . . .
“Hello, my love, I know it’s been a year since I’ve been gone,
I hope it hasn’t been too hard for you to overcome.

“I know it must be lonely, and the pain is very real,
For if it were the other way, I know how I would feel.
The love we shared made everything so beautiful in life.
I loved you more than words can say. You were the perfect wife.

“You were my friend and lover, you fulfilled my every need.
I know it’s only been a year, but please try not to grieve.
I want you to be happy, even when you shed your tears.
That is why the roses will be sent to you for years.

“When you get these roses, think of all the happiness
That we had together, and how both of us were blessed.
I have always loved you, and I know I always will.
But, my love, you must go on, you have some living still.

“Please try to find happiness, while living out your days.
I know it is not easy, but I hope you find some ways.
The roses will come every year, and they will only stop
When your door’s not answered when the florist stops to knock.

“He will come five times that day, in case you have gone out.
But after his last visit, he will know without a doubt
To take the roses to the place where I’ve instructed him,
And place the roses where we are, together once again.”

[Vietnamese version]

It was almost New Year’s Eve 2000, and the nation was getting ready to celebrate the dawn of a new decade. My husband, Don, and I could care less.

In July of 1999, my husband and I lost our beloved twenty-eight-year-old son when he fell asleep at the wheel. He was our accomplished classical guitarist with a masters in music. He was our handsome, blond-haired treasure that could never be replaced. He was a young man with a fabulous sense of humor, a cherished brother to his siblings, and his bright future was cut way too short.

We never were much for New Year’s Eve celebrations. Oh, we’d gotten together with friends and raised a glass or two over the years on various New Year’s Eves. But the holidays in 1999 and 2000 were some of the toughest days of our entire lives. When you are in early grief, you constantly replay the circumstances surrounding the death of your loved one. It must be nature’s way of making it “sink in” and become real for you, so that you learn to live with this in your life. We certainly were changed forever. We felt far from festive as Christmas faded and New Year’s Eve rolled around.

My husband and I grieved separately in the early years, trying to spare each other, or minimize the pain each of us was experiencing by not sharing it with each other. It took some time before we could come together and share our tears. I remember going to bed around 8 P.M. so that I would not be reminded of happy people lifting their glasses to toast a new year and a new decade. A new year without my son? A future without him in it? It was too unbearable for me to even comprehend or consider.

Each subsequent New Year’s Eve got a little easier, but it was still the policy for me to avoid the group celebrations, the television coverage, and the festivities of New Year’s Eves. Who would want to be around me when my mind was fixed on my terrible loss? How could I celebrate living in a world without my son for yet another year?

At some point in time, it happens. You make the switch. For me it was five years after his death. New Year’s Eve was approaching. Christmas had been a celebration with family that I truly enjoyed. It was the year that I decorated a small tree with his pictures as a memorial, and it felt right. I hung his stocking that I made him as a child and smiled at the memories it brought me.

I had witnessed an episode of Dr. Phil on television where a mother who lost a daughter just could not get over her grief, and it had been TEN years. She was so, so sad and very much STUCK in her grief. I remember Dr. Phil saying to her in so many words, “You had eighteen wonderful years with your daughter, and the only thing that you are dwelling on now is her death. You need to celebrate the wonderful time you had together.” The mother looked up at him and said, “I never thought of it that way.”

I knew that I was also learning to be thankful for the years I had with my child, the blessing of his twenty-eight years. What if I’d never been blessed with knowing him at all? I realized that I could have lost him as a baby, a toddler, a young child, a teenager… but I was blessed with twenty-eight years!

That year, in 2004, my husband and I resolved to celebrate our New Year’s Eve together, remembering and celebrating our Donnie, not mourning him. We looked at photographs and talked about the wonderful times with him.

My husband never made it until midnight, but I did. I stayed awake to welcome 2005, knowing it would be an even better year, because I was learning to go forward with my life. I would always have the sorrow in my life, but it was no longer overwhelming. I could make it my resolution to take forward with me the wonderful memories of my son, the ones that make me smile and subsequently help to soften the pain a little more each year. I raised my glass of wine to God at midnight saying, “Thank you for my wonderful son who blessed my life in so many ways!”

(Chicken Soup for the Soul)

“Don’t you know? There will never be a cure!” my teenage daughter screamed from the backseat of the car.

I steadied my hands on the steering wheel while Jenna continued to rant and rave. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. Not finding a single word that could or would change the situation, I remained quiet and tears stung my eyes. God, you’ve got to help the scientists find a cure soon. My daughter is losing all hope.

“It’s just too hard! I’m tired of feeling sick! I’m tired of being tired! I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired!” Jenna sobbed from behind. “Mom, I just don’t think I can do it anymore…” she said as her voiced faded off into silence.

Jenna’s words cut deep, for I knew that without hope, her heart would break. Wishing that this conversation wasn’t occurring on a freeway, I fought traffic and slowly made my way to the off-ramp, checking my rearview mirror only to see the penetrating look in Jenna’s eyes as she stared back at me. The unnerving silence was only interrupted by the sound of my turn signal.

It had been twelve years since Jenna truly “felt good.” And for twelve years she had lived courageously, fighting her chronic disease. I understood her feelings of defeat. I too was tired of daily watching my daughter tend to her catheter site, injecting herself with the proper medications, and experiencing the unpredictable side effects. I, too, wanted to join her in screaming, “I’m sick and tired of you being sick and tired!”

Watching her in such emotional and physical pain made me ache all over. If only I could take her illness upon me, I’d give her my health and bear her infirmity. But I felt helpless not knowing how to console her.

I pulled into the first parking lot I could find. I parked the car, stepped out and then crawled into the backseat where Jenna lay motionless. I brushed her hair from her eyes hoping she’d open them and look into mine. She didn’t move. For five minutes or more, I just sat and held her, praying that God would renew her strength and will to live.

What does a mother say to her child who is living a nightmare, praying that she’d someday soon wake up and it would be over? What words could bring comfort when all hope is lost?

Not knowing the answers, I spoke from my heart, hoping to reach Jenna’s. “Jenna, I need you to look at me. I need to know that you really understand what I am about to say.”

She turned her head towards me and opened her eyes. Immediately she began to repeat her words of hopelessness. Gently, I placed my finger against her lips.

“Honey, today you’re tired and you’ve lost all hope. Today, you can rest in my arms and let me hope for you. You can be assured that my hope is endless and so is my love…”

“Mom,” Jenna interrupted me, smiling slightly. “If you can hope for me, I guess I can too.” She draped her arms around me. “Tell me again, Mom, that your hope is forever.”

“It’s forever, baby. My hope is forever.”

I grew up poor – living in the projects with six brothers, three sisters, a varying assortment of foster kids, my father, and a wonderful mother, Scarlette Hunley. We had little money and few worldly goods, but plenty of love and attention. I was happy and energetic. I understood that no matter how poor a person was, they could still afford a dream.

My dream was athletics. By the time I was sixteen, I could crush a baseball, throw a ninety-mile-per-hour fastball and hit anything that moved on the football field. I was also lucky: My high-school coach was Ollie Jarvis, who not only believed in me, but taught me how to believe in myself. He taught me the difference between having a dream and showing conviction. One particular incident with Coach Jarvis changed my life forever.

It was the summer between my junior and senior years, and a friend recommended me for a summer job. This meant a chance for money in my pocket – cash for dates with girls, certainly, money for a new bike and new clothes, and the start of savings for a house for my mother. The prospect of a summer job was enticing, and I wanted to jump at the opportunity.

Then I realized I would have to give up summer baseball to handle the work schedule, and that meant I would have to tell Coach Jarvis I wouldn’t be playing. I was dreading this, spurring myself with the advice my mother preached to us: “If you make your bed, you have to lie in it.”

When I told Coach Jarvis, he was as mad as I expected him to be. “You have your whole life to work,” he said. “Your playing days are limited. You can’t afford to waste them.”

I stood before him with my head hanging, trying to think of the words that would explain to him why my dream of buying my mom a house and having money in my pocket was worth facing his disappointment in me.

“How much are you going to make at this job, son?” he demanded.

“Three twenty-five an hour,” I replied.

“Well,” he asked, “is $3.25 an hour the price of a dream?”

That question, the plainness of it, laid bare for me the difference between wanting something right now and having a goal. I dedicated myself to sports that summer, and within the year I was drafted by the Pittsburgh Pirates to play rookie-league ball, and offered a $20,000 contract. I already had a football scholarship to the University of Arizona, which led me to an education, two consensus selections as All-American linebacker and being chosen seventh overall in the first round of the NFL draft. I signed with the Denver Broncos in 1984 for $1.7 million, and bought my mother the house of my dreams.

Waking up to the sound of my alarm, I smiled at the joy of only having to wait one more day. I got out of bed and threw some clothes on. Digging around the kitchen for some breakfast, I settled on a bowl of Cheerios and some leftover pizza from the night before. After watching cartoons, playing some video games and chatting on-line with some friends, it suddenly hit me that I hadn’t bought a present for my mom. It was Christmas Eve, and the stores were going to be closing pretty soon. So I threw some shoes on, grabbed my skateboard and set off to the mall.

I swung open the heavy glass door into the mall only to see an incredible sight. People were running and panicking everywhere, trying to find the perfect gift for their loved ones. It was total madness. I decided to begin trying to make my way through the crowds when a guy in a black coat came up to me and told me with desperation in his voice that he had lost his brown leather wallet. Before I could say a word, he shoved his gray business card into my hand.

“Please call me at the number on the card if you happen to find it,” he said. I looked at him, shrugged my shoulders and replied, “Yeah, no problem. I’ll do that.”

He turned to stop another person, and I continued to make my way through the unending stream of shoppers to look for a gift for my mom. I searched everywhere, up and down the mall in every store, with no luck. Finally, toward the very end of the mall, I spotted a small antique and glass-art store. It looked like it might have some interesting stuff – not the same as I’d seen in every other store. I figured I had nothing to lose so I went in.

Papers and boxes had been thrown everywhere from all the greedy Christmas shoppers digging around for the perfect gifts. It was pretty bad. It looked like a dirty bedroom with smelly clothes scattered around in it. As I tried to make my way through the pile of stuff, I tripped over a box in the aisle and fell flat on my face. I was so frustrated and worn out from shopping that I stood up, screamed and kicked the box. It flew through the air and hit a big, high-priced clay statue, almost knocking it over. My anger had gotten the best of me, but luckily no harm was done.

As I picked up the box to put it back on the shelf, I noticed a flat, green box hidden under some wrapping paper. I opened it up to find an amazing glass plate with a Nativity scene on it. There it was, the perfect gift, just lying in some trash waiting for me to find it. It felt like one of those moments when you hear angels singing hallelujah and beams of light stream down right over the place where you’re standing. I smiled broadly, gathered it up and headed for the cash register. As the cashier was ringing up my purchase, I reached into my pocket to get my money. But my pocket was empty! I began to scramble around searching every pocket when I realized I had left my wallet at home. This was my last chance to get my mom a gift since the mall would be closing in ten minutes and it was Christmas Eve. It would take me twenty minutes to skate home and back. That’s when I started to panic. Now what do I do? I silently asked myself.

So I did the only thing I could think of at that moment: I ran outside the store and started to beg people for money. Some looked at me like I was crazy; others just ignored me. Finally, giving up, I slumped down on a cold bench feeling totally defeated. I really had no idea what to do next. With my head hanging down, I noticed that one of my shoes was untied. Great, I thought. All I’d need now is to trip over my shoelace and break my neck. That’d be the perfect ending to this useless trip.

I reached down to tie my shoe when I spotted a brown wallet lying next to the front leg of the bench. I wondered if it could be the wallet that the man in the black coat had lost. I opened it and read the name on the driver’s license inside. Yep. It was his. Then my mouth dropped in awe when I discovered three hundred dollars inside.

I never even questioned what I should do. I knew that I had to do the right thing, so I found a nearby pay phone and made a collect call to the number on the gray business card. The man answered and said that he was still in the mall. He sounded really happy and relieved. He asked me if I would meet him at the shoe store, which happened to be right next to the antique and glass store. When I got there, the man was so excited that he thanked me over and over while he checked to see if his money and credit cards were still there.

I turned to drag myself out of the mall and back home when I felt the man grab my shoulder. Turning to face him, I let him know that I hadn’t taken anything. “I can see that,” he replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a kid like you who would return all that money when he could have taken it without anybody knowing.” Then he opened up the wallet and handed me four twenty-dollar bills, thanking me again.

In great excitement, I leaped into the air and shouted, “Yes!” I thanked him this time and told him I had to hurry and go get my mom a present before the mall closed. I made it to the store just as they were getting ready to lock up. The lady was really nice about it and let me in.

I bought the glass plate and started skating home, grateful that everything had worked out. I found myself whistling Christmas carols as I replayed the evening over in my head. Suddenly, it hit me. I realized that I had been sort of a Christmas angel for the man who had lost his wallet, and that he had been the same for me when I’d forgotten mine. Double angels! I thought. It was another one of those moments when choirs of angels begin to sing and beams of light shine down on you. I knew that I’d never forget this Christmas Eve for as long as I lived.

The next morning, my mom opened my “miracle present.” The look on her face assured me that she really loved it. Then I told her all about what happened when I was trying to get her gift. The story made the plate even more special to her.

Still, to this day, she keeps that green glass plate on our main shelf as a centerpiece. It reminds her of me, of course, but it continues to remind me that amazing things can happen when you least expect them. Especially during that magical time called Christmas.

“Mom, you’re always on the computer!” Laura grumbled.

“No, I’m not,” I defended.

“Every day I come home from school you’re working on the computer.”

“Well, at least I’m here for you!”

My daughter, Laura, at twelve years old, was right. Day after day, in my home office, I would stare into space as my hands typed out the thoughts of a presentation or of research completed for an article. It seemed that my work as a writer and speaker cemented my fingers to the keyboard and my mind to valuable ideas. What Laura did not realize was that during her day away, I’d also be doing a load of laundry, answering incoming phone calls, cleaning up dirty dishes, crunching an editor’s deadline, sorting the family mail, networking and marketing my speaking service. It was only around three in the afternoon that I’d finally collapse at my desk for a few precious moments of deep thought. Then she’d come in from school.

I prided myself on being available to my children. After all, I am a speaker on child behavior and parenting. But Laura’s observation stung my conscience. Her perception of me must have been of a mom who was available but unapproachable. Hardly the image I wanted to project. My relationship with my children is more important than any other career.

“Laura,” I called, “come here a minute.”

Out of her bedroom, Laura strolled down the hall to my doorway. I had decided to have her alert me when I was obsessed with work. I wanted her to have the power to let me know when she thought I was being aloof.

“So you think I’m preoccupied?” I asked.

“Most of the time,” came her honest reply.

After I explained my full schedule and the fact that I chose to office from home to be accessible to her and her sister, I offered Laura this compromise.

“Whenever you feel I’m ignoring you or you need my attention, I want you to hug me,” I said. “Just come up and give me a little hug, and that’ll be our signal that you need me.”

Years later we still have that unspoken sign. I’ve become much more sensitive to my daughters’ comings and goings. And on the days I’m not, Laura gives me a little squeeze to remind me of the real reason I work from home.