By Angela Koltes
On a dreary and overcast winter day, I set out with a few friends to spend the afternoon at the nearby school for the blind. It was one of those “any old Sundays” where I was exhausted from the week’s busy schedule and longed for the comfort of my warm bed and the welcoming idea of lounging at home. I had no desire to go outside; after all, almost everyone would be spending time on themselves and taking the day off. But because we had promised to go by the school to give the children a little cheer and fun on a lonely Sunday afternoon, we were obligated to go. On weekends, most of the families of students came to pick up their children, as the blind children boarded at the school during the week. So there were few kids this Sunday, yet each one of them showed their delight at our coming, welcoming us with joyful expressions. We didn’t have much of a plan, but we brought a guitar, shakers, and bongos, hoping to bring some happiness into their seemingly colorless worlds. The children crowded around us, listening to the music and trying to understand where we came from and what we looked like. Some of them had their own instruments, as most of them are musically talented, and they played along, enthusiastically showing us what they knew. In the midst of all the noise and activity I noticed one little short-haired girl sitting shyly away from the other children. I wondered who her parents were and why they hadn’t come to visit such a beautiful little girl. I felt angry, wondering how this child could deserve to be deprived of her sight and made to live as handicapped. While watching her, the first thing that captured me was her bright and radiant smile. “How could this little blind girl, in her sad condition, be so happy?” I wondered to myself. The teacher, who followed my gaze, began to tell us her story. Seda was seven years old and had been through a brain operation two years before. “I could see the trees, the birds, the doctor’s face, everything.” She added, listening to her teacher, “But after I woke up, I couldn’t see anything anymore.” It was as if a rock fell from a high ledge and landed at the bottom of my heart! I could only continue to watch the little girl in silence. “But I am so happy!” she exclaimed, giggling and playing with her hands. “Why are you happy, Seda?” her teacher asked for us. “Well,” she began softly, “Even though I cannot see on this earth anymore, I will be able to see again in heaven—and I am waiting and looking forward to that day.” My eyes filled with tears, and I knew by looking around that my friends shared the same feeling. The rest of the afternoon Seda stuck near me. She grabbed my hand and led me around the school. She sat on my lap and talked about all the food she liked to eat, each vegetable and fruit she enjoyed and why. She found such delight in the tastes and sounds around her, it was as if she had forgotten she could not use her sense of sight. When I drove home that evening, Seda’s face stuck in my mind. What did this girl see in her black world that made her so happy? Later, when I would feel the strain of a difficult workday, whatever I might be going through at the moment, when I thought of Seda, I knew I couldn't complain. Sometimes the dark days we are forced to pass through seem unbearable and we see no shining rays of dawn. We struggle each day while despising what we see around us. Yet I know if I can only strive to think as that little angel did, whose sight had been taken from her, and look toward heaven as she did, I can praise for each day I have been given on this earth. Whenever I am tempted to curse the darkness and criticize what I see around me, that little girl’s smile comes to mind. I think of her faith and I think of the eyes that were given to her to see the daylight of tomorrow, and I know if she can, I surely can too.
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Before you have children, it’s common for many to have high ideals of what kind of parent you want to be, how you want to raise your children, and what goals you want to shoot for. It isn’t long, though, before these expectations are popped by reality. You realize pretty quickly that you can’t be everything for your child, that it’s impossible to be perfect and live up to all the expectations you’d laid out for yourself, that it’s unrealistic to think you’re never going to fail. Forget about perfection. You’re never going to attain it. “Perfect” doesn’t factor into parenthood. So instead of striving to be a perfect parent, which you’ll never be, enjoy being a parent who’s loving, fun, happy, humble, concerned, prayerful, and human. You can love your children to pieces, even if your room is untidy. You can have fun, even if you have baskets of laundry to put away. You can be happy, even if your child is having behavioral problems. You can be humble enough to ask for the help of others, and humble enough to admit that you can’t do everything. Kids love parents who are natural. No child wants a parent who is stuffy, rigid, and a perfectionist. Children enjoy being with those who are fun, and who do interesting stuff with them—and, of course, with those who love them. So be that type of parent. Make your child’s life full of interest, variety, and fun. Everything you will ever teach your child will be better and more easily learned when you have forsaken unrealistic expectations—both for yourself and for your child. Teach your children the thrill of learning. Allow them the rush of exploration. Make room for them to experiment, even if it means that they will sometimes fail. That’s part of growing up. Your job as a parent is to be a guide, mentor, and counselor, and also to lead and help guide and direct them within the choices that they make. Enjoy being a parent. Enjoy your children. Laugh when they laugh. Sing when they sing. Feel their hurts and sorrows with them. Your children will learn to love life if you show them how to. They will learn motivation rather than perfection, if that’s the quality you manifest. This is not something that can be learned in a textbook. If they see it in you, they will want what you have. § Successful parents strive to be the person they want their children to become. There are no formulas for parents. You can’t “program” children like a computer and be guaranteed of the result. But children are great observers and imitators. They watch, listen, and absorb values and habits from the people who have the greatest influence on them—their parents. So successful parents resolve that they will set the best example they can for their children. § Successful parents enjoy being parents. They enjoy parenting not because it’s easy or instantly rewarding, but because of the sheer joy and privilege of cooperating with God in shaping another unique and precious life. Any parent of grown children will tell you “they grow up so quickly.” Successful parents remind themselves of that and try to savor every day with their children. They immerse themselves in their children as much as possible and just enjoy them—even the days of dirty diapers, illness, and disappointments. They don’t just love their children, they like them and look forward to spending time with them. § Successful parents don’t expect perfection, either from themselves or their children. Parenting is an art, not a science. Successful parents understand that, like themselves, their children aren’t perfect either. This frees them to love their children unreservedly. § Successful parents don’t fear occasional failures. They understand that mistakes are a normal, even healthy, part of parenting. They make the best decisions they can, and when they’re wrong, they learn from their mistakes and try to do better the next time. § Successful parents don’t expect to have smooth sailing. Children have their own opinions, personalities, and preferences. Inevitably, they cause us to say, “Where did that come from?” or “What were you thinking?” Our responsibility to provide them with limits and guidance will sometimes clash with their growing desire for independence. Successful parents aren’t surprised by difficulties and conflicts; they expect them. But successful parents understand that their responsibility to their children is not to always please them or make them happy—it’s to make the hard decisions that will be for their best in the long run. § Successful parents don’t go it alone. No one has the experience or answers to every parenting challenge. Successful parents aren’t reluctant to seek out the wisdom of others. They know that, at the end of the day, the decision is theirs, but before they get there, there is plenty of wisdom along the way waiting to help them. § Successful parents try harder. They face the same pressures we all do—demanding jobs, spouses, and children who need them. But they live by this rule: “You get back what you put in.” They have a clear sense of priority for their family and are willing to put in the time to achieve it. They give more than the “average parent” so their children will be more than just “average children.” These parents work at nurturing and developing themselves to be the best parents they can be. (Richard Patterson, Jr. Confident Parenting in Challenging Times. Tekna Books. 1999) Photo copyright (c) 123RF Stock Photos “Miserable!” That was the only way to describe how I was feeling that day. My husband had had to travel—again!—and there I was alone with our four children. Finances were low, my health was bad, and my teenage daughter was going through a crisis. I prayed—oh, how I prayed!—that Jesus would make things a little easier to bear. Looking out my window at a grove of trees swaying in the gentle breeze, I noticed a little squirrel, squeaking away as he climbed up and down the trees, seemingly without a care in the world. I envied the little fellow. My squirrel chose that moment to change tactics. Instead of running up and down the trees, he started hopping from one tree to the next. He jumped over to the last tree in the cluster, and then looked at one more tree that stood apart from the others. He seemed to be deliberating. I mentally measured the distance between the squirrel and that tree, and it seemed two or three times as far as he had been jumping. Here was a massive challenge. “You can’t be serious, little fellow!” I muttered. But he wasn’t looking for my advice. He ran the length of the branch a few times, squealing frantically. Then he stopped and eyed the distance once more, crouched, and leaped. I wanted to turn my eyes away. Surely this was going to end badly! But no! He flew across that immense span and landed in the other tree with the grace and glory that come from knowing one is meant to perform such feats. He chattered in victory and scampered farther up the tree, as if to his reward. I knew then what had been missing. I had been so busy looking at my problems—measuring the distance between the trees—that I was afraid to let go and sail to the other side. I had lost my faith in my maker, my Savior, my best friend. As I watched the squirrel, now merrily chattering away in the treetop, I knew that Jesus had answered my prayer—not through a spectacular miracle, but rather the example of a happy little squirrel. The same God who took care of him was going to take care of me. Excerpted from Activated magazine. Used with permission. I was watching some little kids play soccer. These kids were only five or six years old, but they were playing a real game, a serious game. Two teams, complete with coaches, uniforms, and parents. I didn’t know any of them, so I was able to enjoy the game without the distraction of being anxious about winning or losing; I only wished the parents and coaches could have done the same. The teams were pretty evenly matched. I will just call them Team One and Team Two. Nobody scored in the first period. The kids were hilarious. They were clumsy and earnest as only children can be. They fell over their own feet, stumbled over the ball, kicked at the ball and missed it, but they didn’t seem to care.—They were having fun! In the second period, the Team One coach pulled out what must have been his first team players and put in the scrubs, with the exception of his best player, who he left at goalie. The game took a dramatic turn. I guess winning is important even when you are five years old, because the Team Two coach left his best players in, and the Team One scrubs were just no match for them. Team Two swarmed around the little guy at goalie. He was an outstanding athlete for five, but he was no match for three or four who were equally as good. Team Two began to score. The lone goalie gave it his all, recklessly throwing his body in front of incoming balls, trying valiantly to stop them. Team Two scored two quick points in succession. It infuriated the young boy. He became a raging maniac, shouting, running, and diving. With all the stamina he could muster, he finally was able to cover one of the boys as he approached the goal. But that boy kicked the ball to another boy twenty feet away, and by the time the young goalie repositioned himself, it was too late. They scored a third goal. I soon learned who the goalie’s parents were. They were nice, decent-looking people. I could tell that his dad had just come from the office, tie and all. They yelled encouragement to their son. I became totally absorbed, watching the boy on the field and his parents on the sideline. After the third goal the little kid changed. He could see it was no use; he couldn’t stop them. He didn’t quit, but he became quietly desperate. Futility was written all over his face. His father changed too. He had been urging his son to try harder, yelling advice and encouragement. But then he changed; he became anxious. He tried to say that it was okay to hang in there. He grieved for the pain his son was feeling. After the fourth goal, I knew what was going to happen. I’ve seen it before. The little boy needed help so badly, and there was no help to be had. He retrieved the ball from the net and handed it to the referee, and then he cried. He just stood there while huge tears rolled down both cheeks. He went to his knees, and then I saw his father start onto the field. His wife clutched his wrist and said, “Jim, don’t. You’ll embarrass him." But the boy’s father tore loose from her and ran onto the field. He wasn’t supposed to, for the game was still in progress. Suit, tie, dress shoes and all, he charged onto the field and he picked up his son so everybody would know that this was his boy. And he hugged him and kissed him and cried with him! I have never been so proud of any man in my life. He carried him off the field, and when they got close to the sidelines I heard him say, “Son, I’m so proud of you. You were great out there. I want everybody to know that you are my son." "Daddy,” the boy sobbed, "I couldn’t stop them. I tried, Daddy, I tried and tried and they scored on me." "Scotty, it doesn’t matter how many times they score on you. You’re my son, and I’m proud of you. I want you to go back out there and finish the game. I know you want to quit, but you can’t. And son, you’re going to get scored on again, but it doesn’t matter. Go on, now.” It made a difference.—I could tell it did. When you’re all alone, you’re getting scored on, and you can’t stop them, it means a lot to know that it doesn’t matter to those who love you. The little guy ran back on to the field. Team Two scored two more times, but it was okay. Do you have a child or teenager who is facing physical or mental challenges? This post by Greg Lucas is sure to encourage your heart. It also gives valuable insight into how to be a better parent and maintain your sanity while facing the difficult challenge of helping a disabled child. And even if you do not have the responsibility and privilege of caring for a child with special needs, this post had beautiful insight and hard-earned perspective that you will not want to miss!
By Megan Dale It was 6:30 am. I had gotten up to go to the bathroom, only to be met by the sight of a rained-out world on a day our extended family had planned to go on an outing together. I didn’t mind the rain much. Heaven knew our bit of Southern California needed it. On my way back to bed I paused and looked out into our garden to see a fat little brown bird hopping around, eyeing the soggy earth in hopeful expectation of finding a meaty feast in the form of a hapless almost-drowned worm. At the moment I felt like that poor worm. The months previous had seen dark clouds slowly gathering over our little family. Our young son was facing developmental delays that affected his happiness on a daily and sometimes hourly basis in the form of frustrated, heart-wrenching tantrums. He often even awoke in the middle of the night crying out. When he was himself, he was a sweet, sensitive, affectionate, and delightful little boy. But we needed to know more about his challenges so we could better meet his growing needs, and we needed to know now, while he was still young and malleable, before the secondary and sometimes more tragic effects of low self-esteem and depression entered his tender little life as a result of his challenges. To make matters even more challenging for us, four days earlier my husband and I had received the news that his place of employment would not be available for much longer, and as a result we would have to find a new job and a new house. In the past I had always leaped with dizzy anticipation into the arms of an unknown future, hopping the globe and chasing my destiny wherever the breeze seemed to blow me. But now I cowered in the face of such a major change coming right at this crucial time in my son’s life. Four days had seemed like four years as I clung hour by hour to some straw of hope, usually in the form of a Scripture or quotation, in the midst of the deluge. So many great men and women down through the ages faced dark and trying times, and lived to write anecdotes or poems or hymns about them, and I clung to each one now. Sometimes I quoted one line over and over, like a mantra, just to keep my presence of mind as I continued to care for my children and tend to household duties. It was working, too. Standing in my doorway, looking at that little brown bird, I heard the voice of comfort I have come to know so well as my Savior’s. “You’re not the earthworm, dear, but the bird. The rains and storms that I have allowed to fall on your world have provided for you a feast that you would otherwise have to dig for.” Suddenly my perspective changed. Jesus was bringing about a spiritual feast in our lives through this seemingly dark and dreary time. Treasures we would normally have to dig for were coming to the surface, the special gifts of greater closeness to each other, greater love and appreciation for our friends and family, and a fervent desire to commit my daily needs and fears to Jesus in prayer. Has the rain stopped? Not yet. Many challenges still lie ahead of us on all fronts. But we will remain bright and happy little birds even through the rain, because odd as it may sound, we’re feasting on worms! P.S.: As if on cue, the day after my rainy day revelation, our neighbor’s eight-year-old bounded up to me and held out a handful of wiggly worms. “There’s tons more in the leaf pile if you want some,” he suggested. That’s okay. I’ll stick with the metaphor. ***** Shaken by Life’s Changes Helping our children through their growing pains changes us nearly as much as it does them. When those dearest to us go through upheavals, it affects us too. We can’t escape changes, but we can learn to make the most of them. Here’s how: § Identify the issues. Separate the aspects you have some control over from those you don’t, and commit all aspects to God, who is ultimately in control of everything. § Understand the issues. Differentiate between the practical aspects and the emotional, and deal with each accordingly. Together they may seem overwhelming, but individually they are usually manageable. § Keep an open mind. What you’ve been doing or the way you’ve been doing it may have worked reasonably well so far, but there may be better alternatives. § Enlist God’s help. Circumstances may overwhelm you, but God cannot be overwhelmed. “There are some things that people cannot do, but God can do anything.” That’s the God factor. § Stay positive. Focus on the opportunities, not the obstacles. § Find and give support. Communicate and find ways to make things work out to everyone’s advantage. § Be patient. Progress is often a three-step process—one step back and two steps forward. § Think long-term. “He [God] who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ.” The finest gift you can give anyone is encouragement. Yet, almost no one gets the encouragement they need to grow to their full potential. If everyone received the encouragement they need to grow, the genius in most everyone would blossom and the world would produce abundance beyond our wildest dreams.--Sidney Madwed
* Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.--Dr. Leo Buscaglia * Charles Schwab, the successful businessman, said, "I have yet to find the man, however exalted his station, who did not do better work and put forth greater effort under a spirit of approval than under a spirit of criticism." Everyone wants and needs to be affirmed for his accomplishments. A little boy playing darts with his father said, "Let's play darts. I'll throw and you say 'Wonderful!'" That's what the encouraging person does for others. We tend to become what the most important person in our life thinks we will become. Think the best, believe the best, and express the best in your children. Your affirmation will not only make you more attractive to them, but you will help play an important part in their personal development. —John C. Maxwell (excerpted from the bookBe a People Person: Effective Leadership Through Effective Relationships) * The movie "Stand and Deliver," tells the true story of Jaime Escalante, an immigrant from Bolivia who taught at Garfield High School in inner-city Los Angeles. He accomplished remarkable results with students known to be especially difficult to teach. One story not depicted in the movie was the one about "the other Johnny." Escalante had two students named Johnny in his class. One was a straight A+ student; the other was an F+ student. The A+ student was easy to get along with, cooperated with teachers, worked hard, and was popular with his peers. The F+ Johnny was sullen, angry, uncooperative, disruptive, and in general was not popular with anyone. One evening at a PTA meeting, an excited mother approached Escalante and asked, "How is my Johnny doing?" Escalante figured that the F+ Johnny's mother would not be asking such a question, so he described in glowing terms the A+ Johnny, saying he was a wonderful student, popular with his class, cooperative and a hard worker, and would undoubtedly go far in life. The next morning, Johnny—the F+ one—approached Escalante and said, "I really appreciate what you said to my mother about me, and I just want you to know that I'm going to work real hard to make what you said the truth." By the end of that grade period, he was a C- student, and by the end of the school year, he was on the honor roll. If we treat our children as if they were "the other Johnny," chances are dramatically better that they will, in fact, improve their performance. Someone rightly said that more people have been encouraged to succeed than have been nagged to succeed. This example makes us wonder what would happen to all the "other Johnnies" of the world if someone said something really nice about them. —Zig Ziglar Most adults have looked at a child blissfully enjoying playtime, and have, for a moment, wished they were children again. They look so peaceful, so happy, with hardly a care in the world. Children laugh easily, they enjoy what they do, and they get excited about the simplest things. They generally have minor, very temporary worries that rarely last more than a few minutes or an hour. They likely spend so much more time than you do just being happy and engaged. Why do kids appear to be so much more at peace? Obviously, they have a whole lot less work to do, but that’s not the root of the reason. What gives them so much peace of mind and heart is not so much the absence of work as it is the almost complete absence of fear of the future. The younger children are, the less apt they are to fear the future. As children grow older, they’re introduced to more problems and pressures, and soon they’re worrying a bit about their report card, then they’ll start looking in the mirror and wondering if they’ll be ugly when they grow up. When they start approaching adulthood, the worries about the future mount up, and in some cases begin to overshadow the excitement about the simple things of life. Before they know it, they’re adults with full responsibilities, and many fears and worries. Fear and worry about the future unfortunately becomes a part of the life of an adult, to varying degrees, depending on how much someone is prone to worry. Some people have more responsibility, therefore more to worry about. Others are more apt to fear due to their personalities. Others fear and worry due to negative experiences in the past, but in the end everyone worries on occasion. Everyone has to deal with fears and worries on a regular basis, whether about your work, your children, your health, or your job. Obviously you can’t become so much like a little child that you have no responsibilities or work to accomplish, and you just play “make-believe” all day, but you can still learn from children’s example of living more for the moment and enjoying the simple things in life. Here are some examples of the simple joys of life that are so often overlooked:
Take a nice, deep breath. Take another one. Now take a few minutes and think of happy stuff. Forget your troubles. Forget your day. Appreciate the good things in life. Feels good, doesn’t it? Or if it doesn’t feel good yet, it will as you become more like a child and make it a habit to enjoy the simple things in life. Enjoy life all throughout—not in several short, powerful bursts. Spend time laughing with others and loving them, not bossing them around, working out problems, or competing with them. Love, live—enjoy something every single day. Every day! © TFI. Used with permission. By Marie Claire
About a week before my son Tristan's fourth birthday, I talked with him about how much he had grown up in the past year, how much he had learned, and how proud I was of him for the progress he had made. Then we talked about his birthday and what he wanted to do for his party. As usual, I let him choose what kind of birthday cake he wanted. Last year he chose a "caterpillar" cake, as at the time bugs fascinated him. That cake wasn't too difficult--just a string of crescent-shaped cake pieces with bright, multicolored icing. I expected him to choose something equally simple this year, so you can imagine my chagrin when, after looking through a book with imaginative cake ideas for children, he chose the "knights and castle" cake. I looked at the detailed drawing, read over the explanation, and felt immediately that I had bitten off a bit more than I could chew. But Tristan was sure he wanted a castle cake, knights and all. Before I knew it, his birthday was upon me, and I set to work on the cake. Book in hand, I tried to follow the directions as best I could, but soon realized why there was only a drawing of this castle cake, not a photograph, as with most of the other designs. There was a gulf between concept and finished product, and I was adrift and sinking! My cake was lopsided, the icing didn't stick well, and the turrets weren't equal in height or diameter. I couldn't find any toy knights, so I settled for a Lego figure of a man on a horse. I felt so under pressure and discouraged! Poor Tristan, I thought. He's going to be so disappointed! He's been looking forward to and talking about his knights and castle cake all week, and now look what he's going to get! Things never turn out the way I want them to! Tristan is sure to be one unhappy little boy when he sees his mother's version of his dream cake! I finally finished the cake, adding the final touches as best I could--paper flags, cookies along the top of the walls that were supposed to look like stones but kept falling over at awkward angles, and "grass" made from shredded coconut dyed with food color that somehow turned out a muddy mossy color. I was done, but felt like crying. I cleaned up my mess and decided I'd better let Tristan see the cake, to prepare him for the embarrassing moment when he and his friends would see it at the party. As Tristan entered the room, I studied his expression and prayed for just the right thing to say to cheer him up and help him not to take it so hard. Tristan's eyes widened and, to my surprise, a huge smile spread across his face. "Wow, Mom! It's so cool!" he exclaimed. "It's just what I wanted!" I nearly burst into tears as he went over to the cake, inspected each part, and said it was exactly the way he wanted it to be. Then he ran over and hugged me, thanked me for making it for him, and lifted his hand to his mouth as if to tell me a secret. I bent over to let him whisper in my ear. "I love you!" he said, and then ran off to tell his friends about what he'd just seen. After he left the room I sat there a while, thinking about what I'd just experienced. In those few minutes I was taught a lesson that can take a lifetime to learn. How many times had things in my life turned out differently than I had hoped or imagined? How many times had my dreams seemed to turn out a little lopsided, distorted, with pieces missing? How many times had I questioned God and not fully accepted or appreciated what He had done for me? Oh, that I can learn to see life through the eyes of a child--full of faith, hope, love, and positiveness, instead of seeing the imperfections. Oh, that I can learn to see the good and the wonder of it all. I stayed in that magic moment as long as I could. Drinking in the scene of that misshapen cake before me and the fresh memory of Tristan's sweet reaction, I asked God to forgive me for my recent negative outlook on life and to help me see things the way my son had seen that cake. Then a funny thing happened. As I stared at the cake, it took on a cartoon quality and I actually began to like it! Best and most important, Tristan liked it. It was his birthday, after all. Originally published in Activated Magazine. Used with permission. By A.A. I was a scrawny, asthmatic eight-year-old living in India with my family in the early 1980s when an old family friend visited and informed me with a smile that she had taken care of me when I was a baby. I felt a special link with her. As she reminisced with my parents, I knelt behind her and silently braided her honey-colored hair. It was my first attempt at braiding, and it turned out quite loose and unsymmetrical. But when I finished and I asked her how she liked it, she felt the back of her head and said, "It's lovely! And it's much more comfortable in this heat. Thank you for doing that for me." An eight-year-old who thought she wasn't very good at many things gained a sense of worth and learned the reward of helping others in little ways. A year or two later, also in India, we went for an all-day outing up a local "mountain" with a thousand stone steps. My asthma forced me to rest often, but it was worth the effort. When we reached the top, we explored a fascinating old museum that had once been a magnificent palace and observed the lifestyle of bygone Indian royalty in the carefully preserved, fully furnished rooms and lush, immaculately kept gardens. The next day our teacher asked us to write an essay about our excursion, and I became completely absorbed in painstakingly documenting every event of the day—the hike up the mountain, the monkeys we met on the way and how they took peanuts from our hands and ate them, the massive statue of a fierce warrior at the entrance of the palace, and every detail of the palace itself. I was pleased with my essay and so was my teacher, but she gently explained that it's usually better to not begin every sentence with "then." She suggested some alternatives, and I liked the way they sounded. Such constructive criticism and collaboration were new concepts to me, but the encouragement and help I received that day steered me toward a fulfilling career in writing and editing. So whether you're are a parent, teacher, caregiver, or "bystander," never underestimate the influence you have on the children who share your world. Sometimes all it takes is an approving smile or an encouraging word to change a young life, and the love you give will come back to you. What many people fail to realize is that the world of tomorrow is what the adults of today make it, according to what they choose to give or not give the next generation. —David Brandt Berg Courtesy of Activated magazine. Used with permission.
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