Friday, June 15, 2007

Friends are the Gift......God Sends Our Way

~ FRIENDS ~

As we walk our path of life,
We meet people everyday.
Most are simply met by chance.
But, some are sent our way.

These become special friends
Whose bond we can't explain;
The ones who understand us
And share our joy and pain.

Their love contains no boundaries.
So, even we are apart.
Their presence enhances us
With a warmth felt in the heart.

This love becomes a passageway,
When even the miles disappear.
And so, these friends, God sends our way,
Remain forever near.

- Author Lisa Pelzer Vetter

Thursday, June 14, 2007

They Don't Meet but They Were Best Friends...Read Story...Good One

A Friend on the Line
By Jennings Michael Burch

Even before I finished dialing, I somehow
knew I'd made a mistake. The phone rang once,
twice - then someone picked it up.

"You got the wrong number!" a husky male voice
snapped before the line went dead. Mystified,
I dialed again.

"I said you got the wrong number!" came the voice.
Once more the phone clicked in my ear.

How could he possibly know I had a wrong number?
At that time, I worked for the New York City
Police Department. A cop is trained to be curious
- and concerned. So I dialed a third time.

"Hey, c'mon," the man said. "Is this you again?"
"Yeah, it's me," I answered. "I was wondering
how you knew I had the wrong number before
I even said anything."

"You figure it out!" The phone slammed down.
I sat there awhile, the receiver hanging
loosely in my fingers. I called the man back.

"Did you figure it out yet?" he asked.
"The only thing I can think of is...
nobody ever calls you."
"You got it!" The phone went dead for the
fourth time. Chuckling, I dialed the man back.
"What do you want now?" he asked.
"I thought I'd call...just to say hello."
"Hello? Why?"
"Well, if nobody ever calls you, I thought
maybe I should."
"Okay. Hello. Who is this?"
At last I had gotten through. Now he was
curious. I told him who I was
and asked who he was.

"My name's Adolf Meth. I'm 88 years old,
and I haven't had this many wrong numbers
in one day in 20 years!" We both laughed.

We talked for 10 minutes. Adolf had no family,
no friends. Everyone he had been close to had died.
Then we discovered we had something in common: he'd
worked for the New York City Police Department for
nearly 40 years. Telling me about his days there as
an elevator operator, he seemed interesting, even
friendly. I asked if I could call him again.

"Why would you wanta do that?" he asked, surprised.
"Well, maybe we could be phone friends. You know,
like pen pals." He hesitated. "I wouldn't mind...having
a friend again." His voice sounded a little tentative.

I called Adolf the following afternoon and several days
after that. Easy to talk with, he related his memories
of World Wars I and II, the Hindenburg disaster and other
historic events. He was fascinating. I gave him my home and
office numbers so he could call me. He did - almost every day.
I was not just being kind to a lonely old man. Talking with
Adolf was important to me, because I, too, had a big gap in
my life. Raised in orphanages and foster homes, I never had
a father. Gradually, Adolf took on a kind of fatherly importance
to me. I talked about my job and college courses, which I
attended at night.

Adolf warmed to the role of counselor. While discussing a
disagreement I'd had with a supervisor, I told my new friend,
"I think I ought to have it out with him."
"What's the rush?" Adolf cautioned. "Let things cool down.
When you get as old as I am, you find out that time takes care
of a lot. If things get worse, then you can talk to him."
There was a long silence. "You know," he said softly, "I'm
talking to you just the way I'd talk to a boy of my own. I always
wanted a family - and children. You're too young to know how that
feels." No, I wasn't. I'd always wanted a family - and a father.
But I didn't say anything, afraid I wouldn't be able to hold back
the hurt I'd felt for so long.

One evening Adolf mentioned his 89th birthday was coming up.
After buying a piece of fiberboard, I designed a 2' x 5'
greeting card with a cake and 89 candles on it. I asked all
the cops in my office and even the police commissioner to sign it.
I gathered nearly a hundred signatures. Adolf would get a kick
out of this, I knew.

We'd been talking on the phone for four months now, and I thought
this would be a good time to meet face to face. So I decided to
deliver the card by hand.

I didn't tell Adolf I was coming; I just drove to his address one morning
and parked the car up the street from his apartment house. A postman
was sorting mail in the hallway when I entered the building. He nodded
as I checked the mailboxes for Adolf's name. There it was.
Apartment 1H, some 20 feet from where I stood.

My heart pounded with excitement. Would we have the same
chemistry in person that we had on the phone? I felt the first stab of doubt.
Maybe he would reject me the way my father rejected me when he went
out of my life. I tapped on Adolf's door. When there was no answer, I knocked
harder. The postman looked up from his sorting. "No one's there," he said.
"Yeah," I said, feeling a little foolish. "If he answers his door the way he answers
his phone, this may take all day."

"You a relative or something?"
"No. Just a friend."
"I'm really sorry," he said quietly, "but Mr. Meth died day before
yesterday."

Died? Adolf? For a moment, I couldn't answer. I stood there in shock
and disbelief. Then, pulling myself together, I thanked the postman
and stepped into the late-morning sun. I walked toward the car,
misty-eyed.

Then, rounding a corner, I saw a church, and a line from the Old
Testament leaped to mind: A friend loveth at all times. And
especially in death, I realized. This brought a moment of recognition.
Often it takes some sudden and sad turn of events to awaken us to
the beauty of a special presence in our lives. Now, for the first time,
I sensed how very close Adolf and I had become.

It had been easy, and I knew this would make it even easier the
next time, with my next close friend.

Slowly, I felt a warmth surging through me. I heard Adolf's growly
voice shouting, "Wrong number!" Then I heard him asking why
I wanted to call again. "Because you mattered, Adolf," I said aloud
to no one. "Because I was your friend."

I placed the unopened birthday card on the back seat of my car and got
behind the wheel. Before starting the engine, I looked over my shoulder.
"Adolf," I whispered, "I didn't get the wrong number at all. I got you."

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

That's What Friends Do....

Jack* tossed the papers on my desk -- his eyebrows knit into a straight line as he glared at me.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

He jabbed a finger at the proposal. "Next time you want to change anything, ask me first," he said, turning on his heels and leaving me stewing in anger.

How dare he treat me like that, I thought. I had changed one long sentence, and corrected grammar -- something I thought I was paid to do.

It's not that I hadn't been warned. The other women, who had served in my place before me, called him names I couldn't repeat. One co-worker took me aside the first day. "He's personally responsible for two different secretaries leaving the firm," she whispered.

As the weeks went by, I grew to despise Jack. It was against everything I believed in -- turn the other cheek and love your enemies. But Jack quickly slapped a verbal insult on any cheek turned his way. I prayed about it, but to be honest, I wanted to put him in his place, not love him.

One day, another of his episodes left me in tears. I stormed into his office, prepared to lose my job if needed, but not before I let the man know how I felt. I opened the door and Jack glanced up.

"What?" he said abruptly.

Suddenly I knew what I had to do. After all, he deserved it.

I sat across from him. "Jack, the way you've been treating me is wrong. I've never had anyone speak to me that way. As a professional, it's wrong, and it's wrong for me to allow it to continue," I said. Jack snickered nervously and leaned back in his chair. I closed my eyes briefly. God help me, I prayed.

"I want to make you a promise. I will be a friend," I said. "I will treat you as you deserve to be treated, with respect and kindness. You deserve that," I said. "Everybody does." I slipped out of the chair and closed the door behind me.

Jack avoided me the rest of the week. Proposals, specs, and letters appeared on my desk while I was at lunch, and the corrected versions were not seen again. I brought cookies to the office one day and left a batch on Jack's desk. Another day I left a note. "Hope your day is going great," it read.

Over the next few weeks, Jack reappeared. He was reserved, but there were no other episodes. Co-workers cornered me in the break room.

"Guess you got to Jack," they said. "You must have told him off good." I shook my head.

"Jack and I are becoming friends," I said in faith. I refused to talk about him. Every time I saw Jack in the hall, I smiled at him. After all, that's what friends do.

One year after our "talk", I discovered I had breast cancer. I was 32, the mother of three beautiful young children, and scared. The cancer had metastasized to my lymph nodes and the statistics were not great for long-term survival. After surgery, I visited with friends and loved ones who tried to find the right words to say. No one knew what to say. Many said the wrong things. Others wept, and I tried to encourage them. I clung to hope.

One day, the door darkened in my small hospital room and Jack stood awkwardly on the threshold. I waved him in with a smile and he walked over to my bed and, without a word, placed a bundle beside me. Inside lay several bulbs.

"Tulips," he said.

I smiled, not understanding.

He cleared his throat. "If you plant them when you get home, they'll come up next spring." He shuffled his feet. "I just wanted you to know that I think you'll be there to see them when they come up."

Tears clouded my eyes and I reached out my hand. "Thank you," I whispered.

Jack grasped my hand and gruffly replied, "You're welcome. You can't see it now, but next spring you'll see the colors I picked out for you." He turned and left without a word.

I have seen those red and white striped tulips push through the soil every spring for over ten years now. In fact, this past September the doctor declared me cured. I've seen my children graduate from high school and enter college. I've celebrated twenty-two years of marriage with my husband.

In a moment when I prayed for just the right word, a man with very few words said all the right things.

After all, that's what friends do.

- T. Suzanne Eller

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Poem - Why God Made Friends...!!!

God made the world with a heartful of love,
Then He looked down from Heaven above,
And saw that we all need a helping hand,
Someone to share with, who’ll understand.

He made special people to see us through
The glad times and the sad times, too;
A person on whom we can always depend,
Someone we can call a friend.

God made friends so we’ll carry a part
Of His perfect love in all our hearts

— Jill Wolf

Monday, June 11, 2007

What Is A Friend?

A friend is somebody
Who knows you and likes you
Exactly the way that you are.

Someone who's special
And so close in thought
That no distance can ever seem far.

A friend understands you
Without any words,
Stands by you
When nothing goes right.

And willingly talks
Over problems with you
Till they somehow
Just vanish from sight.

And whether you're neighbors
Or live miles apart,
A word from a friend gives a lift
To your heart and spirit.

That shows you once more
Why friendship is life's dearest gift!

- Author Unknown