If You Can Dream It...

A very wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art. They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael. They would often sit together and admire the great works of art. When the Vietnam conflict broke out, the son went to war. He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier. The father was notified and he grieved deeply for his only son. About a month later, just before Christmas, there was a knock at the door. A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands. He said, "Sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly. He often talked about you, and your love for art." The young man held out his package. "I know this isn't much. I'm not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this." The father opened the...

One day, as usually was the case, a young waif, a little girl, stood at the street corner begging for food, money or wathever she could get. Now this girl was wearing very tattered clothes; she was dirty and quite disheveled. As it happens, a well-to-do young man passed that corner without giving the girl a second look. But when he returned to his expensive home, his happy and comfortable family, and his well-laden dinner table, his thoughts returned to the young waif and he became very angry at God for allowing such conditions to exist. He reproached God, saying, "How can you let this happens? Why don't you do something to help this girl?" Then he heard God in the depths of his being respond by saying, "I did. I created You!"

A woman, renewing her driver’s license at the County Clerk ’s office was asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation. She hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself. ”What I mean is,” explained the recorder, “do you have a job or are you just a……?” “Of course I have a job,” snapped the woman. ” I’m a Mom. ” “We don’t list ‘Mom’ as an occupation, ‘housewife’ covers it,” said the recorder emphatically. I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our own Town Hall. The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient and possessed of a high sounding title like, “Official Interrogator” or “Town Registrar.” ”What is your occupation?” she probed. What made me say it? I do not know. The words simply popped out. “I’m a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations .” The clerk paused, ball-point pen frozen in midair and looked up as though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly emphasizing...