Excerpt

Chapter 1

He was hungry…

Find your passion

Knick’s Story:

He could devour a bowl of cat food with lightning-quick speed. His appetite was endless. His hunger knew no bounds. He begged without ceasing for his next meal. He would gobble up nearly anything he could find. His name was Knick-and he was unlike any cat I had ever met.

I had wanted a cat for many years, but due to living in rental properties throughout our marriage, it was never possible. Then in April of 1992 we bought our first home. We were there about a month when it suddenly dawned on me-”I can get a cat!”

So on that warm Sunday afternoon in May, I announced it to my husband Doug. “I’m going to get a cat.”

“That’s nice,” he lazily replied, not wanting to be distracted from his television watching. Grabbing my purse and car keys, I headed for the door.

“Hey-where are you going?!”

“I told you-to get a cat.”

“Well yeah, but I didn’t know you meant right now.”

“Yes, right now. I’ve been playing long enough with strays on the sidewalk. I’m going to the Humane League.”

Out of a litter of 9, he and his brother were the only two left. One a darker gray tabby, one lighter. I considered taking them both, but given the encouraging send-off from my spouse, I decided I best stick with just one. I chose the darker one. Off we went, he riding contentedly in his little cardboard box, me gleeful with joy at my first adult-owned pet. My little bundle of fur was 2 months old and could fit in the palm of my hand.

After a brief look around at his new environment, my little kitty strode toward the living room, ringed-tail held ramrod straight, as if he owned the place. He quickly found a seat on the back of the sofa and curled up for a nap.

Doug, still engrossed in his TV viewing, said, “Well, my New York Knickerbockers are playing the Chicago Bulls in the 7th game of the Eastern conference semi-finals-we can name him Knickerbocker-Knick for short. Maybe it will bring them luck.” The Knicks lost 110-81.

Not knowing any better, I thought Knick could be one of those self-feeding cats. So I filled his little bowl with Kitten Chow(tm) and he ate from it. But when I began to prepare my own supper, suddenly I felt something crawling up the back of my pants, meowing its little head off. Upon being extricated from my leg, the little guy went up a few stairs near the stove, craning his neck high in the air to get a whiff of steam from the water I was boiling. “My gosh-what do you know about food?! You’re barely off mother’s milk!”

Doug made the unfortunate decision to take his dinner to the couch with him-within paw’s reach of a certain little cat. One foot in the grilled cheese sandwich and a loud human cry later, my spouse’s supper was in the trash.

“You didn’t need to throw away the ENTIRE sandwich,” I chastised.

“He stepped in it!”

“O relax, he’s a kitten-you’ll have this.”

We quickly learned that Knick lived to eat. He’d wake up from a nap-he’d eat.  He’d use the litter box-he’d eat. I’d go to the bathroom-he’d eat. I also learned that self-feeding (or more like continual-feeding in his case) was not going to work. So began our routine of regimented, portion-controlled meals.

As Knick grew in age, he also grew in stature. Thankfully he had a large frame with which to support his ever-growing bulk, but it was still quite evident that in spite of our regimented feeding schedule, our boy had a weight problem. This did not go unnoticed by his vet. Dr. Bill suggested that we start Knick on “light” cat food. He gained 4 pounds. Several years later, we moved to prescription diet food and our “Maxipuss” eventually slimmed down.

In his prime, Knick was quite the physical specimen. Standing at the dining room table, he could rest his large, round head on top of the surface with two massive gray paws framing his face. Tipping the scale at 18 pounds, his unending appetite never diminished.  Knick knew the routine-he got fed 3 times per day. When I got up at 6 AM, when I returned from work at 5 PM and before bed at 10 PM. But that did nothing to deter the furry fellow from asking for his bowl to be filled at any other time as well. I know cats spend much of their time sleeping, but with Knick it almost seemed more like something to do to pass the time while waiting for his next meal. When he woke up from his nap, he was certain that it would be feeding time again.

When it wasn’t, he voiced his displeasure quite vigorously-and continuously. Many evenings, once Doug and I were in our assigned places watching television, Knick would take his place at the end of our long living room. There he’d sit, plump body forming a perfect triangle, asking over and over again in full voice. “Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow…” He could literally keep that up for hours on end in spite of us never giving in. His persistence was admirable. I must admit, however, it was also highly annoying.

Mostly I just felt sorry for him. Those large gold eyes kept a constant vigil fixed on my every move. If I made even the slightest twitch that gave the appearance of leaving the recliner, he’d stand to his feet, ready to run towards his beloved rose-colored bowl. If I actually did get up, say to use the bathroom, or perhaps to get myself a snack, his reaction increased ten-fold. “MEOW, MEOW, MEOW…”

“No Knickie, it’s not time yet.”

After dutifully accompanying me to whatever task I might have completed, he’d once again assume the position-both in posture and voice.

Knick’s passion for food was unstoppable, no matter the circumstances. One time, after returning home from surgery to have a cyst removed from his leg, he immediately went to his dishes in spite of his post-anesthetic stupor. Of course we gave him a small snack-comfort food after his medical ordeal. In he went with his usual vigor-and more noise than I would have ever thought a cat could make, especially while eating. “MAU, MAU, MAU, MAU, MAU, MAU, MAU…” It was a combination of “Meow” and “Ow” rolled into one-at an unbelievable volume!

After finishing off the food, he dove into his water dish-almost literally. Still groggy, his head fell forward into his bowl and we seriously thought he might drown.  But he just needed to wash down his meal. After that, he began to take a few wobbly steps into the kitchen. Getting no further than the stove, he paused to look back. Eyes still glazed over, he gave his wanderings a second thought. “I better not stray too far from here.” Making it back successfully to his feeding area, our sweet Knickie curled up for the night, his precious dishes not more than 2 feet in front of him.

Our feline was checked medically for any sort of chemical imbalance or thyroid issue, but nothing was found. He was simply hungry-all the time. Poor Knick was so desperate he would eat anything he could find, including fuzzies and even his own shed toenails!

Knick also had quite a penchant for plastic grocery bags. We never figured out if it was the lingering smell of food, or what it was, but he absolutely loved crawling inside the bags-and LICKING the insides of them! Sitting with the bag entirely covering his body, he’d slurp away, round cat face pressed tight against the side of the bag, pink tongue licking madly at the plastic. (Knick enjoyed other activities with plastic bags as well, but that’s for another chapter.)

In addition to non-edibles, Knick also took advantage of every available opportunity to obtain any sort of “people” food, even though we were very diligent in never purposefully sharing our bounty with him. Doug had an unfortunate habit of leaving the table in the middle of his meal, and “you know who” never missed the chance at an unmanned plate.

One night I had made little mini-pizzas out of pita bread. Sure enough, Doug left his place for some reason, and upon return, there he was. Seated in the chair, his large, gray head resting just above the table-with a small rectangle of cheese pizza dangling from his lips. Although he never really had a full slice, pizza was definitely on our boy’s top ten food list.

One evening I made the mistake of placing an empty carry-out box next to our sturdy wooden trash can, the box wedged tightly between the wall and the can. A loud crash later, I arrived to find one large tabby standing in the middle of the folded cardboard, licking grease as quickly as his rough-edged tongue could carry him.

On another occasion, the boy swiped a piece of pork chop fat. I found him under the table, lips smacking, slobber flowing, as he tried in vain to get it chewed and swallowed before it was too late. Thankfully I was able to reach into his mouth and extract the piece before it had the chance to get lodged in his little kitty throat.

One of our favorite Knick stories involves his once in a lifetime opportunity to gorge himself with absolutely no end in sight. We kept some food in a plastic container in the kitchen closet to use day to day, but we always kept the bag of cat food on the basement steps, behind closed doors and out of kitty’s reach.

For some reason on that fateful day, I brought a brand new 20-lb. bag home and left it in the mud room, right inside the back door. Later, I went away for the evening, leaving Knick in my capable husband’s hands. Looking back on it, Doug says that he hadn’t seen much of him that evening, and assumed that he was sitting on his table in the back room, awaiting my return. To him, the only sign of Knick’s presence that night was the large pile of vomit that he left in the kitchen at one point.

Needless to say, I was taken aback when I walked through the back door a few hours later. There he was-in full glory-sitting in front of his bag of Heaven-large round hole chewed and clawed through at PERFECT feeding height-eating to his heart’s content!! Already gapping and swallowing as fast as possible, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the gig was up, Knick increased his pace, if it was even possible, the second he saw me coming.

Of course, my first instinct was to yell. “Doug!!!” “Do you know what he’s doing?”

“What? No-I know he threw up.”

“How could you not know he was doing this?!”

Meanwhile, Knick was continuing his inhaling.

Quickly I grabbed some tape and worked on sealing off his opening, all the while needing to fight against his furry face even more furiously trying to get some last morsels before his feeding frenzy was over.

That night convinced me that Knick truly had no satiation point. I honestly believe he would have ate and puked and ate and puked until he finished off the complete bag if I hadn’t returned home. It goes without saying that that was the last time I forgot to put the new bag of cat food away.

My Story:

So what can we learn from Knick’s insatiable appetite? Well certainly he shows us what passion looks like. His desire and drive for food was unstoppable.

I had never been a particularly passionate person. Doug would often ask me, “What are your hopes, your dreams? What’s your passion?”

And my response was usually, “I don’t know. I just kind of go with the flow. Yeah, I have some ideas of things I’d like, but overall I’m pretty content just seeing what each day brings.”

He would just sigh and shake his head.

Unfortunately, that blandness began to carry over into my spiritual life as well. I’d been a Christian since I was a child, and my faith really grew during my college years.  But after settling into marriage and a job, my relationship with Christ began to get stale.

If you had asked me, I certainly would have said that I loved God-and I did! But I thought the real spiritual way of living was kind of reserved for pastors or other church staff. I thought it was a little too much for regular people like me. Besides, I thought, they do that church stuff all week long-that’s their job-so of course they’re going to be closer to God than the rest of us.

That seemed like a good theory to me-until I saw Doug really starting to grow spiritually. Then I was kind of getting stuck. I found myself in this in-between place where I was feeling more and more uncomfortable. I thought, “I’m okay with how I’m living, aren’t I? Can I really get that excited about God? I’m not sure I want to go there; that just seems a bit too fanatical for me.”

But then God stepped in and gave me revelation and He changed my heart. He helped me to see that along with my husband, some of my friends were going on in a deeper relationship with Him and that our church was moving ahead as well. I thought, “Gosh, I do not want to be stuck in this wishy-washy, kind of halfway-there, lukewarm Christianity.” I knew that I could no longer sit on the fence.

So on July 6, 1997, I decided to give myself fully to Christ and seek Him with a hunger like never before. It was amazing! I understood in a way that I never had before that I was a sinner and that I really was not good enough on my own. For the first time in my life, I finally understood why I needed Christ. The road after that decision has not been easy by any means, but I’ve never looked back. God honored my choice and put me on a path of which I never would have dreamed.

Finally-I had some understanding of passion.

Your Story:

What is your passion? Do you even have one? Or are you like I was, living a blah, kind of day to day existence? If you do know your passion, how vigorously are you pursuing it? With the same fervor and drive that Knick desired food? What if you did? How would that decision impact your life as well as those around you?

One of the Beatitudes says, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.” (Matthew 5:6, NIV)

What if you pursued God with the kind of passion that Knick had for food? What might our world look like if all of us had even a small portion of that kind of hunger for righteousness? The best part is that Scripture promises that if we do this, we will be filled, unlike poor Knick’s ever-present hunger. But his laser-focused drive and determination can give us a picture of what that type of “hunger” might look like.

God is looking for believers with passion. He wants followers who will love boldly, serve energetically and follow Him fully. Our Lord despises half-heartedness.

Revelation 3:15-16 (NIV) states, “I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm-neither hot nor cold-I am about to spit you out of my mouth.”

Those are strong words and we would do well to take them seriously. I greatly encourage you to take an honest look at your relationship with God. Are you leaving a bad taste in His mouth because of your tepid lifestyle?

You have no idea what far-reaching plans God may have in store for you. But in order to find out, you need to begin or continue the process of discerning and following your passion. If you’re content to continue in your bland existence, not understanding your purpose in life, you’ll never fully experience all that God has for you.

Our greatest desire should be the pursuit of our relationship with Christ. Then from that passion will flow our gifts, talents and opportunities to serve and bless others in the way that He is calling us. But in all of this, there needs to be a balance. As we discovered with Knick, his appetite for food was so strong that it was actually unhealthy for him. He became overweight and also proved that he would literally eat himself sick if given the opportunity.

As vital as it is to pursue your dreams and desires, there also needs to be some perspective. When the pursuit of something becomes all encompassing and the drive towards that goal, whatever it might be, becomes your only focus, it’s time to take a step back and reevaluate.

Are you pursuing your career with so much passion that you’re neglecting your relationship with your spouse and children? Is your desire for money greater than your longing for spiritual riches? In your fervor for giving and serving others, even through service in the church, are you inattentive to your health or your own family’s needs?

No matter what our passion or pursuit-if it’s out of balance-we’re not helping anyone. We need to constantly be checking our motives, desires and actions to insure that they remain pure and focused on the ultimate goal.

Jesus said that the greatest commandment is to “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.” Then to “Love your neighbor as yourself.” (Matthew 22:37-38, NIV)

Let those commandments be your guide.

If you’ve never entered into a relationship with Jesus, all you need to do is ask. One sincere “Meow” will do it. Acknowledging your sins and Christ’s death and resurrection in paying the penalty for them is all that’s needed. And you can begin the adventure of a lifetime!

If you’re already a believer, but have lost your passion somewhere along the way, it’s never too late to rekindle the flame. I can certainly testify to that. Let your lips water and your stomach yearn for food that will really satisfy. Hunger once again for your first Love with all the determination that your Knick-like soul can muster.

Read more about He Was Never a Cat: Knick’s Story, My Story, Your Story and Patti Tingen HERE.

Copyright 2010 Patti Tingen. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

Attitude of Gratitude

Who said life gets easier as you get older? As I was celebrating birthdays and maturing,it would have made sense for me to use all my skills to achieve an easier, more prosperous life. The truth is that life is tough, really tough. When I was in college, Mom would quite often say, “Life is tuff, T-U-F-F.” Dad said life has its ups and downs. No matter how you spell it, life is T-U-F-F.

Children are told to change their attitude, as though that was the magical way to solve problems. Children don’t know the meaning of such an abstract idea. Many adults don’t know what it means to change their attitude, let alone how to make those changes.

Attitude is perspective, so the purposeful changing of your point of view will change your attitude. As an only child, I went with the flow of life as it was delivered. Perhaps siblings would have made a difference. I don’t know. I thought my attitude was mature, just like the adults in my daily life.

Some adults told me I was too negative. I guess they thought it would help to change my attitude if they continued to criticize me. I took it as disapproval and reprimand, reinforcing my feelings of inferiority.

Now I wish I had asked them exactly what they wanted me to do. I thought it must be true, I must be extremely negative. Looking for the up side, the positive side, the happy side, became a fundamental goal. If only I could change my attitude, I would have the good life! I would be so grateful to be a happy, up-beat person. What is an attitude and how do I change mine? I wanted to be perfect — for others.

Problems are opportunities! That’s how we learn our greatest lessons, get on the course to make changes, and mature. When I look back at the opportunities my problems have handed to me, I can see how I developed into the person I am now.

Eventually, I came to understand the difference between being negative versus being positive. It’s an inside job, which gives feelings of satisfaction or discontent. Today is the most positive I’ve ever been in my life. I do look for the smiling approach to everything, from everyone. I’m grateful every time I recognize the optimism in my life.

Changing to a more optimistic attitude has led me along the path to improving my self-esteem, enhancing my confidence, appreciating the good things in life, along with complimenting others and myself. I’m letting others know the unique me by making a constant effort to be true to myself.

Sometimes, peers don’t like it, but as long as I’m being true to myself and not hurting anyone, I intend to stop worrying about what others think about me. How far along the path are you to gaining self-esteem? How do you feel about making changes?

Because of their many responsibilities, adults have worries with serious talks. Children have fun, play, giggle, and laugh. During my childhood, I was surrounded and influenced by adults with their hush, hush conversations, and serious talks about solving problems. I heard them talking, but I never involved myself in their discussions, unless they wanted me to do something for the family. I would stay with my grandmother, Little Bubbie, take her to the doctor, or do other things for the family. These experiences taught me to be a caring and giving person in an adult, responsible manner.

Silver sages know all about attitudes from the people in their lives. I’ve been on the receiving end of an inconsiderate attitude where I wanted to get physically violent with the offender. That is my polite way of saying I wanted to punch his lights out! When I was growing up in Pittsburgh, Pa. I learned to accept boundaries! No physical fighting!

Work was being done in my townhouse complex to tear down the thirty year old, wooden patio fences to replace them with a beige cement concoction. During the process, construction workers dug up half of my patio bricks, piling them in a corner. The bricks were never returned to their original positions. The property manager was insensitive to my plight until I lost patience with him. I insisted upon setting up a face-to-face meeting at my house. During the meeting on my patio, I held firm, relating how I had waited for the promised solution for six months. Will the patio be returned to its original condition this week or next? He took a deep breath, saying he would arrange for it to be fixed the next week. I asked if he was a man of his word. With head bowed, he softly said, “We will see.”

What a clear, obvious answer! The patio was finally restored after three more weeks of confrontations. The property manager never did change his attitude; he was not a man of his word. The townhouse management company was replaced the following year due to constant complaints from homeowners. I’m so grateful I don’t have to deal with that company anymore!

I was under-employed for years, working in an office where one of my co-workers was the obvious favorite. My resentment grew as I saw my high level of experiences and qualifications were not appreciated. I was torn between wanting to be friends with my co-worker and resenting her elevated approval by the head of the company. I’m grateful I maintained a cooperative attitude while keeping my patience. After several years, my persistence paid off. It did improve the daily routine in the office atmosphere. I’m thankful it worked out that my kindness succeeded; by the same token, I was able to be true to the real me.

Persistence is a tough struggle, however it can bring rewards. My life story unfolded with my being a giving person, but when I was out of step with the dynamics at work, fate took over to force me out, to go on my way to more and better opportunities. What does that mean? I was downsized out of the job!

Learning never ends. No matter how much we know, there is always more to learn, especially as our society and technology continue to make enormous progress. It is important to keep up with the modern times. Learning something new every day is exciting. When contemplating buying anything new, like a microwave or computer, I’m grateful to be able to search the Internet to compare styles with prices. The computer has made my life so much easier than when I shopped store to store for the best deal. Today, it would be too exhausting for me to go to several stores to shop.

If you don’t use a computer, be grateful you have the background and experiences that taught you how to get things done without a computer. If you can learn to use the computer, go for it! It’s the most rewarding brain exercise ever invented, especially to keep senior minds active and alive.

So much to learn, so little time! Take every opportunity to show an attitude of gratitude!

Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow!

A Gratitude Journal:

A gratitude journal is a problem-solving tool to clarify thoughts, to enable us to express feelings. A gratitude journal helps me feel more appreciative of my life. Some people like fancy, leather bound books, others, yellow legal pads or notebook paper. My favorite is the very convenient computer.

Similar to writing in a private diary as children do, every night I write down three to five positive happenings from the day that made me feel cheerful and appreciate the day. By ending the day on such a positive note, I wake up feeling optimistic to enable me to look forward to a bright new day.

Here are a couple of lines for you to practice for tonight’s gratitude experience. Create your own style with your own words. This is a starting place for your personal, private journal.

I am grateful for:

___________________________________

___________________________________

___________________________________

_______________________________________________________________________

Read more about Aging Is A Full Time Job and Marcia Casar Friedman HERE.

Copyright 2010 Marcia Casar Friedman. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

Perhaps once upon a time it seemed foolishly idealistic to imagine a truly just and peaceable world. But we are a generation that knows it to be an absolute imperative if our species is to have a livable future.  We’ve learned that garbage dumped off the coast of New Jersey ends up polluting the North Sea, that injustice in the Middle East brings terrorism to new York City, that economic policy in China affects Wal-Mart prices in America, that you can’t stop AIDS in Chicago without stopping it in Uganda.  The planet Earth pays no attention to national boundaries; therefore, outmoded notions of sovereignty must give way to new mechanisms for common security and global well-being.

No group has seen the imperative for new ways of thinking more clearly than those who have seen the Earth from space.  They formed the Association of Space Explorers to alert humanity to what they learned by looking back at our small, blue and green planet floating against the black backdrop of space.  One of them, the American astronaut, Russell Schweickart, wrote: “You go around it in an hour and a half. …You look down there and you can’t imagine how many borders and boundaries you cross again and again and again, and you don’t even see them…hundreds of people killing each other over some imaginary line that you’re not even aware of, that you can’t see.  And from where you see it the thing is a whole and is so beautiful; and you wish you could take one in each hand and say, ‘Look!  Look at it from this perspective, look at that!’…From where you see it, the thing is a whole and is so beautiful….”

…

Humanity’s next great step forward is to cultivate a sense of planetary patriotism, in which we understand ourselves to be citizens not of one country alone, but of Earth.

Read more about TITLE and AUTHOR HERE.

Copyright 2010 Richard Watts. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

Chapter Eleven

A Marriage or a Merry-Go-Round?

A successful marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person.  –Mignon McLaughlin xi

“Dear God, I have a problem. Well, not exactly a problem . . . I’d call it a grave concern. It’s about my marriage. No, I’m not contemplating divorce, although several of my friends have encouraged me to consider it. I’m not there yet; just a little confused. You see, we were so excited on our wedding day…and for some time after. One of our friends told us this was normal because the fairy princess expects to marry the handsome prince and the handsome prince thinks he has married the queen, but after a while reality sets in.

“It took some time for reality to set in for Tom and me. After scrimping and saving for the down payment, we finally moved into our first home. And then, the children came. Two of them…as you know. Don’t misunderstand, we are thankful for all you’ve done for us.

“But then, after a few more years, the chore of daily living settled over us. Occasional squabbles turned hostile. Disagreements about money…vacations…in-laws, and well, you know…sex. We’d always make up. Some times that was the only alternative. But the problems were never completely resolved.

“Now I wonder if we are getting as much out of marriage as we should. I don’t know what more we can do. If it continues like this…feast and famine…hot and cold…war and peace…I’m confused and worried. Is this what marriage is supposed to be—a merry-go- round—or is there more? Anyway, thanks for listening, God.”

If you had to answer that prayer, what would you say? Would you mention that many become confused about marriage because if it doesn’t start out right, it’s got less chance of being right. In the beginning, they imagine days of meaningful activity and nights of togetherness and passion. Along come the kids, mortgage payments, career changes, personality clashes, and arguments over trivialities. Startled, they realize they are going round and round with no goals or objectives other than short term emotional thrills, soon forgotten in the drudgery of daily living.

God’s Attitude About Marriage

Is that what God had in mind when he presented Eve to Adam and pronounced them one flesh? Is he now willing to make concessions? “Whoops. I made a mistake. Those human beings aren’t behaving. I’m going to cut them out of my will. What was Plan B again?”

Nothing of the sort. Take off your shoes; marriage is holy ground. It’s a permanent and sacred union of two personalities who find a physical and spiritual satisfaction with each other which they could not find alone. With Jesus as guide, they navigate lofty mountains and steep valleys, the three of them locked together all the way. Two pilgrims, one leader.

Notice any compromise here? Any uncertainty? A concession, perhaps? God doesn’t compromise when it comes to marriage. He is just as serious about marriage as he is about sin and grace for dope addicts, about love and mercy for murderers, as well as for the thieves and liars who sit in the front row in church.

A Christian marriage is more than an experiment in Let’s-Make-a- Deal. Those locked in the one-flesh contract don’t get a free get-out- of-marriage token when words like thunder shake the house and dirty looks are daggers that cut pride into small pieces. Marriage is a union of a man and a woman founded on mutual respect, a determination to succeed, and a resiliency established through faith in Jesus. They have a rock to cling to, and guidance from someone who knows them better than they know themselves. That rock and guidance are based on a few simple words of Jesus: “Love each other as I have loved you” (l John 15:12).

Just a second! In his final instructions before his passion, wasn’t Jesus simply instructing his disciples how to behave toward one another after he was gone? Plugging that passage into the context of wedding bells and nuptial vows is pushing the envelope too far when it comes to arguments about who’s going to clean the basement, take out the garbage, pick the kids up from school, show up at school functions, or…well…you know the drill.

There’s no stretch here. Jesus sets the love-bar high when he uses the key phrase as I have loved you. Love each other as I have loved you from before you were born, from before the world was set in place, from eternity. Love each other as I have loved you as the apple of my eye. Love each other as I have loved you as the one who humbled himself for you, as the one who died for you, as the one who watches over you night and day.

The Cornerstone of Marriage

The cornerstone of a Christian marriage is neither difficult to describe nor tough to understand. God didn’t say, “Feel good about one another.” He said, “Love each other.” Love each other with a love that indulges itself in the happiness of the other; a love proud to serve and eager to forgive; a love that fulfils its own needs by satisfying the needs of another. Like peanut butter and jelly, a sheep and its wool, a stamp on an envelope, husband and wife come together to become something they could not be alone.

Read more about Talk to Me, God… I’m Confused and Wayne Bartelt HERE.

Copyright 2010 Wayne Bartelt. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

This book is filled with stories of global entrepreneurs who consistently reach across geographical boundaries to deliver breakthrough product innovation.

Steve’s storytelling is significant in that he is also in the trenches, right alongside his co-workers. Whether they be in Russia, Ireland, Israel, India, China, or Egypt, Steve and his co-workers recognize the global opportunity in front of them. No stranger to innovation himself (he is named on 160+ patent applications!), Steve describes a road to reverse innovation that relies on the mentoring and transfer of entrepreneurial skills to global sites.

Innovate With Global Influence is more than a collection of inspiring stories of innovation. It is both an employee handbook and a corporate framework for reverse innovation.

Vijay Govindarajan

Professor of International Business

Dartmouth College

Read more about Innovate With Global Influence and Steve Todd HERE.

Copyright 2010 Steve Todd. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

My Story

Much of my teenage years were spent as the girl on the cheerleading squad who was a little heavier than the rest. I don’t know that I would have been described as fat (though you never know with teenagers), but I was definitely heavier than the other girls and I knew it. Sure, I was a cheerleader, but every time I donned the navy and white uniform I worried someone might laugh. It might also be crucial to mention that I happened to live in the Mecca of incredibly beautiful, insanely wealthy, and perfectly un-plump teens also known as Newport Beach, CA.

Despite my abhorrent eating habits, college was actually much kinder to me with my weight struggles. I’m not sure if it was the cafeteria’s fine cuisine, the distance from my “comforting” father, the penny pinching meals, the copious amounts of liquid courage, or just the fact that I frequented the school’s gym. It was probably a mix of everything (except for maybe the alcohol). I was down to a size 8 and feeling pretty good.

After college, I stepped up the workouts a notch (though I kept up the partying and fast food) and maintained a relatively fit size 8. After a long series of events, I eventually ended up living with my fiance, jobless and depressed. I turned to my longtime comfort: food and simultaneously stopped the workouts. I got a job working 70-80 hours a week on an incredibly measly salary, worked tirelessly to plan my own wedding, and I felt physically awful. I continued to gain weight.

A week after the wedding, my new husband and I moved several hours away to start his business as a chiropractor. Prior to the move, I decided to pursue my love of Pilates and got certified to teach. The previous chiropractor had a small rehab facility that I eventually turned into a small Pilates studio. Working 70-80 hours seemed like a breeze compared to owning our own business, but at least what we worked for was ours. Months went by and I continued to gain weight. Along with the weight gain, I was in a constant fog and chronically exhausted. Doctors told me I was just “depressed”, but I knew there was more to the story. I had historically been more of an optimist and this new depressed state felt more like a symptom of the other symptoms that plagued me rather than the catalyst.

As it turned out, the stress from my whirlwind year (and several years before that!) had wreaked havoc on my adrenal glands and thanks to a Naturopathic Doctor, I started taking an adrenal supplement. My fog lifted, I had the energy to work out again, and I eventually got back to my usual size 8.

About a year later, just after a Christmas party, I peed on a stick and it said “Pregnant.” What?! I had just gotten my body back to “normal” and I was starting to actually feel pretty good. Pregnancy was a whole new ballgame.

For those of you who have never been pregnant, I have to tell you that while some women feel the “glow” of their unborn child in their womb, I just felt like a constipated, beached whale with some massive hormones. My son decided to arrive on his own time, which happened to be very late. I clearly recall stepping on the scale at my last appointment when my midwife exclaimed, “Wow, you’re just shy of 200!”

Did I hear her right? Two-hundred what? My bowling score? Surely she didn’t mean 200 pounds!! I left the office in frustrated, pregnant lady tears.

After my son’s birth, I had secretly hoped he was at least 10 pounds and that at least another 40 was just water. Well, 7 pounds 14 ounces and about a week later, I stepped again on the dreaded scale and realized my worst fear. I was still 185 pounds. I went back to teaching a Mommy and Me class on my son’s 6-week birthday and I thought for sure I was going to die. I was short of breath, my arms and legs quivered, and I thought I might drop my son right in front of the class (all 10 pounds of him). I couldn’t believe how out of shape I felt. As I drove away, I cried again. This time they were frustrated, post-partum tears.

By the time my son was 18 months, after what seemed like an endless and extremely arduous process, I was back into my size 8s. But something felt different. As I began to fit into my old favorite clothes and buy new ones, I began to realize that 8 was definitely not enough.

I had enjoyed studying the personal development masters since I picked up Anthony Robbins Unlimited Power at the ripe old age of 21. I was familiar with the power of affirmations and positive self-talk. For the first time in my life, I looked at my size 8 body and began to see my “self” as a smaller size.

It was then that I was reminded of the story of Roger Bannister. In the 1950′s, there were several men who had attempted to run one mile in less than four minutes. After numerous unsuccessful attempts, it was thought to be impossible. Some runners came extremely close; however, it seemed that 4:02 was the best that was humanly possible.

On May 6, 1954, however, all that changed. That day, at a race in Oxford, Bannister ran the mile in 3:59.4. That day was historic for one main reason: it was now possible to run a mile in less than four minutes.

A mere 46 days later, the record was beaten. In fact, since that day, the record has been beaten several times. Bannister, though the first one to break the time barrier, actually held the record for the shortest amount of time. Once he proved it was humanly possible, it became easier for others to follow his lead.

Though my revelation was not world-record breaking, it was certainly a breakthrough. I was going to do what had never seemed humanly possible. I began to tell myself, “I am so happy and grateful now that I am a size 6″ each morning as I got dressed. I focused mainly on the feelings I would feel if that were, in fact true. As I had never been a size 6 in my adult life, there was a certain amount of detachment from the outcome that I had not felt previously. It was more of a “Wouldn’t it be nice to be a size 6-” rather than “I must, I must-”

A mere 6 weeks after I began this regimen, I headed to my favorite store for a few new summer clothes. As I sifted through the racks, I found myself pulling size 8s to take to the dressing room. When I asked for help with a few things, the sales woman said,

“OK, what are you? A 4 or a 6?” I laughed out loud. I grabbed the 8 and high tailed it for the dressing room. And then something magical happened.

I put on the first pair of adorable, size 8 capri pants. Too big. “They must run large,” I thought. I pulled on another pair, and another…all too big. Could it really be that simple? I walked out of that store a size 6.

Now, don’t get me wrong; I do not claim my transformation was solely the result of my affirmation. There was some nutrition, exercise, and portion control involved, but I now saw my goal as something that was actually possible. So possible, in fact, that I did it again and became a size 4!

I wrote this book so that you too might make a new realization about yourself, about your health, and about what is possible for you. With anything, there will be things that challenge you, but there will also be things that make you feel like you just won the lottery. I will tell you things that may be difficult for you to hear, but I promise that they come from a place of love. I will be your coach and your friend, but I will also give you a push when you are in need of one. You deserve success, you deserve to be healthy, but most of all, you deserve to be happy.

Read more about Mind Over Fatter: The Secret to Thinking Yourself Thin and Erin Tullius HERE.

Copyright 2010 Erin Tullius. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

We all want to be happy and live a peaceful life but every once in a while, the devil will come along disguised as a sheep. The sheep appears to be gentle, kind and loving but in time you find that your good nature has been compromised. After a while you find that the sheep has been clawing away at your good nature while all along trying his best to destroy you, not knowing that love is much more powerful than anger, hate, or deception. The devil is just a lonely, sad and angry being who is only happy when others are brought down to his level. I believe that most people attempt to be good but, we sometimes take rockier paths in life and become lost. We tend to panic when we feel lost because, we are not in control of where we are going and don’t want to end up somewhere unknown to us. It is at that point where we must choose the path we want to take knowing that we make our own decisions in life and must live with the results. We must realize that it is foolish to blame the outcome on others.

When we pretend to be something we are not we are only deluding ourselves. When we are deceived by wolves in sheep’s clothing and we become stronger knowing that the devil didn’t have any power over you because, you were filled with the natural light of  Love that blinded the wolf’s angry vision. Do not let the wolf’s addiction slow you down on your happy trail in life, keep the peaceful spirit and loving thoughts in your heart and you will never have to fear that mean devil. Life is about how we handle challenges, through what we learn from those challenges and how we treat others in our daily lives. Always try to help others and you will be surrounded by Love, but when you come across an angry devil who tries to hurt you remember not to stoop down to his level.  Surround yourself with the family and friends that love and care for you unconditionally.

We all have been deceived by people with mean spirited motives and feel used at times. We may even feel like getting even or settling the score but let me tell you from my own experience, it is never worth it! We should never attempt to stoop to the mean spirited persons’ level in order to feel a few moments of gratification because we will have to live with our actions. I have learned at an early age that the only person who is always going to be there for me at all times is me but, I want to be able to lay my head down on my pillow at night knowing that I did well that day. We learn a lot about ourselves and others when we are under pressure, filled with stress, and in heated situations. We learn that we may have a temper or we may get scared. We may even become defensive or we can overcome that stress from the strength we have from within our inner faith and the love we have for others.

I had a situation with an old friend who made some very bad decisions while using some heavy duty drugs and for this reason lost everything. This friend stopped by late one night punching in my screen windows, while causing a scene trying to wake my neighbors and the individual tried getting into my house.  I overreacted and yelled back at this person making the whole situation much worse. I learned that night that no matter what the situation may be, always try to be calm and try to put yourself in the other persons’ shoes and resolve the situation with a calm attitude or just walk away if possible.

Read more about Life In A Week: What Is Spirituality? and Michael Keller HERE.

Copyright 2010 Michael Keller. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

The Limbo Of Letting Go

I am up in the middle of the night, urged out of bed by a phrase that popped into my head- the limbo of letting go- and now this phrase has me wide awake. I can see an old broom in my mind and can see myself going lower and lower as I struggle to get underneath the broom. Is this not what our journey through life is about?

Society tells us that we must leap over the worldly hurdles of life, vaulting our way to success, but I have found the opposite to be true. God has seen to it that I have learned more by going lower than I ever have by going higher. The ego is hell-bent on leaping higher, but what does it know?

Of course the word limbo also means being in a state of uncertainty, which is where faith is born. One needs no faith in the sun when it is out; only in the darkness do we need faith in the light. Letting go of certainty is a wisdom we are loathe to practice.

If I told you that losing a child to cancer brought me so low that I found God, you would have no trouble believing me. If I told you that it made me no happier, would you believe that, too? God is not about making you happy. He is about making you whole. That He would do whatever it takes for this to happen is the cosmic joke and the final truth.

Wholeness ultimately is the happiest place to be, but we struggle with this for years and years. At least I did. You see, wholeness means that you must reconcile your abject cowardice with your most magnificent courage. You must balance your weak points with your God-given talents, limboing under the broom of the opposites.

When I see someone doing the limbo in my mind’s eye, there is usually a crowd of onlookers clapping and cheering as you see how low can you go. Does this not parallel humility in the face of our daily challenges? Water seeks the lowest spot and we are the ocean.

Cancer has been a dominant theme in my life. Not mine, but my daughter’s, who got it at the age of three and now my husband’s. I have seen God holding out the broom and telling me to go lower on many different occasions. There was no clapping crowd, just me and an old broom of crisis. Can you go under chemo, surgery and radiation? How about death, grief and living in the absence of a beloved child? Go lower. Let go. Limbo lower now.

Letting go is easy when you realize that God is holding the broom, when you see that the God within is up to the challenge that letting go requires. For limbo is not forever, although it may seem that way.

I think that letting go requires only one thing, wholeness. And I am going to tell you how to get there immediately. Choose it. Choose heart over head, humility over height, and you will be healed by a higher power than the mind.

Hannah Hurnard wrote a spiritual classic called Hinds’ Feet On High Places. It is about the journey of a character called Little Much Afraid. She sets out on the journey to the high places, called by The Good Shepherd. Only He doesn’t seem so good to her when He asks that she learn to give love instead of seek it from others. He seems willing to sacrifice her very life for Him. But she begins her journey. He tells her to hold the hands of Sorrow and Suffering, two mysterious women who will help her on the journey.

When Little Much Afraid gets to the High Places, she has been promised a new name and that spurs her on. Ultimately after many challenges she reaches them, only to find that she must cast herself down from the very heights that she has taken such trouble to ascend. She must limbo lower now, as the musical phrase commands.

Of course, she finds that in going lower, she fulfills the purpose of her life- to serve instead of seek the high places. It is a journey of paradox and purpose. It is our journey. When will we go lower by own choice and not have it forced from us?

I am not talking about humiliation; I am talking about humility. Isn’t letting go a form of humility? And yes, we will be forced to do what we do not choose consciously. That is how the game of life is played.

Maurice Nicoll, author of Psychological Commentaries On The Teaching of Gurdjieff and Ouspensky, was a great believer in willingness. He said if you go to something willingly, you win. Choose to go lower, instead of higher. The mysterious limbo broom can heal you of unseen arrogance and many other negativities.

Often God only talks to us when He gets us so low that we are willing to listen. Cancer often brings us to this point, as do many other life-threatening situations. Will we have the faith to live in limbo, letting go and going lower? Because God never breaks a promise to His children. “Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him.” (Job 13:15).

Victory is assured when we choose humility over the ego’s height. You can’t think your way into wholeness; you will be broken in the attempt. Schizophrenic thinking was never meant to heal a broken heart.

These days my heart is being challenged by cancer for the second time in my life. I am honoring the old broom of limbo. Will the battle against cancer be won or lost? That is a wrong question and I am going to suggest a right one. Will the limbo take me lower than I want to go? Of course, it always does, but I know Who is holding the broom.

Read more about LIFE WITH A HOLE IN IT: That’s How The Light Gets In and Vicki Woodyard HERE.

Copyright 2010 Vicki Woodyard. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

It was getting late, and Lyndsey and Emily wanted to go back into the water.  I told them it was fine and I made my way to the edge of the water to watch. They had their boogie boards and they began to ride the waves. I noticed they were getting a little far out, and I told them to come back closer to me.

As I watched them make their way back, I heard someone yelling. I looked around, and saw two women leaning over the edge of the pier, waving their hands and shouting.

It became obvious they were directing their words and motions at me. With the pounding waves, their words were muffled, but the parts I heard sent chills down my back. In broken up pieces, I heard the words, “…girls….out….water…Sharks.”

I began to holler and wave my hands at the girls. I could not see the danger they were in, but someone looking down from above could clearly see two sharks swimming in the vicinity of the girls.

Lyndsey caught my eye and I began to scream, “Get out of the water!” She did not know what was wrong, but I am sure she saw the terror in my eyes. She grabbed Emily and they made their way to the beach.

The women gave me a thumbs up and I nodded and tried to yell, “Thank you.” But all I wanted to do was hold my girls and not let them go. I was shaking as I imagined what could have happened.

We found out later the sharks were pretty bad all week, especially around the pier. The sharks were feeding off the cut fish the fishermen on the pier were throwing back into the water. How ironic. We thought we had found sanctuary in the shade of the pier, but ultimately found danger.

I know God had guardian angels watching over Lyndsey and Emily that day. I am reminded once more how much He cares for His own. No matter what danger or compromising situation we put ourselves in or find ourselves in, He is there watching over us. He is our Protector and Defender.

Read more about Buckets Full of Treasure and Michelle Sink HERE.

Copyright 2010 Michelle Sink. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Excerpt

Once in a while you happen upon a place where out of the blue you feel a peculiar sense of belonging.  It’s a place that somehow mystifies you, a place that keeps calling you back.  My friend Rich says you know when you’ve found such a place because your feet will stop itching.  Rich was right, The 270-mile Long Trail in Vermont became one of these places in my life. At home, after an initial scattering of hikes on the Long Trail, my feet indeed began to “itch.” I was caught unawares. While I ironed clothes, I found myself walking amidst the velvety balsams on Glastenbury Mountain. A tall, cold glass of water became the trickle that clenched my thirst at a spring run-off. The stars seen from my bedroom window in the dead of a black night were the stars I saw from my tiny tent nestled deep in the woods. To my astonishment, this trail did more than call me back-”it grabbed me by the throat and wouldn’t let go.

In the beginning I fell in love with the idea of hiking the Long Trail, never having actually been on it. The closest I probably came was cruising over it in Jonesville on Interstate 89 on the way to Burlington from my home in New Hampshire. My first real glimpse of the trail was on a Vermont state map that I had picked up at a highway rest stop. I noticed a central, red-dotted line running vertically along the entire length of the map and was greatly intrigued. Later I acquired the Green Mountain Club’s Long Trail Guide and, upon seeing the detailed topographic maps, quickly became obsessed with this intriguing, continuous footpath that spanned from one end of Vermont to the other.

I had always been a woodswalker, but it wasn’t until I was in my 30′s that I started getting into backpacking-”meaning lugging some degree of home sweet home on one’s back for days or weeks at a stretch. During that time I was absorbed in a fledging homestead venture and still tangled up in parenthood, so my hiking pursuits had primarily been in the area of New Hampshire’s Cardigan Mountain which sweeps up directly behind my cabin. Being just a “country mile” from the Connecticut River-”our threshold to Vermont-” I figured the Long Trail could expand my tramping horizons nicely.

One morning in early spring after the root crops were planted, I bushwhacked from my cabin up to Mount Cardigan, followed by my four-year-old boy and his dog Sparky. Atop the granite summit of Old Baldy (as she is fondly known), I combed out the mountains to the northwest with a pair of binoculars. On this clear, cold morning I located Camel’s Hump, its discernable summit peeking out amidst the many mountain ranges that lay between us.

“That there is Camel’s Hump,” I said to my son, who was swinging himself around one of the metal legs of the fire tower that is perched on Cardigan.

The youngster, now interrupted from the dream state of his whimsical whirling, stopped himself. “What’s over there, Mom?”

I poured a cup of coffee from my Thermos. “The Long Trail,” I replied. The steam from the piping hot coffee spiraled into the air and momentarily clouded my face as I took a sip. “We’re going to hike the Long Trail.”

“OK, Mom,” the youngster replied, having no idea what I was talking about, and then went back to swinging himself in circles.

Since that chilly morning atop Mount Cardigan, I have put over a thousand Green Mountain miles under my belt, or should I say, under the soles of several pairs of worn-out hiking boots. In 1991 I began an end-to-end hike of the Long Trail with the four-year-old and his dog; sporadically bouncing all over the map with whatever scarce and precious time afforded us. I was promptly stunned by the austerity and isolation of parts of the trail and how the weather in the Green Mountains could quickly become unforgiving. To me, a footpath had been defined as a manicured walkway. There were sections of the Long Trail that cured me of that perception damn fast. But despite the blood, sweat, and tears that were sometimes required by the trail, I could not stay away. I had caught a permanent case of “white blaze fever,” a term coined for those souls who become possessed by following the 2 x 6-inch paint splotches that embellish the trails and keep you on track. There is no cure for the fever.

My son and I hiked under the trail names of Woodswoman and Gnatcatcher. Once home from these early, brief expeditions, I recorded every step in my journal and anxiously planned the next escapement. Even though sometimes it felt like more driving than hiking, I was hooked. For years it seemed my existence was a balancing act between backpacking and homesteading. Both drew me like a magnet and the priorities of each collided constantly. Because we did quite a few overlaps due to travel time constraints, the first, official completion of the Long Trail would span seven years.

Five years into the boy’s and my venture, I had a brainstorm that involved the better portion of my siblings: five sisters committing to a few days each year to hike the entirety of the Long Trail beginning at the southern terminus. To my delight, my four younger sisters took to the white blazes like flies to a cold hamburger. They adopted the trail names of (youngest to oldest) Boonie, Two-Cuppa, Buffie, and Trailblazer. The two end-to-end hikes overlapped for a couple of years, thus the boy and I would revel in the gusty winds atop Jay Peak as we got closer to Canada, and a few weeks later I would be soaking in the views with the sisters atop the Glastenbury fire tower.

Shortly after the millennium’s passing, I had my own, personal Y2K event. It started with a newly-published book titled Forest Under My Fingernails. The author, Walter McLaughlin, had written a comprehensive and wonderfully woodsy account of his thru-hike of the Long Trail. Wow, a thru-hike! Jeesh, would I love to… No, impossible. The gardens, the fruit tree schedules, the appointments, the bills- On top of all that, what kid is going to want to spend a month in the woods with his mother? No, the complete one-month abandonment of farm and family would be impossible.

But the obsession to walk the entire length of the Green Mountain State in one shot wouldn’t lose its grip. After watching Lynne Wheldon’s video, 27 Days, about a Long Trail thru-hike undertaken by four senior backpackers, I was completely seized. During the height of a very productive garden and orchard season, I abandoned it all, threw three packs together, and hit the Long Trail for a solid month with a budding teenager and his dog. (Yep, if the mutt was going to bark the bark, he was going to walk the walk with packs also.) This month-long journey through the woods with my son was a phenomenal experience.

Four years after the 2000 thru-hike, parenting had loosened its grip. I had steadily regained a good degree of my independence, and this recaptured freedom was a delight. No empty nest syndrome here. I had turned 50 and my priorities were shifting fast. It was time to welcome what the last 800 or so miles in the Vermont woods had physically and mentally prepared me for: a solo hike of the Long Trail.

This book is the culmination of all those separate walks. I had a choice of sequencing it chronologically or starting at the southern terminus and following the trail successively to the Canadian border. I decided that as a sketch of the Long Trail, it made the most sense to adopt the latter approach. Each chapter is written from the point of view of when that particular hike was taken. Each chapter is therefore not only a description of that segment of the Long Trail, but is also a snapshot in time of my fruition as a hiker and a person. Throughout the narrative of this incredible “footpath in the wilderness,” the reader can chuckle at my naive beginnings and possibly appreciate not so much how much wisdom I gained by the end, but how hard earned whatever I gained was.

At home, collecting books is my mania and reading them is my entertainment. When I wasn’t actually on the trail, I found that I got a tremendous amount of enjoyment collecting and reading books about the Long Trail and the history of the Green Mountains. As I began writing my account of the Long Trail, I couldn’t resist throwing in snippets from my reading. I hope you will enjoy this sprinkling of lore and the accounts of trail blazers and woods trampers from days long past.

Thanks for sharing my journey.

Read more about Scraped Knees and Mac N’ Cheese, One Woman’s Journey of a Thousand Miles on the Vermont Long Trail and Sandi Pierson HERE.

Copyright 2010 Sandi Pierson. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.