Never give up on yourself

I love this article by Jason F. Wright. He always seems to make me think, lightens my day or inspires me to be better. Yes, we need more authors like him!
Hope you enjoy this... it is a great one!
Good night dear friends!
YOU CAN READ MORE OF JASON'S ARTICLES HERE:

A seventh-grade student sat at his desk fearing the absolute worst. It was Friday, June 8, 1984. It was also the last day of school before summer vacation.
His knobby knees knocked. His heart raced. His palms were so sweaty, he needed a "wet floor” sign next to his desk.
The 13-year-old had slogged through a challenging year at home and, moments earlier, his homeroom teacher had revealed in dramatic fashion that when the report cards were distributed at the end of class, one would show that someone had failed the seventh grade and would be retained.
Someone in the back of the room asked what the word meant. “In this case,” the teacher announced, “retained means he’s going to repeat the seventh grade.”
The young man sat at his desk and wondered how he would ever tell his parents that their son, a student with a history of good grades, had collapsed and would not advance to the eighth grade with his friends.
He’d qualified for the county science fair earlier that year and placed third among hundreds of entries. He’d won awards for his writing and excelled at band. He’d won speech and history contests. But now he was poised to walk up the driveway carrying a report card that weighed more than he did.
Disclosure: I have not researched this story and it hasn’t been fact-checked. So how do I know it so well? Because this is my story.
I, Jason Wright, failed the seventh grade.
I closed my eyes and with my fingertips traced the carved-in pencil slot on the bottom of the slanted desktop. In that moment, I remembered hearing the news that doctors had discovered a tumor the size of a grapefruit attached to one of my father’s kidneys. In the next moment I wondered whether my father would live to see me graduate — not from high school, but from middle.
The teacher began handing out the report cards and I felt my pulse skip and pop like an old vinyl record. I wiped my hands on my Levis and studied my desk until the report card slid into view. I unwound the red piece of string that held the flap closed and removed the tri-fold piece of canary cardstock. At the top of the paper my eyes immediately found the word written and circled in cherry red magic marker: “Retained."
I quickly folded and returned the paper to its envelope, like a body exhumed and returned to its casket. I fought tears, left for the restroom without permission and gazed at my reflection in the cracked mirror with graffiti scrawled in the corners.
I wondered, “Will my parents still love me?”
A few days after the school year ended, I returned with my mother and father to meet with the principal and discuss my options. We learned I could repeat the year, earn satisfactory grades and advance to the eighth grade. Or, I could attend two classes — math and English — at a local high school’s summer school program. If my grades were acceptable, I would begin the eighth grade as if nothing had ever happened.
The discussion was a short one — I would not be retained.
In the car on the way home, in a word picture framed by enormous love and faith, my parents explained how the summer school commitment would be a sacrifice for our entire family. No doubt it would mean a different sort of summer than I’d hoped for.
While I participated in summer school, my friends went swimming at the local pool. While I studied for math tests, the gang from church went to scout camp. While I wrote essays, my best friend spent a week at Virginia Beach.

I learned a lot from my two teachers that summer. I got better at math and learned to solve problems without the help of Texas Instruments. I got better at writing fiction and wrote a lengthy piece that was read aloud in class on our last day of summer school. I got better at balancing home stress and school responsibilities.
I got A’s.
I learned a lot at home that summer, too. I learned that my parents loved me deeply, even though I’d let school slip. I learned my three older siblings believed I was capable of anything. I learned to take more responsibility for my actions and to look inward at problems and upward to heaven for solutions.
I learned to pray.
I sailed through the next year and did well as my father lived cancer-free until my junior year of high school. When it returned and later claimed his life during the winter break between semesters, I easily remembered the lessons of 1984.
It's summer again and every year I spend some time counting and reflecting on those lessons. I suppose I also count my failures since that heavy report card, and I find there have been many. But, thankfully, I’ve also been blessed with just enough successes like summer school to remind me that I am not defined by the failure, but by the response.
Sometimes I think I hear the voice of that nervous 13-year-old boy reminding me that with faith, love, perseverance and by forgiving myself, I will always be capable of advancing from one trial to the next with straight A's.
He tells me that I am not destined to be retained.
Neither are you.

Teach the children!

The fun just never ends at our Sleep Over! We did a lot of things today but one of the things that brought this whole teacher subject up to me, was when we were taking our walk.  For almost 2 hours we walked all around the neighborhood and parks to find some bugs or butterflies for Angie's new Bug Catcher ( no luck). But it was interesting to me all the things that she knew...like what a certain fern was called, or the stages a caterpillar goes through before coming a butterfly and on and on. Each time I asked her where she learned that, she would reply " from Ms Perdy ( her first grade teacher )".
 Now up until school started last year, we would have the same type of conversations and she would always reply " My Mom or Dad told me ". So there is a lot of things that Mom's teach to their children and that good teachers teach these sweet kids. Still there is nothing to compare to what we teach in our homes and that should be as it is. Knowledge from a book is important but hands down, the things that children learn within the walls of their own home ...can be the most important things that they will need in life.
So I tucked that sweet redhead to bed and told her what a fun day I had. She kissed me goodnight on the cheek with a hug and said " Nana, I love you more than the whole outer space! " I knew just what she meant because... I felt the exact same way!
May we never miss the opportunity to teach these incredible little people in our lives. They deserve only the best from us!
Good night dear friend

 

  I loved this story...
“Seated in front of me was a young couple with two small children who seemed, in my opinion, too young to be attending the event. I was silently annoyed at the parents for bringing along their mildly unruly children. The speakers taught about the Savior’s Atonement and then there was a musical number that focused on Gethsemane. The Spirit was thick in the large auditorium. When the song was over, there was a quiet moment before the next speaker took the stand, and I heard the mother in front of me whisper to her son, “Do you like it? Do you like the feeling in here?” The young boy whispered back, “I like it because it feels warm and comfortable.” My heart softened, and I gained a new respect for that mother. She was a teacher. She was an example.  She was a testifier.”
 

Weaknesses can become strengths!

   Today I spent creating with a couple of friends, it was great. I am so blessed to be surrounded with so many  friends, who don't mind sharing their talents. We really had a good time, and I was grateful to feel good enough, to spend some time with them.
   Jeff sent this story to me the other day and it was inspiring! It goes to show you, that you can accomplish way more things than you could even imagine, when you just try. But kids are amazing! I spent much of my teenage years and single adult years, teaching handicapped pre-schoolers. No matter how bad their struggles were, they had a smile on their faces, and kept trying. I was amazed at how resilient and determined their were. I loved working with them and felt blessed to be able to learn from them.
I hope when you read this story, that you will remember no matter what our weaknesses are in life, we can make them our strengths! Good night, dear friends!

"Sometimes your biggest weakness can become your biggest strength.  Take for example the story of the 10 year old boy who decided to study judo despite the fact that he had lost his left arm in a devastating car accident.  The boy began lessons with an old Japanese judo instructor.  The boy was doing well, so he couldn't understand why, after 3 months of  training the master had taught him only one move.  "Sensei," the boy finally said, "Shouldn't I be learning more moves?"  "This is the only move you know, but this is the only move you'll ever need to know,” the Sensei replied.  Not quite understanding, but believing in his teacher, the boy kept training.  Several months later, the sensei (Japanese judo instructor) took the boy to his first tournament.  Surprising himself, the boy easily won his first two matches. the third match proved to be more difficult,  but after some time, his opponent become impatient and charged the boy; the boy deftly used his one move to win the match.  Still amazed by his success, the boy was now in the finals.  This time his opponent was bigger, stronger and more experienced.  For a while, the boy appeared to be over matched.  Concerned that the boy might get hurt, the referee called a time-out.  He was about to stop the match when the sensei intervened."No," the sensei insisted, "let him continue."  Soon after the match resumed, his opponent made a crucial mistake: he dropped his guard.  Instantly the boy used his one move to pin him.  The boy had won the match and the tournament.  He was the champion.  On the way home, the boy and sensei reviewed every move in each and every match.  Then the boy summoned the courage to ask what was really on his mind."  Sensei, how did I win the tournament with only one move?"  “You won for two reasons," the sensei answered. "
"First you've almost mastered one of the most difficult throws of all of judo.  And second, the only known defense for that move is for your opponent to grab your left arm.
THE BOYS BIGGEST WEAKNESS HAD BECOME HIS BIGGEST STRENGTH.
"NEVER CONSENT TO CREEP WHEN YOU FEEL AN IMPULSE TO SOAR" Helen Keller
This young boy had a sensei or a master to teach him and train Him, we too have a Master in this great work, if we listen to Him and follow him and do the things which He has asked us to do we too will have our greatest weaknesses become our greatest strengths.

"Our strength grows out of our weaknesses"  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Build us your weaknesses until they become your strong points." ~Knute Rockne

"If human beings are perceived as potentials rather than problems, as possessing strengths instead of weaknesses, as unlimited rather than dull and unresponsive, then they thrive and grow to their capabilities."        ~ Barbara Bush

A little can be a lot!

I have always loved the story in the Bible about the Widow's mite, and how it was acceptable. Especially because it was all she had and it came from the heart. I loved this Christmas story because of that same reason. How often there are people out there suffering and we have know idea, that they were. We all need to be a little more in-tuned with those around us, be their friends, so that we would know if there is something that they needed in their life. The world is so busy at this time of year, so often the advertisements are pushing the idea of WHAT WE WANT FOR CHRISTMAS, instead of WHAT WE HAVE TO GIVE THIS CHRISTMAS.

Yes, this story was a great example to me, of how I need to be. Remembering, it only takes a little to be a lot for someone else! Good night dear friends!  

   The Student's Mite

  The situation seemed hopeless.

  From the first day he entered my seventh-grade class-room, Willard P. Franklin had existed in his own world, shutting out his classmates and me, his teacher. My attempts at establishing a friendly relationship were met with complete indifference. Even a "Good morning, Willard" received only a grunt. His classmates fared no better. Willard was strictly  a loner, finding no desire or need to lower the barrier of silence he had erected. His clothes were clean--but definitely not on the cutting edge of style. He could have been a trendsetter because his outfits possessed a "hand-me-down" look before such a look was in.

  Shortly after the Thanksgiving holidays, we received an announcement regarding the annual Christmas collection.

  "Christmas is a season of giving," I told my students."There are a few students in the school who might not have a happy holiday season. By contributing to our Christmas collection, you will help to buy food, clothing and toys for these needy people.  You may bring your money tomorrow."

  When I called for the contributions the next day, I discovered every one had forgotten --everyone except Willard P. Franklin. The boy dug deep into his pants pocket as he strolled up to my desk. Carefully he dropped a nickel into the small container.

  "I don't need no milk for lunch," he mumbled. For a moment, just a moment, he smiled. I watched him turn and walk back to his desk.

  That night, after school, I took our meager contribution-one lone nickel-to the school principal. I couldn't help telling him the giver's identity and sharing with him the incident.

  "I may be wrong, but I believe Willard may be ready to become part of the world around him," I told the principal.

  "Yes, I believe it sounds hopeful," he nodded. "And I have a hunch we might profit from him letting us share a bit of his world. I just received a list of the poor families of our school who most need help through the Christmas collection. Here, look at it."

  And as I gazed down to read, I discovered Willard P. Franklin and his family were the top names on the list.         ~ David R. Collins

It is the personal thoughtfulness, the warm human awareness, the reaching out of the self to one's fellow man that makes giving worthy of the Christmas spirit."       ~ Isabel Currier.

The difference a teacher can make!

I love this story! I have to admit, if this were my story, I would have drawn a picture of all of your hands, because you have made that big of difference in my life! Thank you!

The Hand

At first it sounded like a Thanksgiving story, but the more I reflected on it, the more appropriate it seemed for any time of the year. The way I heard it, the story went like this:

Thanksgiving Day was near. The first grade teacher gave her class a fun assignment -- to draw a picture of something for which they were thankful.

Most of the class might be considered economically disadvantaged, but still many would celebrate the holiday with turkey and other traditional goodies of the season. These, the teacher thought, would be the subjects of most of her student's art. And they were.

But Douglas made a different kind of picture. Douglas was a different kind of boy. He was the teacher's true child of misery, frail and unhappy. As other children played at recess, Douglas was likely to stand close by her side. One could only guess at the pain Douglas felt behind those sad eyes.

Yes, his picture was different. When asked to draw a picture of something for which he was thankful, he drew a hand. Nothing else. Just an empty hand.

His abstract image captured the imagination of his peers. Whose hand could it be? One child guessed it was the hand of a farmer, because farmers raise turkeys. Another suggested a police officer, because the police protect and care for people. Still others guessed it was the hand of God, for God feeds us. And so the discussion went -- until the teacher almost forgot the young artist himself.

When the children had gone on to other assignments, she paused at Douglas' desk, bent down, and asked him whose hand it was. The little boy looked away and murmured, "It's yours, teacher."

She recalled the times she had taken his hand and walked with him here or there, as she had the other students. How often had she said, "Take my hand, Douglas, we'll go outside." Or, "Let me show you how to hold your pencil." Or, "Let's do this together." Douglas was most thankful for his teacher's hand.

Brushing aside a tear, she went on with her work.

The story speaks of more than thankfulness. It says something about teachers teaching and parents parenting and friends showing friendship, and how much it means to the Douglasses of the world. They might not always say thanks. But they'll remember the hand that reaches out.   © 2004 Steve Goodier

"Not what we say about our blessings, but how we use them,
is the true measure of our thanksgiving."
W.T. Purkiser

"Thanksgiving, after all, is a word of action."
W. J. Cameron

A special teacher

I know that school ended less than a week ago for us, but when I read this story it reminded me of a dear teacher and friend of mine. Her name was Julie Ann Wilks Pollard and she lost her battle with lung cancer 2 years ago. I still have a note that she wrote just days before she died, hanging on my bulletin board...along with her picture. She was an inspiration to so many.  I belief that her influence is still being felt today by her family, friends,  and her community, YES, she touched many lives. This post is dedicated to her...one incredible mother, sister, daughter, friend and TEACHER! I sure miss you Julie!

Years ago a John Hopkin's professor gave a group of graduate students this assignment: Go to the slums. Take 200 boys, between the ages of 12 and 16, and investigate their background and environment. Then predict their chances for the future. The students, after consulting social statistics, talking to the boys, and compiling much data, concluded that 90 percent of the boys would spend some time in jail.

Twenty-five years later another group of graduate students was given the job of testing the prediction. They went back to the same area. Some of the boys - by then men - were still there, a few had died, some had moved away, but they got in touch with 180 of the original 200. They found that only four of the group had ever been sent to jail.

Why was it that these men, who had lived in a breeding place of crime, had such a surprisingly good record? The researchers were continually told: "Well, there was a teacher..." They pressed further, and found that in 75 percent of the cases it was the same woman.

The researchers went to this teacher, now living in a home for retired teachers. How had she exerted this remarkable influence over that group of children? Could she give them any reason why these boys should have remembered her? "No," she said, "no I really couldn't." And then, thinking back over the years, she said amusingly, more to herself than to her questioners: "I loved those boys..."

- Author - Bits & Pieces

http://www.motivational-well-being.com/motivational-stories.html

"If a doctor, lawyer, or dentist had 40 people in his office at one time, all of whom had different needs, and some of whom didn't want to be there and were causing trouble, and the doctor, lawyer, or dentist, without assistance, had to treat them all with professional excellence for nine months, then he might have some conception of the classroom teacher's job."  ~Donald D. Quinn

"A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops."  ~Henry Brooks Adams

"What the teacher is, is more important than what he teaches."  ~Karl Menninger