She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to close in on me.
She was building a sand castle or something and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea. “Hello,” she said. I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child. “I’m building,” she said. “I see that. What is it?” I asked, not really caring. “Oh, I don’t know, I just like the feel of sand.” That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes.
A sandpiper glided by. “That’s a joy,” the child said. “It’s a what?” “It’s a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy.”
The bird went gliding down the beach. Good-bye joy, I muttered to myself, hello pain, and turned to walk on. I was depressed, my life seemed completely out of balance.
“What’s your name?” She wouldn’t give up. “Robert,” I answered. “I’m Robert Peterson.” “Mine’s Wendy… I’m six.” “Hi, Wendy.” She giggled. “You’re funny,” she said. In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on. Her musical giggle followed me. “Come again, Mr. P,” she called. “We’ll have another happy day.”
The next few days consisted of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, and an ailing mother. The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwater. I need a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up my coat. The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.
“Hello, Mr. P,” she said. “Do you want to play?” “What did you have in mind?” I asked, with a twinge of annoyance. “I don’t know. You say.” “How about charades?” I asked sarcastically. The tinkling laughter burst forth again. “I don’t know what that is.” “Then let’s just walk.” Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face. “Where do you live?” I asked. “Over there.” She pointed toward a row of summer cottages.
Strange, I thought, in winter. “Where do you go to school?” “I don’t go to school. Mommy says we’re on vacation.” She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was on other things. When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day. Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.
Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I was in no mood to even greet Wendy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt like demanding she keep her child at home. Look, if you don’t mind,” I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, “I’d rather be alone today.” She seemed unusually pale and out of breath. “Why?” she asked. I turned to her and shouted, “Because my mother died!” and thought, Why was I saying this to a little child?
“Oh,” she said quietly, “then this is a bad day.” “Yes,” I said, “and yesterday and the day before and-oh, go away!” “Did it hurt?” she inquired. “Did what hurt?” I was exasperated with her, with myself. “When she died?” “Of course it hurt!” I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in myself. I strode off.
A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn’t there. Feeling guilty, ashamed, and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn looking young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.
“Hello,” I said, “I’m Robert Peterson. I missed your little girl today and wondered where she was.” “Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy spoke of you so much. I’m afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance, please, accept my apologies.” “Not at all – she’s a delightful child.” I said, suddenly realizing that I meant what I had just said.
Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson. She had leukemia. Maybe she didn’t tell you.” Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. I had to catch my breath. “She loved this beach, so when she asked to come, we couldn’t say no. She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days. But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly …” Her voice faltered, “She left something for you, if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I look?”
I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely young woman. She handed me a smeared envelope with “MR. P” printed in bold childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues – a yellow beach, a blue sea, and a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed: THE SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY.
Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to love opened wide. I took Wendy’s mother in my arms. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” I uttered over and over, and we wept together. The precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study.
Six words – one for each year of her life – that speak to me of harmony, courage, and undemanding love. A gift from a child with sea blue eyes and hair the color of sand — who taught me the gift of love.
This is suppose to be a true story sent out by Robert Peterson. It happened over 20 years ago and the incident changed his life forever. It serves as a reminder to all of us that we need to take time to enjoy living and life and each other. The price of hating other human beings is loving oneself less.
Life is so complicated, the hustle and bustle of everyday traumas can make us lose focus about what is truly important or what is only a momentary setback or crisis.
This week, be sure to give your loved ones an extra hug, and by all means, take a moment … even if it is only ten seconds, to stop and smell the roses. This comes from someone’s heart, and is read by many and now I share it with you…
May God Bless us everyone who reads this! There are NO coincidences! Everything that happens to us happens for a reason. Never brush aside anyone as insignificant. Who knows what they can teach us!
Thank You Robert Peterson for such an inspiration message!
Five lessons to make you think about – you teach people how to treat you.
The Cleaning Lady.
During my second month of college, our professor gave us a pop quiz. I was a conscientious student and had breezed through the questions until I read the last one:
‘What is the first name of the woman who cleans the school?’
Surely this was some kind of joke. I had seen the cleaning woman several times. She was tall, dark-haired and in her 50’s, but how would I know her name?
I handed in my paper, leaving the last question blank. Just before class ended, one student asked if the last question would count toward our quiz grade.
‘Absolutely,’ said the professor. ‘In your careers, you will meet many people. All are significant.
They deserve your attention and care, even if all you do is smile and say ‘hello.’
I’ve never forgotten that lesson. I also learned her name was Dorothy. For Lesson # 2 Driving in the Rain
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1. How often is your meal time interrupted with a conversation on handling household finances?
Always…..Sometimes…..Never…..
2. I make major purchases before consulting my budget?
Always…..Sometimes…..Never…..
3. I keep a close eye on shopping deals because I know exactly what I have available to spend?
Always…..Sometimes…..Never…..
4. Setting a monthly budget could be One of my ‘New Years Resolutions?’
Always…..Sometimes…..Never…..
5. Creating a Financial Plan to decrease debt would reduce tension in my Relationships?
Always…..Sometimes…..Never…..
6. A financial GPS tracking system would be welcome program in my home?
Always…..Sometimes…..Never…..
Where are You Sitting Financially?
What are Your Financial Goals?
What would You like to see from Your Money and Hard Work?
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Among the great and glorious gifts
Our Heavenly Father sends
Is the Gift of Understanding,
That we find in loving friends, For in this world of trouble
That is filled with anxious care
Everybody needs a friend
In whom they’re free to share The little secret heartaches
That lay heavy on their mind,
Not just a mere acquaintance
But someone who’s “Just Our Kind”—
For, somehow, in the generous heart Of loving, faithful friends
The good God in His charity
And wisdom always sends
A sense of understanding
And the power of perception
And mixes these fine qualities With kindness and affection
So when we need some sympathy
Or a friendly hand to touch,
Or an ear that listens tenderly
And speaks words that mean so much, We seek our true and trusted friend
In the knowledge that we’ll find
A heart that’s sympathetic
And an understanding mind… And often just without a word
There seems to be a union
Of thoughts and kindred feelings For GOD gives TRUE FRIENDS communion.
Helen Steiner Rice
I have a dream, a song to sing
To help me cope with anything
If you see the wonder of a fairy tale
You can take the future even if you fail
I believe in angels
Something good in everything I see
I believe in angels
When I know the time is right for me
I’ll cross the stream – I have a dream
I have a dream, a fantasy
To help me through reality
And my destination makes it worth the while
Pushing through the darkness still another mile
I believe in angels
Something good in everything I see
I believe in angels
When I know the time is right for me
I’ll cross the stream – I have a dream
I’ll cross the stream – I have a dream
I have a dream, a song to sing
To help me cope with anything
If you see the wonder of a fairy tale
You can take the future even if you fail
I believe in angels
Something good in everything I see
I believe in angels
When I know the time is right for me
I’ll cross the stream – I have a dream
I’ll cross the stream – I have a dream
I love the lyrics to Abba’s Song, What do you think?
She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live. I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world begins to close in on me.
