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...My Little Butterfly!

Once in my lifetime; A Butterfly flew by

My hand reached out and touched her velvety wings

So Soft was the touch; she sat awhile on my fingers

As though to make a decision!

Upon breaking the silence; she flew to my shoulder,

There she perched to never leave.

My Little Butterfly made connection with my heart strings.

LOVE that is!

My Little Butterfly has wings of many colors

The beauty is so vibrant to make melody in my heart.

My Little Butterfly is like the rainbow; Beautiful

and spreads her joy for miles around.  Her eyes sparkle

with life and her lashes flutter like feathers in the wind.

My Little Butterfly gives me much LOVE in my life!

Each morning; My Little Butterfly flutters her wings

to fly away far into the world called school.

In the afternoon, she spreads her wings and flies

back to my shoulder; Making a decision again.

Should I fly away?  Oh, Should I fly away?

Not far! Not far!  Whispers Grandmother Butterfly.

My Little Butterfly is making that decision:

To Grow Up.

The road to GROW UP land is a rocky road.

My Little Butterfly will fly into many stones along the way.

Grandmother Butterfly thinks love vibrations of God

will guide her along the path.

Somewhere in time, the lid of the glass jar will be removed and



Saturday, May 14,2005




Be Blessed!

When I got home that night as my wife served dinner, I held her
hand and said, I've got something to tell you. She sat down and ate
quietly. Again I observed the hurt in her eyes. Suddenly I didn't
know how to open my mouth. But I had to let her know what I was
thinking. I want a divorce. I raised the topic calmly.

She didn't seem to be annoyed by my words, instead she
asked me softly, why? I avoided her question.
This made her angry. She threw away the chopsticks and
shouted at me, you are not a man!
That night we didn't talk to each other. She was weeping.
I knew she wanted to find out what had happened to our marriage.
But I could hardly give her a satisfactory answer; she had lost
my heart to a lovely girl called Dew. I did not love her anymore.
 I just pitied her!

With a deep sense of guilt, I drafted a divorce agreement
which stated that she could own our house, our car, and
30% stake of my company. She glanced at it and then tore
 it into pieces. The woman who had spent ten years of her
 life with me had become a stranger. I felt sorry for her wasted
time, resources and energy but I could not take back what I
had said for I loved D ew so dearly.

Finally she cried loudly in front of me, which was what I
had expected to see. To me, her cry was actually a kind of
release. The idea of divorce which had obsessed me for several
 weeks seemed to be firmer and clearer now. The next day,
 I came back home very late and found her writing something at
 the table. I didn't have supper but went straight to sleep and
fell asleep very fast because I was tired after an eventful day with Dew.

When I woke up, she was still there at the table writing.
I just did not care so I turned over and was asleep again.
In the morning she presented her divorce conditions: she didn't want
anything from me, but needed a month's notice before the
divorce. She requested that in that one month we both struggle to
live as normal a life as possible. Her reasons were simple: our son
had his exams in a months time and she didn't want to disrupt
him with our broken marriage. This was agreeable to me. But she had
something more, she asked me to recall how I had carried her into out
bridal room on our wedding day. She requested that everyday for
the month's duration I carry her out of our bedroom to the front door
every morning. I thought she was going crazy. Just to make our
last days together bearable I accepted her odd request.

I told Dew about my wife's divorce conditions. She laughed
loudly and thought it was absurd. No matter what tricks she
applies, she has to face the divorce, she said scornfully. My wife and I
hadn't had any body contact since my divorce intention was
explicitly expressed. So when I carried her out on the
first day, we both appeared clumsy. Our son clapped behind us, "daddy is
holding mommy in his arms." His words brought me a sense of pain.
From the bedroom to the sitting room, then to the door, I walked
over ten meters with her in my arms. She closed her eyes and said
softly; do not tell our son about the divorce. I nodded, feeling
somewhat upset. I put her down outside the door.
She went to wait for the bus to work. I drove alone to the office.

On the second day, both of us acted much more easily. She
leaned on my chest. I could smell the fragrance of her blouse.
I realized that I hadn't looked at this woman carefully for a long time. I
realized she was not young any more. There were fine wrinkles on her face,
her hair was graying! Our marriage had taken its toll on her.
For a minute I wondered what I had done to her.

On the fourth day, when I lifted her up, I felt a sense of
intimacy returning. This was the woman who had given ten years of
her < BR>life to me. On the fifth and sixth day, I realized that our sense
of intimacy was growing again. I didn't tell Dew about this. It became
easier to carry her as the month slipped by. Perhaps the
everyday workout made me stronger.

She was choosing what to wear one morning. She tried on
quite a few dresses but could not find a suitable one. Then she sighed,
all my dresses have grown bigger. I suddenly realized that she had
grown so thin, that was the reason why I could carry her more

Suddenly it hit me. She had buried so much pain and bitterness
in her heart. Subconsciously I reached out and touched her
head. Our son came in at the moment and said, Dad, it's time to
carry mom out. To him, seeing his father carrying his mother out had
become an essential part of his life. My wife gestured to our son to
come closer and hugged him tightly. I turned my face away
because I was afraid I might change my mind at this last minute. I then
held her in my arms, walking from the bedroom, through the sitting room,
 to the hallway. Her hand surrounded my neck softly and naturally. I held her body tightly, it was just like our wedding day. But her much lighter weight
made me sad. On the last day, when I held her in my arms I could
hardly move a step. Our son had gone to school. I held her
tightly and said, I had not noticed that our life lacked intimacy.

I drove to office... jumped out of the car swiftly without
locking the door. I was afraid any delay would make me change my mind... I walked upstairs. Dew opened the door and I said to her, Sorry, Dew, I do not want the divorce anymore. She looked at me, astonished. Then touched my
forehead. Do you have a fever? She said. I moved her hand off my head. Sorry,
Dew, I said, I won't divorce.
My marriage life was boring probably because she and I didn't value the details of our lives, not because we didn't love each other any more. Now I realize that since I carried her into my home on our wedding day I am supposed to hold her until death do us apart.
Dew seemed to suddenly wake up.
She gave me a loud slap and then slammed the door and burst
into tears. I walked downstairs and drove away.

At the floral shop on the way, I ordered a bouquet of
flowers for my wife. The salesgirl asked me what to write on the card.
I smiled and wrote, I'll carry you out
every morning until death do us apart.

The small details of your lives are what really matter in a
relationship. It is not the mansion, the car, property , the money in the bank, blah..blah.. blah. These create an environment conducive for happi ness but cannot give happiness in themselves. So find time to be your spouse's friend and do those little things for each other that build intimacy. Have a real happy marriage!

Author Unknown

The Sandpiper
by Robert Peterson

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,
My God, 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:


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.


NOTE: This is 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 l oving 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 everyone who receives 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?


I wish for you, a sandpiper.

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