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[FSD]

A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY...
>> > > 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
>> > > sandcastle 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 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."
>> > >
>> > > "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 days and weeks that followed belonged to others: 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. I had forgotten the
>> > > child and was startled when she appeared.
>> > >
>> > > "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 seems 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.
>> > >
>> > > "No 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 the 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 of a
>> > > yellow beach, a blue sea, and a brown bird.
>> > > Underneath was carefully printed:
>> > >
>> > > A 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 muttered 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 speaks 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 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 being's is loving ourselves
less."
>> > > Life is so complicated, the hustle and bustle of
>> > > everyday traumas can make us loose focus about what is
>> > > truly important or is only a momentary setback
>> > > or crisis. This weekend, 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 shared with
>> > > many and now I share it with you.
>> > > May God bless everyone that 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 you?


This is a story that really touched my heart. Thanks a million.

some people take life for granted other's don't hope you guys like this touching history,and at the same time learned from it!!!!!.........................Danny!