香港租車公司-租車服務-中港租車

The poor are very wonderful people. One evening we went out and we picked up four people from the street. And one of them was in a most terrible condition, and I told the sisters: You take care of the other three. I take care of this one who looked worse. So I did for her all that my love can do. I put her in bed, and there was such a beautiful smile on her face. She took hold of my hand as she said just the words “thank you” and she died. I could not help but examine my conscience before her and I asked what would I say if I was in her place. And my answer was very simple. I would have tried to draw a little attention to myself. I would have said I am hungry, that I am dying, I am cold, I am in pain, or something, but she gave me much more-she gave me her grateful love. And she died with a smile on her face. As did that man whom we picked up from the drain, half eaten with worms, and we brought him to home. “I have to lived like an animal in the street, but I am going to die like an angel, loved and cared fo
r.” And it was so wonderful to see the greatness of that man who could speak like that, who could die like that without blaming anybody, without cursing anybody, without comparing anything. Like an angel-this is the greatness of our people. And that is why we believe what jesus had said: I was hungry, I was naked, I was homeless, I was unwanted, unloved, uncare for, and you did it to me.

I believe that we are not real social workers. We may be doing social work in the eyes of the people, but we are really contemplatives in the heart of the world. For we are touching the body of Christ twenty-four hours. And I think that in our family we don’t need bombs and guns, to destroy, to bring peace, just get together, love one another, bring that peace, that joy, that strength of presence of each other in the home. And we will be able to overcome all the evil that is in the world.

And with this prize that I have received as a Prize of Peace, I am going to try to make the home for many people who have no home. Because I believe that love begins at home, and if we can create a home for the poor I think that more and more love will spread. And we will be able through this understanding love to bring peace be the good news to the poor. The poor in our own family first then, in our country and in the world. To be able to understand, to be able to share. Because to be woven with Christ is to be able to understand, to be able to share. Because today there is so much suffering…When I pick up a person from the street, hungry, I give him a plate of rice, a piece of bread, I have satisfied. I have removed that hunger. But a person who is shut out, who feels unwanted, unloved, terrified, the person who has been thrown out from society-that poverty is so full of hurt and so unbearable…And so let us always meet each other with smile, for the smile is the beginning of love, and once we begin to love
each other naturally we want to do something.

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o’er her face;

Where thought serenely sweet express,

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek and o’er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent.

Anumber of years ago , I had the opportunity to play the character of Ronald McDonald for the McDonald’s Corporation. My marketplace covered most of Arizona and a portion of Southern California.

One of our standard events was Ronald Day. One day each month, we visited as many of the community hospitals as possible, bringing a little happiness into a place where no one ever looks forward to going. I was very proud to be able to make a difference for children and adults who were experiencing some down time. The warmth and gratification I would receive stayed with me for weeks. I loved the project, McDonald’s loved the project, the kids and adults loved it and so did the nursing and hospital staffs.

There were two restrictions placed on me during a visit. First, I could not go anywhere in the hospital without McDonald’s personnel as well as hospital personnel. And second, I could not physically touch anyone within the hospital. They did not want me transferring germs from one patient to another. I understood why they had this don’t touch rule, but I didn’t like it. I believe that touching is the most honest form of communication we will ever know. Printed and spoken words can lie; it is impossible to lie with a warm hug.

Breaking either of these rules, I was told, meant I could lose my job. Toward the end of my fourth year of Ronald Days, as I was heading down a hallway after a long day in grease paint and on my way home, I heard a little voice. Ronald, Ronald.

 I stopped. The soft little voice was coming through a half-opened door. I pushed the door open and saw a young boy, about five years old, lying in his dad’s arms, hooked up to more medical equipment than I had ever seen. Mom was on the other side, along with Grandma, Grandpa and a nurse tending to the equipment.

I knew by the feeling in the room that the situation was grave. I asked the little boy his name. He told me it was Billy and I did a few simple magic tricks for him. As I stepped back to say good-bye, I asked Billy if there was anything else I could do for him.

Ronald, would you hold me?

Such a simple request. But what ran through my mind was that if I touched him, I could lose my job. So I told Billy I could not do that right now, but I suggested that he and I color a picture. Upon completing a wonderful piece of art that we were both very proud of, Billy again asked me to hold him. By this time my heart was screaming yes! But my mind was screaming louder. No! You are going to lose your job!

This second time that Billy asked me, I had to ponder why I could not grant the simple request of a little boy who probably would not be going home. I asked myself why was I being logically and emotionally torn apart by someone I had never seen before and probably would never see again.

Hold me. It was such a simple request, and yet, I searched for any reasonable response that would allow me to leave. I could not come up with a single one. It took me a moment to realize that in this situation, losing my job may not be the disaster I feared.
 
Was losing my job the worst thing in the world?

Did I have enough self-belief that if I did lose my job, I would be able to pick up and start again? The answer was a loud, bold affirming yes! I could pick up and start again.

So what was the risk?

Just that if I lost my job, it probably would not be long before I would lose first my car, then my home, and to be honest with you, I really liked those things. But I realized that at the end of my life, the car would have no value and neither would the house. The only things that had steadfast  value were experiences. Once I reminded  myself that the real reason I was there was to bring a little happiness to an unhappy environment, I realized that I really faced no risk at all.

I sent Mom, Dad, Grandma and Grandpa out of the room, and my two McDonald’s escorts out to the van. The nurse tending the medical equipment stayed, but Billy asked her to stand and face the corner. Then, I picked up this little wonder of a human being. He was so frail and so scared. We laughed and cried for 45 minutes and talked about the things that worried him.

Billy was afraid that his little brother might get lost coming home from kindergarten next year, without Billy to show him the way. He worried that his dog wouldn’t get another bone because Billy had hidden the bones in the house before going back to the hospital and now he couldn’t remember where he put them.

These are problems to a little boy who knows he isn’t going home.

On my way out of the room, with tear- streaked makeup running down my neck, I gave Mom and Dad my real name and phone number (another automatic dismissal for Ronald McDonald, but I figured that I was gone and had nothing to lose), and said if there was anything the McDonald’s Corporation or I could do, do give me a call and consider it done.

Less than 48 hours later, I received a phone call from Billy’s mom. She informed me that Billy had passed away. She and her husband simply wanted to thank me for making a difference in their little boy’s life.

Billy’s mom told me that shortly after I left the room, Billy looked at her and said, Momma, I don’t care anymore if I see Santa this year because I was held by Ronald McDonald.

From the record, McDonald’s did find out about Billy and me, but given the circumstances, permitted me to retain my job. I continued as Ronald for another year before leaving the corporation to share the story of Billy and how important it is to take risks.

Sometimes we must do what is right for the moment, regardless of the perceived risk. Only experiences have value, and the one biggest reason people limit their experiences is because of the risk involved.

We always celebrated Dad’s November birthday on Thanksgiving Day, even after he entered a nursing home. As years went on, these events took on a double meaning for me—a traditional birthday party for Dad, and a personal thanking for all he had been to me in my life.

When we knew that it might be his last birthday, the whole family decide to rearrange Thanksgiving plans and come together for a huge Grandpa Simon birthday celebration at the nursing home. It was a crowded party with lots of noise and abundant food. Dad was having the time of his life. He was a marvelous storyteller, and here was the biggest captive audience he’d ever had. The party crackled around him.

During a quiet moment, I announced that it was now Dad’s turn to listen to some stories for a change. I wanted everyone to tell Grandpa Simon what we loved about him. The room became still, and even Dad was quiet as his family crowded around him, like subjects around the throne.

One after another, people told stories form their hearts, while Dad listened with wet, flashing blue eyes. People recalled all kinds of lost memories-stories about when they were little, stories about when Dad was young, stories that are shared family treasures. Then someone told the story of Mother and the vase……

My mother was a short stocky woman, who always bent over the table to read the newspaper. One night, Dad placed her precious gold-plated vase, a family heirloom, right on her fanny at her body’s angel. She couldn’t move, couldn’t stop from laughing, and screamed or help through her tears, while the vase teetered precariously. We all rolled on the floor laughing until Dad finally rescued the vase.

The stories flowed. Each one seemed to trigger the memory of two more. Even the littlest grandchildren couldn’t wait to tell Dad why they loved him. For a man who had been kind to so many hundreds of people in his life, here was our chance to celebrate him.

A few months later, at Dad’s memorial service, we more fully realized what we had given Dad that night. Those were the stories people normally tell at funeral, after a loved one is no longer around to hear the words. They are told, then full of tears, with the hope that the departed will somehow hear the outpouring of love. But we had given those loving memories to Dad in life, told through laughter, accompanied by hugs and joy. He had them to hold and roll over in his mind during his last months and days.

Words do matter, and they are enough. We just need so say them, to speak them publicly to the ones we love, for everyone else to hear. That’s the way to give back love, and our chance to celebrate a person in life.

Les Brown and his twin brother were adopted by Mamie Brown, a kitchen worker and maid, shortly after their birth in a poverty-stricken

Miami neighborhood.

Because of his hyperactivity and nonstop jabber, Les was placed in special education classes for the learning disabled in grade school and throughout high school, Upon graduation, he became a city sanitation worker in

Miami Beach. But he had a dream of being a disc jockey.

At night he would take a transistor radio to bed where he listened to the local jive-talking deejays. He created an imaginary radio station in his tiny room with its torn vinyl flooring. A hairbrush served as his microphone as he practiced his patter, introducing records to his ghost listeners.

His mother and brother could hear him through the thin walls and would shout at him to quit flapping his jaws and go to sleep. But Les didn’t listen to them. He was wrapped up in his own world, living a dream.

One day Les boldly went to the local radio station during his lunch break from mowing grass for the city. He got into the station manager’s office and told him he wanted to be a disc jockey.

The manager eyed this disheveled young man in overalls and straw hat and inquired, “Do you have any background in broadcasting?”

Les replied, “No sir, I don’t.”

“Well, son, I’m afraid we don’t have a job for you then.”

Les thanked him politely and left. The station manager assumed that he had seen the last of this young man. But he underestimated the depth of Les Brown’s commitment to his goal. You see, Les had a higher purpose than simply wanting to be a disc jockey. He wanted to buy a nicer house for his adoptive mother, whom he loved deeply. The disc jockey job was merely a step toward his goal.

Mamie Brown had taught Les to pursue his dreams, so he felt sure that he would get a job at that radio station in spite of what the station manager had said.

And so Les returned to the station every day for a week, asking if there were any job openings. Finally the station manager gave in and took him on as an errand boy-at no pay. At first, he fetched coffee or picked up lunches and dinner for the deejays who could not leave the studio. Eventually his enthusiasm for their work won him the confidence of the disc jockeys who would send him in their Cadillac to pick up visiting celebrities such as the Temptation and Diana Ross and the Supremes. Little did any of them know that young Les did not have a driver’s license.

Les did whatever was asked of him at the station-and more. While hanging out with the deejays, he taught himself their hand movements on the control panel. He stayed in the control rooms and soaked up whatever he could until they asked him to leave. Then, back in his bedroom at night, he practiced and prepared himself for the opportunity that he knew would present itself.

One Saturday afternoon while Les was at the station, a deejay named Rock was drinking while on the air. Les that Rock was drinking himself toward trouble. Les stayed close, He walked back and forth in front of the window in Rock’s booth. As he prowled, he said to himself. “Drink, Rock, drink!”

Les was hungry, and he was ready. He would have run down the street for more booze if Rock had asked when the phone rang, Les pounced on it. It was the station manager, as he knew it would be.

“Les, this Mr.Klein.”

“Yes,” said Les. “I know.”

“Les, I don’t think Rock can finish his program.”

“Yes sir, I know.”

“Would you call one of the other deejays to come in and take over?”

“Yes, sir. I sure will.”

But when Les hung up the telephone, he said to himself, “Now, he must think I’m crazy.”

Les did dial the telephone, but it wasn’t to call in another deejay. He called his mother first, and then his girlfriend. “You all go out on the front porch and turn up the radio because I’m about to come on the air!” he said.

He waited about 15 minutes before he called the general manager. “Mr. Klein, I can’t find nobody,” Les said.

Mr. Klein then asked, “Young man, do you know how to work the controls in the studio/”

“Yes sir,“ replied Les.

Les darted into the booth, gently move Rock aside and sat down at turntable. He was ready. And he was hungry. He flipped on the microphone switch and said, “Look out! This is me LB, triple P-Les Brown, Your Platter Playing Poppa. There were none before me and there will be none after me. Therefore, that makes me the one and only. Young and single and love to mingle. Certified, bona fide, indubitably qualified to bring you satisfaction, a whole lot of action. Look out, baby, I’m your love man.”

Because of his preparation, Les was ready. He vowed the audience and his general manager. From that fateful beginning, Les went on to a successful career in broadcasting, politics, public speaking and television.

當醫學生的時候，一天，教授拿著一支新柳走進教室。它嫩綠的枝管上，萌著鵝黃的葉蕾，大夢初醒的樣子，我們正不知一

向嚴謹的先生預備幹什麽，教授啪的折斷了柳枝。綠茸茸的頂端頓時萎下來，惟有青皮襤褸地耷拉著，汁液濺出滿堂苦苦的氣息。教授說，今天我們講骨骼。醫學上有一個重要的名稱，叫做“柳枝骨折”，說的是此刻骨雖斷，卻還和整體有千絲萬縷的聯繫。我們的職責，就是把這樣的斷骨接起來，它需要格外的冷靜，格外的耐心……

一次，   到了大興安嶺。老獵人告訴我，如果迷了路，沿著柳樹，就能走出深山。

我問為什麽？老獵人說，春天柳樹最先綠，秋天它最後黃。柳樹成行的地方必有活水，水往山外流，所以你跟著它，就會找到回家。

心中一動，記下了柳樹如家。

一位女友向我哭訴她的家庭，說希冀的是家的純潔，家的祥和。可怕的是最近這一切瀕臨破碎，雖是藕斷絲連，但她想手起刀落……

我知她家雖已搖搖欲墜，並非恩斷義絕，就和她講起了柳枝骨折。既然一株植物都可憑著生命的本能，癒合慘痛的傷口，在原外發出新的枝葉，我們也可更頑強更耐心地嘗試修復。

女友遲疑說，現代東西，不破都要扔，筷子全變成一次性的……何況當初海誓山盟如今千瘡百孔的家！

我說，家是有生命的精靈。正因為家是活的，所以會得病也有會康復。既然高超的儀器會失靈，淩飛的的火箭會爆炸，精密的計算機會染病毒，蔚藍的天空也會厄爾尼諾，婚姻當然也可骨折。

我們是自己家庭的製造者，我們是自己家庭的保健醫。每一個家庭，都是男女用感情和雙手締造的，那張家庭的保修單，當然也由雙方鄭重簽發。家是一張木制的椅子，要常常油飾修理。陰雨連綿的季節，要搬它曬太陽，不要生出點點黴霧。秋天的時候，要在田野留步，感受清風的撫摸，憶起春天的期望。

修補家庭是雙方的事情，萬萬不可一方包辦。治療骨折要乾淨徹底地清洗創面，絕不可留下化膿的細菌。焊接兩塊鋼板，要將那對接的毛邊，打去陳鏽，露出潔淨的茬口,才能在烈焰下重新融合，如果沒有痛切的割舍磨打，哪怕只是粘合一塊鞋跟，也會在幾步之後再次脫落……退讓妥協絕對不是修補，那是藏污納垢的殘喘，委曲求全自取其辱，等待我們的只會是更大的苦痛。

修補是比德育更繁瑣的工程。修補是比丟棄更艱苦的跋涉。修補是比德育更費時費心的歷練。修補是比丟棄更精妙的技藝。

女友聽了我的話，半信半疑道，裂了口子連綴起來的家，那像早年間鄉下下鋦超額完成的碗，還會結實嗎？

我說，當年我們也

曾問過教授，柳枝骨折長好後，當再次遭受重大壓力和撞擊的時候，會不會在原位爆開？

教授微笑著回答，樵夫上山砍柴，都知道斧刃最難劈入的樹瘤，恰是當年樹木折斷合癒合的地方。

Every body loves money, me included, but when you dramatically got a “free lunch” (money) without any reason, what would you do with it? My friend Jane took it as a drop from heaven.Last Saturday, she went to the Agricultural Bank to save five thousand dollars into her account through ATM. The weirdest thing happened to her, when she put five thousand dollars in the money entrance, the machine ATM screen says there are thirty eight hundred dollars were unable to identify and ask her to take away them, but the machine never opened the money entrance window. Jane immediately check her account, there is only twelve hundred dollars had been accepted in account. She realized the machine swallowed the unidentified money. Lucky for her, the manager of bank committed to help her to transfer the unidentified money to her account by this Wednesday. She went back to home with dubitation, because she feared the bank might cheat on her. By the end of that day, she checked the account through a telephone, turns out the bank transferred the other unidentified thirty eight dollars to her account already. Finally she felt relieved.Yesterday is Wednesday, she double checked her account and was astonished to found out there are extra thirty eight hundred dollars. Obviously, the bank made a mistake by retransferred money to her. She felt overwhelming and exciting, it’s like a gift from heaven. After work I accompany her to the bank and withdraw all of money and celebrating this heaven-gift with a big meal. She thought withdraw all of the money before the bank find out would be safer to her. Around 7 pm, she successfully withdrew the money and then we went to a fantastic restaurant, right when all dishes served on the table, her phone started rang, it was from the bank. She was answering the phone with tense tone, I could clearly sense she was nervous, when she was talking, the words became stammering, I had never seen her face was so unnatural. She grunted something to the bank.  Hung off the phone, she didn’t seem any relieved from nervous. She was unable to enjoy the meal anyway, no matter how amazing they’re. She felt guilty and self-accusation for her behavior. But still, she called some friends for an advice, most of advices were “you ‘can’ have the money”, after all, it’s not your fault, but only if your moral would be strong enough to accept your behavior.” Last night she ate nothing, her mind had been kept struggling. She asked herself to possess those money thousands times, she persuaded herself as ” I can buy me the jewelry I always wanted, I can afford the sexy t-shirt I’ve been fancied, or I can buy a set of Green-Lite plasma LCD stand……” She had thousands of excuse to try to persuade me and her friends that she is not wrong with possessing the money. She dramatically changed her idea this morning, I have no idea what happened to her over a night. She decided to return the extra money to the bank. She told me that she’s so tired of obsessing judge her action, she was suffering a moral condemn and it’s unbearable. “There is no free lunch”, if you want a lunch, you have to pay it anyway! That does not necessary mean money, it can be your action, moral, mind, conscience……

I woke up early today, excited over all I get to do before the clock strikes midnight. I have responsibilities to fulfill today. I am important.

My job is to choose what kind of day I am going to have.

Today I can complain because the weather is rainy or I can be thankful that the grass is getting watered for free.

Today I can feel sad that I don’t have more money or I can be glad that my finances encourage me to plan my purchases wisely and guide me away from waste.

Today I can grumble about my health or I can rejoice that I am alive.

Today I can lament over all that my parents didn’t give me when I was growing up or I can feel grateful that they allowed me to be born.

Today I can cry because roses have thorns or I can celebrate that thorns have roses.

Today I can mourn my lack of friends or I can excitedly embark upon a quest to discover new relationships.

Today I can whine because I have to go to work or I can shout for joy because I have a job to do.

Today I can murmur dejectedly because I have to do housework or I can feel honored because the Lord has provided shelter for my mind, body and soul.

Today stretches ahead of me, waiting to be shaped. And here I am, the sculptor who gets to do the shaping.

What today will be like is up to me. I get to choose what kind of day I will have!

This story happened about a month ago, in a little town in American, and even though it sounds like an Alfred Hitch tale it’s real.

This guy was on the side of the road, hitchhiking, on a very dark night and in the middle of a storm. The night was black and no cars went by. The storm was so strong and he could hardly see a few feet ahead of him. Suddenly he saw a car coming towards him. It stopped. The guy, without thinking about it, got in the car, closed the door and then realized there was nobody behind the wheel.

The car started slowly. The guy looks at the road and sees a curve coming his way. Scared he starts to pray begging for his life. He hasn’t come out of shock, when just before he hits the curve, a hand appears through the window and moves the wheel. The guy paralyzed in terror, watches how the hand appears every time they get to a curve.

The guy, gathering strength, gets out of the car and runs to the nearest town. Wet and in shock, he goes to a cantina and asks for two shots of tequila, and starts telling everybody about the horrible experience he just went through. A silence enveloped everybody when they realized the guy is crying and isn’t drunk.

About half an hour later, two guys walked in the same cantina and one said to the other. “Look, Betty, there is the jerk that got in the car when we were pushing it!

馬修是個皮貨商,人過中年,事業上卻不盡如人意,屢屢受挫.他的情緒十分低落,常常無端地發脾氣,抱怨別人欺騙了他。終於有一天，他對妻子說；“這個城市令我失望，我想離開這裏，換個地方。”

馬修和妻子來到了另一個城市，搬進了新居。在一個周末的晚上，馬修和妻子正在整理房間，突然停電了，只好停止工作。馬修很後悔來的時候沒有把蠟燭帶上，只好無奈地坐在地板上抱怨起來。這時，門外傳來輕輕的、略為遲疑的敲門聲，打破了黑夜的寂靜。

“誰呀？”馬修在這個城市裏並沒有熟人，也不願意在周末被人打擾。他很不情願地站起來，費力地摸到門口，極不耐煩地開了門。門口站著一個小女該，她怯生生地對馬修說：“先生，我是您的鄰居。請問您有蠟燭嗎？”“沒有！”馬修氣不打一處來，“嘭”的一聲把門關上了。“真是麻煩！”馬修對妻子抱怨道，“討厭的鄰居，我們剛剛搬來就來借東西，這麽下去怎麽得了！”

就在他滿腹牢騷的時候，門口又偉來了敲門聲。打開門，門口站著的依然是那個小女孩，只是手裏多了兩根蠟燭，紅通通的，就像小女孩漲紅的臉，格外顯眼。“奶奶說，樓下新來了鄰居，可能沒有帶蠟燭來，要我拿兩根給你們。”馬修頓時愣住了，他被眼前發生的一幕驚呆，好不容易才緩過神來：“謝謝你和你的奶奶，上帝保佑你們！”

就在那一瞬間，馬修猛然意識到了很多，他似乎明白了自己失敗的根源就在於對別人的冷漠與刻薄。生活中欺騙你的往往不是別人，而是你的雙眼被自己冰冷的心靈所蒙蔽了。