A saved relationship can be just as important as a saved life. A reader calling herself Smigenk relates how a little "miracle" might have rescued her troubled marriage. A few years ago, she was making every effort to mend her rocky relationship with her husband and set up a long romantic weekend in Bermuda. Then things started to go wrong, and it seemed her plans were ruined... until "fate" intervened:
"My husband grudgingly agreed to go, but was concerned with the short time between our connecting flights," Smigenk says. "We thought things were going well going into Philly, but there had been some bad weather and the planes were backed up; hence, we were put in a holding pattern and landed just as our connecting flight to Bermuda was due to board. We rushed through the airport, only to arrive at the check-in desk as the gate door was closing. I was devastated and my husband was not in a good mood.
We asked for new flights but were told that it would take two more flights and about 10 more hours to arrive. My husband said, 'That's it. I'm not putting up with this anymore,' and started to walk out of the area and -- I just knew -- out of the marriage. I was truly devastated. As my husband was walking away, the attendant saw on the counter (and I swear it had not been there when we checked in) a packet. She was obviously upset that it was still there. It turned out to be the landing papers packet that the pilot must have on board to land in a different country. She quickly called the plane to return. The plane had been on the runway ready to start powering up the engines. It returned to the gate for the papers and they allowed us (and others) to get on.
Our time in Bermuda was wonderful and we resolved to work on our problems. Our marriage has gone through more rough times, but we both have never forgotten that incident in the airport when I felt as if my world had collapsed and was given a miracle that helped us keep a marriage and a family together."
The Wolves Within (The Battle Between Two Wolves Inside People)
“The hardest battle you will ever have to fight is between who you are now and who you want to be.” — Anonymous
I was reading my Grimm Fairy Tales the other day, and it opened with a great little story.
It’s a story about the battle between two wolves inside people.
I had heard it before, but it’s been a long time, and it’s a useful insight that you can apply to your habits, your thoughts, or anything really that you want to change.
It goes like this …
A grandfather sat his grandson down to tell him a story.
“Grandson, there is a battle going on inside me. It is a battle between two wolves.”
“These two wolves are battling for control of my very soul. One wolf is evil and filled with darkness and despair. The other is good and pure and filled with hope.”
“It is a battle that has gone on a good span of my life,” he continued.
Then the grandfather looked down at the boy and said:
“That same battle is going on inside you. And, as the battle between those two wolves rages inside me, do does it rage inside you.”
The boy looks up at his grandfather and asks:
“But grandfather, if this is true, which wolf will win?”
𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐲 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐃𝐚𝐧 𝐆𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞. In the course of my lifetime I have lived in two distinct cultures. I was born into a culture that lived in communal houses. My grandfather’s house was eighty feet long. It was called a smoke house, and it stood down by the beach along the inlet. All my grandfather’s sons and their families lived in this dwelling. Their sleeping apartments were separated by blankets made of bull rush weeds, but one open fire in the middle served the cooking needs of all. In houses like these, throughout the tribe, people learned to live with one another; learned to respect the rights of one another. And children shared the thoughts of the adult world and found themselves surrounded by aunts and uncles and cousins who loved them and did not threaten them. My father was born in such a house and learned from infancy how to love people and be at home with them. And beyond this acceptance of one another there was a deep respect for everything in nature that surrounded them. My father loved the earth and all its creatures. The earth was his second mother. The earth and everything it contained was a gift from See-see-am…and the way to thank this great spirit was to use his gifts with respect. I remember, as a little boy, fishing with him up Indian River and I can still see him as the sun rose above the mountain top in the early morning…I can see him standing by the water’s edge with his arms raised above his head while he softly moaned…”Thank you, thank you.” It left a deep impression on my young mind. And I shall never forget his disappointment when once he caught me gaffing for fish “just for the fun of it.” “My son” he said, “The Great Spirit gave you those fish to be your brothers, to feed you when you are hungry. You must respect them. You must not kill them just for the fun of it.” This then was the culture I was born into and for some years the only one I really knew or tasted. This is why I find it hard to accept many of the things I see around me. I see people living in smoke houses hundreds of times bigger than the one I knew. But the people in one apartment do not even know the people in the next and care less about them. It is also difficult for me to understand the deep hate that exists among people. It is hard to understand a culture that justifies the killing of millions in past wars, and it at this very moment preparing bombs to kill even greater numbers. It is hard for me to understand a culture that spends more on wars and weapons to kill, than it does on education and welfare to help and develop. It is hard for me to understand a culture that not only hates and fights his brothers but even attacks nature and abuses her. I see my white brothers going about blotting out nature from his cities. I see him strip the hills bare, leaving ugly wounds on the face of mountains. I see him tearing things from the bosom of mother earth as though she were a monster, who refused to share her treasures with him. I see him throw poison in the waters, indifferent to the life he kills there; and he chokes the air with deadly fumes. My white brother does many things well for he is more clever than my people but I wonder if he has ever really learned to love at all. Perhaps he only loves the things that are outside and beyond him. And this is, of course, not love at all, for man must love all creation or he will love none of it. Man must love fully or he will become the lowest of the animals. It is the power to love that makes him the greatest of them all…for he alone of all animals is capable of love. Love is something you and I must have. We must have it because our spirit feeds upon it. We must have it because without it we become weak and faint. Without love our self esteem weakens. Without it our courage fails. Without love we can no longer look out confidently at the world. Instead we turn inwardly and begin to feed upon our own personalities and little by little we destroy ourselves. You and I need the strength and joy that comes from knowing that we are loved. With it we are creative. With it we march tirelessly. With it, and with it alone, we are able to sacrifice for others. There have been times when we all wanted so desperately to feel a reassuring hand upon us…there have been lonely times when we so wanted a strong arm around us…I cannot tell you how deeply I miss my wife’s presence when I return from a trip. Her love was my greatest joy, my strength, my greatest blessing. I am afraid my culture has little to offer yours. But my culture did prize friendship and companionship. It did not look on privacy as a thing to be clung to, for privacy builds walls and walls promote distrust. My culture lived in a big family community, and from infancy people learned to live with others. My culture did not prize the hoarding of private possessions, in fact, to hoard was a shameful thing to do among my people. The Indian looked on all things in nature as belonging to him and he expected to share them with others and to take only what he needed. Everyone likes to give as well as receive. No one wishes only to receive all the time. We have taken something from your culture…I wish you had taken something from our culture…for there were some beautiful and good things in it. Soon it will be too late to know my culture, for integration is upon us and soon we will have no values but yours. Already many of our young people have forgotten the old ways. And many have been shamed of their Indian ways by scorn and ridicule. My culture is like a wounded deer that has crawled away into the forest to bleed and die alone. The only thing that can truly help us is genuine love. You must truly love, be patient with us and share with us. And we must love you—with a genuine love that forgives and forgets…a love that gives the terrible sufferings your culture brought ours when it swept over us like a wave crashing along a beach…with a love that forgets and lifts up its head and sees in your eyes an answering love of trust and acceptance. This is brotherhood…anything less is not worthy of the name. I have spoken.
Few things provide more inspiration, more courage, and more healing than the Creator's natural wonders.
Crazy Horse, of the Oglala Lakota tribe, played an integral role in the Battle of Little Bighorn, also known as Custer’s Last Stand. His likeness is now carved into a Black Hills mountain at The Crazy Horse Memorial. The famous leader resisted having his photograph taken, often responding to picture requests with “would you imprison my shadow too?” The memorial sculptor created his likeness based on descriptions from those who knew him. The grand visage, cut into granite, intends to honor the Native American values that Crazy Horse fought for and defended.
Why The Crazy Horse Memorial Remains Unfinished After 75 Years
Situated on a mountain in the Black Hills of South Dakota, the nearly 600 feet high Crazy Horse Memorial has been under construction since 1948.
The Crazy Horse monument in the Black Hills of South Dakota’s Custer City is a marvel to behold. Despite construction having begun in 1948, the cliffside tribute to the Lakota chief has yet to be completed. Its development certainly makes for a riveting story, but is all the more remarkable for the man it aims to honor.
If completed, the sculpture will depict the Native American warrior on his horse and pointing to his tribal land below — which the Oglala sub-tribe he led considered sacred. His head is currently the only finished part of the sculpture. At 87 feet high, it exceeds that of each U.S. President’s head at Mount Rushmore by 27 feet.
Happy Trails Friend. Blessings
"Life is a song — sing it. Life is a game — play it. Life is a challenge — meet it. Life is a dream — realize it. Life is a sacrifice — offer it. Life is love — enjoy it."
ENJOY DAY
XOXO
ENJOY DAY DEAR
XOXO
Have a good morning and happy blessing weekend to all. love mary