HI MY NAME IS RICHARD, I HAVE AN E-MAIL LETTER THAT I SEND OUT, MAINLY STORIES, POEMS, INSPIRATIONAL THINGS, IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO JOIN , SEND ME AN E-MAIL AT -----------

RIPA HEART@AOL.COM

HERE ARE SOME EXAMPLES OF THE KINDS OF THINGS I SEND OUT IN MY NEWSLETTER , THANKYOU AND HAVE A GREAT DAY--------

WHEN I FOCUS ON WHATS GOOD TODAY, I HAVE A GOOD DAY, AND WHEN I FOCUS ON WHATS BAD, I HAVE A BAD DAY ! IF I FOCUS ON A PROBLEM, THE PROBLEM INCREASES, IF I FOCUS ON THE ANSWER, THE ANSWER INCREASES. REMEMBER TO LIVE EVERY DAY OF YOUR LIFE ,AS IF THERE WILL BE NO TOMORROW !

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JEREMYS EGG

Jeremy was born with a twisted body, a slow mind and a chronic, terminal illness that had been slowly killing him all his young life. Still, his parents had tried to give him as normal a life as possible and had sent him to St. Theresa's Elementary School. At the age of 12, Jeremy was only in second grade, seemingly unable to learn. His teacher, Doris Miller, often became exasperated with him. He would squirm in his seat, drool and make grunting noises. At other times, he spoke clearly and distinctly, as if a spot of light had penetrated the darkness of his brain. Most of the time, however, Jeremy irritated his teacher. One day, she called his parents and asked them to come to St. Teresa's for a consultation. As the Forresters sat quietly in the empty classroom, Doris said to them, "Jeremy really belongs in a special school. It isn't fair to him to be with younger children who don't have learning problems. Why, there is a five-year gap between his age and that of the other students!" Mrs. Forrester cried softly into a tissue while her husband spoke. "Miss Miller," he said, "there is no school of that kind nearby. It would be a terrible shock for Jeremy if we had to take him out of this school. We know he really likes it here." Doris sat for a long time after they left, staring at the snow outside the window. Its coldness seemed to seep into her soul. She wanted to sympathize with the Forresters. After all, their only child had a terminal illness. But it wasn't fair to keep him in her class. She had 18 other youngsters to teach, and Jeremy was a distraction. Furthermore, he would never learn to read and write. Why waste any more time trying? As she pondered the situation, guilt washed over her. "Oh God," she said aloud, "here I am complaining when my problems are nothing compared with that poor family! Please help me to be more patient with Jeremy." From that day on, she tried hard to ignore Jeremy's noises and his blank stares. then one day he limped to her desk, draging his bad leg behind him. "I love you, Miss Miller," he exclaimed, loud enough for the whole class to hear. The other students snickered, and Doris's face turned red. She stammered, "Wh-why, that's very nice, Jeremy. Now please take your seat." Spring came, and the children talked excitedly about the coming of Easter. Doris told them the story of Jesus, and then to emphasize the idea of new life springing forth, she gave each of the children a large plastic egg. "Now," she said to them, "I want you to take this home and bring it back tomorrow with something inside that shows new life. Do you understand?" "Yes, Miss Miller!" the children responded enthusiastically--all except for Jeremy. He just listened intently, his eyes never left her face. He did not even make his usual noises. Had he understood what she had said about Jesus' death and resurrection? Did he understand the assignment? Perhaps she should call his parents and explain the project to them. That evening, Doris's kitchen sink stopped up. She called the landlord and waited an hour for him to come by and unclog it. After that, she still had to shop for groceries, iron a blouse and prepare a vocabulary test for the next day. She completely forgot about phoning Jeremy's parents. The next morning, 19 children came to school, laughing and talking as they placed their eggs in the large wicker basket on Miss Miller's desk. After they completed their math lesson, it was time to open the eggs. In the first egg, Doris found a flower. "Oh yes, a flower is certainly a sign of new life," she said. "When plants peek through the ground, we know that spring is here." A small girl in the first row waved her arms. "That's my egg, Miss Miller," she called out. The next egg contained a plastic butterfly, which looked very real. Doris held it up. "We all know that a caterpillar changes and grows into a beautiful butterfly. Yes, that is new life, too" Little Judy smiled proudly and said, "Miss Miller, that one is mine!" Next, Doris found a rock with moss on it. She explained that moss, too, showed life. Billy spoke up from the back of the classroom. "My daddy helped me!" he beamed. Then Doris opened the fourth egg. She gasped. The egg was empty! Surely it must be Jeremy's, she thought, and, of course, he did not understand her instructions. If only she had not forgotten to phone his parents. Because she did not want to embarrass him, she quietly set the egg aside and reached for another. Suddenly Jeremy spoke up. "Miss Miller, aren't you going to talk about my egg?" Flustered, Doris replied, "But Jeremy--your egg is empty!" He looked into here eyes and said softly, "Yes, but Jesus' tomb was empty too!" Time stopped. When she could speak again, Doris asked him, "Do you know why the tomb was empty?" "Oh, yes!" Jeremy exclaimed. "Jesus was killed and put in there. Then his Father raised him up!" The recess bell rang. While the children excitedly ran out to the school yard, Doris cried. The cold inside her melted completely away. Three months later, Jeremy died. Those who paid their respects at the mortuary were surprised to see 19 eggs on top of his casket, all of them empty.

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A STORY FOR YOU

Like any good mother, when Karen found out that another baby was on the way, she did what she could to help her 3 year old son, Michael, prepare for a new sibling. They found out that the new baby was going to be a girl, and day after day, night after night, Michael sang to his sister in Mommy's tummy. The pregnancy progressed normally for Karen, an active member of the Panther Creek United Methodist church in Morristown, TN. Then the labor pains come. Every five minutes.....every minute. But complications arise during delivery. Hours of labor. Would a C-section be required? Finally, Michael's little sister was born, but she was in serious condition. With sirens howling in the night, the ambulance rushed the infant to the neonatal intensive care unit at St. Mary's hospital in Knoxville, TN. The days inched by. The baby girl's condition steadily grew worse. The pediatric specialist told the parents, "There is very little hope. Be prepared for the worst." Karen and her husband contacted a local cemetery about a burial plot. They had fixed up a special room in their home for the new baby and now they planned a funeral. Michael kept begging his parents to let him see his sister. "I want to sing to her," he insisted. Week two in intensive care. It looks as if a funeral will come before the week is over. Michael continued to nag his grieving parents about singing to his sister but kids are never allowed in Intensive Care. Finally Karen made up her mind. Shewas going to take Michael whether they liked it or not. If he didn't see his baby sister now, he would probably never see her alive. She drove to the hospital, dressed him in an oversized scrub suit and marched him into ICU. He looked like a walking laundry basket, but the head nurse recognized him as a child and bellows, "Get that kid out of here now! No children are allowed!" The mother instincts rose up strong in Karen, and the usually mild-mannered young woman glared steel-eyed into the head nurse's face, her lips forming a firm line. "He is not leaving until he sings to his baby sister!" Karen towed Michael to his sister's bedside. He gazed at the tiny infant losing the battle to live, and he began to sing. In the pure hearted voice of a 3 year old, Michael sang: "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray - - -" Instantly the baby girl responded. The pulse rate became calm and steady. "Keep on singing, Michael." "You never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away- - -" The ragged, strained breathing became as smooth as a kitten's purr. "Keep on singing, Michael." "The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms..." Michael's little sister relaxed as rest, healing rest, seemed to sweep over her. "Keep on singing, Michael." Tears conquered the face of the bossy head nurse. Karen glows. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. Please don't take my sunshine away." Funeral plans were scrapped. The next day - - - the very next day, the tiny infant girl was well enough to go home! Woman's Day Magazine called it "the miracle of a brother's song". The medical staff just called it a miracle. Karen called it a miracle of God's love!

RICHARDS HEART--RIPA HEART@AOL.COM @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

The Wise Woman's Stone

A wise woman who was traveling in the mountains found a precious stone in a stream. The next day she met another traveler who was hungry, and the wise woman opened her bag to share her food. The hungry traveler saw the precious stone and asked the woman to give it to him. She did so without hesitation. The traveler left rejoicing in his good fortune. He knew the stone was worth enough to give him security for a lifetime. But, a few days later, he came back to return the stone to the wise woman. "I've been thinking," he said. "I know how valuable this stone is, but I give it back in the hope that you can give me something even more precious. Give me what you have within you that enabled you to give me this stone." Sometimes it not the wealth you have but what's inside you that others need.

RICHARDS HEART---RIPA HEART@AOL.COM @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

THE LUNCH BAG

It was Molly's job to hand her father his brown paper lunch bag each morning before he headed off to work. One morning, in addition to his usual lunch bag, Molly handed him a second paper bag. This one was worn and held together with duct tape, staples, and paper clips. "Why two bags" Fulghum asked. "The other is something else," Molly answered. "What's in it?" "Just some stuff. Take it with you." Not wanting to hold court over the matter, Fulghum stuffed both sacks into his briefcase, kissed Molly and rushed off. At midday, while hurriedly scarfing down his real lunch, he tore open Molly's bag and shook out the contents: two hair ribbons, three small stones, a plastic dinosaur, a pencil stub, a tiny sea shell, two animal crackers, a marble, a used lipstick, a small doll, two chocolate kisses, and 13 pennies. Fulghum smiled, finished eating, and swept the desk clean - into the wastebasket - leftover lunch, Molly's junk and all. That evening, Molly ran up behind him as he read the paper. "Where's my bag?" "What bag?" "You know, the one I gave you this morning." "I left it at the office. Why?" "I forgot to put this note in it," she said. "And, besides, those are my things in the sack, Daddy, the ones I really like - I thought you might like to play with them, but now I want them back. You didn't lose the bag, did you, Daddy?" "Oh, no," he said, lying. "I just forgot to bring it home. I'll bring it tomorrow." While Molly hugged her father's neck, he unfolded the note that had not made it into the sack: "I love you, Daddy." Molly had given him her treasures. All that a 7-year-old held dear. Love in a paper sack, and he missed it - not only missed it, but had thrown it in the wastebasket. So back he went to the office. Just ahead of the night janitor, he picked up the wastebasket and poured the contents on his desk. After washing the mustard off the dinosaurs and spraying the whole thing with breath-freshener to kill the smell of onions, he carefully smoothed out the wadded ball of brown paper, put the treasures inside and carried it home gingerly, like and injured kitten. The bag didn't look so good, but the stuff was all there and that's what counted. After dinner, he asked Molly to tell him about the stuff in the sack. It took a long time to tell. Everything had a story or a memory or was attached to dreams and imaginary friends. Fairies had brought some of the things. He had given her the chocolate kisses, and she had kept them for when she needed them. "Sometimes I think of all the times in this sweet life," Fulghum concludes the story, "when I must have missed the affection I was being given. A friend calls this 'standing knee deep in the river and dying of thirst." We should all remember that it's not the destination that counts in life - it's the journey. The little girl smiles, the dinosaurs and chocolate kisses wrapped in old paper bags that we sometimes throw away too thoughtlessly, each day, each a tiny treasure. The journey with the people we love is all that really matters.Such a simple truth so easily forgotten. (a true story of Robert Fulghum and his 7-year-old daughter Molly)

RICHARDS HEART--RIPA HEART@AOL.COM @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Slow Dance

Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-round, or listened to rain slapping the ground? Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight, or gazed at the sun into the fading night? »~§~« You'd better slow down, don't dance so fast, time is short, the music won't last. »~§~« Do you run through each day on the fly, when you ask "How are you"? Do you hear the reply? When the day is done, do you lie in your bed, with the next hundred chores running through your head? »~§~« You'd better slow down, don't dance so fast, time is short, the music won't last. »~§~« Ever told your child, we'll do it tomorrow, and in your haste, not seen his sorrow? Ever lost touch, let a good friendship die, 'cause you never had time to call and say "Hi!"? »~§~« You'd better slow down, don't dance so fast, time is short, the music won't last. »~§~« When you run so fast to get somewhere, you miss half the fun of getting there. When you worry and hurry through your day, it's like an unopened gift...thrown away. Life is not a race, so take it slower, hear the music before the song is over.

RICHARDS HEART--RIPA HEART@AOL.COM @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

THE INVITATION

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and If you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love for your dream for the adventure of being alive. It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, If you have been opened by life's betrayals, Or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy mine or your own. If you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes wiithout cautioning us to be careful be realistic to remember the limitations of being human. It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can dissapoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithful and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty everyday. And if you can source your own life from it's presence. I want to know if you can live with failure yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes." It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children. It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back. It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself, and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

RICHARDS HEART--RIPA HEART@AOL.COM @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

A BROTHER LIKE THAT

A friend of mine named Paul received a new automobile from his brother as a pre-Christmas present. On Christmas Eve, when Paul came out of his office, a street urchin was walking around the shiney new car, admiring it. "Is this your car, Mister?" he asked. Paul nodded, "My brother gave it to me for Christmas." The boy looked astounded. "You mean your brother gave it to you, and didn't cost you anything? Gosh I wish....." He hesitated, and Paul knew what he was going to wish. He was going to wish he had a brother like that. But what the lad said jarred Paul all the way down to his heels. "I wish," the boy went on, "that I could be a brother like that." Paul looked at the boy in astonishment, then impulsively he added, Would you like to ride in my automobile?" "Oh, yes, I'd love that!" After a short ride the urchin turned, and with his eyes aglow said, Mister, would you mind driving in front of my house?" Paul smiled a little. He thought he knew what the lad wanted. He wanted to show his neighbors that he could ride home in a big automobile. But Paul was wrong again. "Will you stop right where those steps are?" the boy asked. He ran up the steps. Then in a little while, Paul heard him coming back, but he was not coming fast. He was carrying his little polio-crippled brother. He sat down on the bottom step, then sort of squeezed up right against him and pointed to the car. "There she is, Buddy, just like I told you upstairs. His brother gave it to him for Christmas, and it didn't cost him a cent, and someday I'm gonna give you one just like it; then you can see for yourself all the pretty things in the Christmas windows that I"ve been trying to tell you about." Paul got out and lifted the little lad into the front seat of his car. The shining-eyed older brother climbed in beside him and the three of them began a memorable holiday ride. That Christmas eve, Paul learned what Jesus meant when He said, "IT IS MORE BLESSED TO GIVE....

RICHARDS HEART--RIPA HEART@AOL.COM @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

THE PRESENT MOMENT

I may never see tomorrow; there's no written guarantee, And things that happened yesterday belong to history. I cannot predict the future, I cannot change the past, I have just the present moment, I must treat it as my last. I must use this moment wisely for it soon will pass away, And be lost to me forever as a part of yesterday. I must excercise compassion, help the fallen to their feet, Be a friend unto the friendless, make an empty life complete. The unkind thing I do today may never be undone, And Friendships that I fail to win may never more be won. I may not have another chance an bended knee to pray, And thank God with a humble heart for giving me this day.

RICHARDS HEART --RIPA HEART@AOL.COM @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ The Fence

There was a little boy with a bad temper. His father gave him a bag of nails and told him that every time he lost his temper, to hammer a nail in the back fence. The first day the boy had driven 37 nails into the fence. Then it gradually dwindled down. He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails into the fence. Finally the day came when the boy didnt lose his temper at all. He told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his temper. The days passed and the young boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were gone. The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. He said, "You have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one. You can put a knife in a man and draw it out. It won't matter how many times you say I'm sorry, the wound is still there. A verbal wound is as bad as a physical one. Friends are a very rare jewel, indeed. They make you smile and encourage you to succeed. They lend an ear, they share a word of praise, and they always want to open their hearts to us.

RICHARDS HEART --RIPA HEART@AOL.COM @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

DONT EVER Don't ever try to understand everything -- some things will just never make sense. «*´`*´`*» Don't ever be reluctant to show your feelings -- when you're happy, give in to it! When you're not, live with it. «*´`*´`*» Don't ever be afraid to try to make things better -- you might be surprised at the results. «*´`*´`*» Don't ever take the weight of the world on your shoulders... «*´`*´`*» Don't ever feel threatened by the future -- take life one day at a time. «*´`*´`*» Don't ever feel guilty about the past -- what's done is done. Learn from any mistakes you might have made. «*´`*´`*» Don't ever feel that you are alone -- there is always somebody there for you to reach out to. «*´`*´`*» Don't ever forget that you can achieve so many of the things you can imagine -- imagine that! It's not as hard as it seems. «*´`*´`*» Don't ever stop loving, don't ever stop believing, don't ever stop dreaming your dreams.

RICHARDS HEART--RIPA HEART@AOL.COM

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A little boy invited his mother to attend his elementary school's first teacher-parent conference. To the little boy's dismay, she said she would go. This would be the first time that his classmates and teacher met his mother and he was embarrassed by her appearance. Although she was a beautiful woman, there was a severe scar that covered nearly the entire right side of her face. The boy never wanted to talk about why or how she got the scar. At the conference, the people were impressed by the kindness and natural beauty of his mother despite the scar, but the little boy was still embarrassed and hid himself from everyone. He did, however, get within earshot of a conversation between his mother and his teacher, and heard them speaking. "How did you get the scar on your face?" the teacher asked. The mother replied, "When my son was a baby, he was in a room that caught on fire. Everyone was too afraid to go in because the fire was out of control, so I went in. As I was running toward his crib, I saw a beam coming down and I placed myself over him trying to shield him. I was knocked unconscious but fortunately, a fireman came in and saved both of us." She touched the burned side of her face. "This scar will be permanent, but to this day, I have never regretted doing what I did." At this point, the little boy came out running towards his mother with tears in his eyes. He hugged her and felt an overwhelming sense of the sacrifice that his mother had made for him. He held her hand tightly for the rest of the day. By Lih Yuh Kuo

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He Is Just a Little Boy

He stands at the plate with his heart pounding fast. The bases are loaded, the die has been cast. Mom and Dad cannot help him, he stands all alone. A hit at this moment, would send the team home. The ball meets the plate, he swings and he misses. There's a groan from the crowd, with some boos and some hisses. A thoughtless voice cries, “Strike out the bum.” Tears fill his eyes, the games no longer fun. So open your heart and give him a break, For it’s moments like this, a man you can make. Please keep this in mind, when you hear someone forget. He is just a little boy, and not a man yet.

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