The beginning of love, is to let those we love be perfectly themselves and not twist them with our own image -- otherwise, we love only the reflection of ourselves we find in them? The happiest people don't necessarily have the best of every-thing...they just make the most out of everything that comes their way.

The best kind of friend is the one you can sit on a porch with, never saying a word and then walk away, feeling like that was the best conversation you've had.

Don't go for looks -- it can deceive.

Don't go for money -- even wealth fades away.

Go for someone who makes you smile, because only a smile makes a dark day seem bright. Happiness lies for those who cry, those who hurt, those who have searched and those who have tried. For only they can appreciate the importance of the people who have touched their lives.

Love is when you take away the feeling, the passion and the romance... and you find out you still care for that person. Love comes to those who still hope even though they've been disappointed, those who still believe, even though they have been betrayed and those who still love even though they've been hurt before. Maybe God wants us to meet a few wrong people, before meeting the right one, so that when we finally meet the right person, we should know how to be grateful for that gift. It hurts to love someone and not be loved in return. But, what is the most painful is to love someone and never find the courage to let the person know how you feel. The brightest future will always be based on a forgotten past ... you can't go on in life until you let go of your past failures and heartaches.

Giving someone all your love is never an assurance that they'll love you back! Don't expect love in return, just wait for it to grow in Their hearts. But, if it doesn't, be content it grew in yours. There are things that you would love to hear, but you never hear it from the person you want to. Don't be deaf to hear it from the person who says it with their heart.

When you were born, you were crying and everyone around you was smiling. Live your life so that when you die, you are smiling and everyone around you is crying.

When one door of happiness closes, another opens. But often we look so long at the closed door, that we don't see the one which has just been opened for us.

Always put yourself in the other's shoes. If you feel that it hurts you, it probably hurts the other person, too. A sad thing about life is when you meet someone who means a lot to you ... only to find out in the end, that it was never meant to be and you just have to let go.

It takes a minute to have a crush on someone ... an hour to like someone...a day to love someone...but it takes a lifetime to forget someone.

Love starts with a smile, develops with a kiss and ends with a tear.

The more hurt and pain you have gone thru in life, the stronger and more
beautiful your heart will be.....

One day a young man was standing in the middle of the town proclaiming that he had the most beautiful heart in the whole valley.

A large crowd gathered and they all admired his heart for it was perfect. There was not a mark or a flaw in it. Yes, they all agreed it truly was the most beautiful heart they had ever seen. The young man was very proud and boasted more loudly about his beautiful heart.

Suddenly, an old man appeared at the front of the crowd and said, "Why your heart is not nearly as beautiful as mine." The crowd and the young man looked at the old man's heart. It was beating strongly, but full of scars, it had places where pieces had been removed and other pieces put in, but they didn't fit quite right and there were several jagged edges. In fact, in some places there were deep gouges where whole pieces missing.

The people stared. How can he say his heart is more beautiful?? they thought. The young man looked at the old man's heart and saw its state and laughed. "You must be joking," he said. "Compare your heart with mine, mine is perfect and yours is a mess of scars and tears."

"Yes," said the old man, "Yours is perfect looking but I would never trade with you. You see, every scar represents a person to whom I have given my love - I tear out a piece of my heart and give it to them, and often they give me a piece of their heart which fits into the empty place in my heart, but because the pieces aren't exact, I have some rough edges, which I cherish, because they remind me of the love we shared. Sometimes I have given pieces of my heart away, and the other person hasn't returned a piece of his heart to me. These are the empty gouges - giving love is taking a chance. Although these gouges are painful, they stay open, reminding me of the love I have for these people too, and I hope someday they may return and fill the space I have waiting. So now do you see what true beauty is?"

The young man stood silently with tears running down his cheeks. He walked up to the old man, reached into his perfect young and beautiful heart, and ripped a piece out. He offered it to the old man with trembling hands.

The old man took his offering, placed it in his heart and then took a piece from his old scarred heart and placed it in the wound in the young man's heart. It fit, but not perfectly, as there were some jagged edges.

The young man looked at his heart, not perfect anymore but more beautiful than ever, since love from the old man's heart flowed into his.

They embraced and walked away side by side.

Sophie's face faded into the gray winter light of the sitting room. She dozed in the armchair that Joe had bought for her on their fortieth anniversary. The room was warm and quiet. Outside it was snowing lightly.

At a quarter past one the mailman turned the corner onto Allen Street. He was behind on his route, not because of the snow, but because it was Valentine's Day and there was more mail than usual. He passed Sophie's house without looking up. Twenty minutes later he climbed back into his truck and drove off.

Sophie stirred when she heard the mail truck pull away, then took off her glasses and wipe her mouth and eyes with the handkerchief she always carried in her sleeve. She pushed herself up using the arm of the chair for support, straightened slowly and smoothed the lap of her dark green housedress.

Her slippers made a soft, shuffling sound on the bare floor as she walked to the kitchen. She stopped at the sink to was the two dishes she had left on the counter after lunch. Then she filled a plastic cup halfway with water and took her pills. It was one forty-five.

There was a rocker in the sitting room by the front window. Sophie eased herself into it. In a half-hour the children would be passing by on their way home from school. Sophie waited, rocking and watching the snow.

The boys came first, as always, running and calling out things Sophie could not hear. Today they were making snowball as they went, throwing them at one another. One snowball missed and smacked hard into Sophie's window. She jerked backward, and the rocker slipped off the edge of her oval rag rug.

The girl dilly-dallied after the boys, in twos and threes, cupping their mittened hands over their mouths and giggling. Sophie wonder if they were telling each other about the valentines they had received at school. One pretty girl with long brown hair stopped and pointed to her face behind the drapes, suddenly self-conscious. When she looked out again, the boys and girls were gone. It was cold by the window, but she stayed there watching the snow cover the children's footprints

A florist's truck turned onto Allen Street. Sophie followed it with her eyes. It was moving slowly. Twice it stopped and started again. Then the driver pulled up in front of Mrs. Mason's house next door and parked. Who would be sending Mrs. Mason flowers? Sophie wondered. Her daughter in Wisconsin? Or her brother? No, her brother was very ill. It was probably her daughter. How nice of her.

Flowers made Sophie think of Joe and, for a moment, she let the aching memory fill her. Tomorrow was the fifteenth. Eight months since his death.

The flower mans was knocking at Mrs. Mason's front door. He carried a long white and green box and a clipboard. No one seemed to be answering. Of course! It was Friday - Mrs. Mason quilted at the church on Friday afternoons. The delivery man looked around, then started toward Sophie's house.

Sophie shoved herself out of the rocker and stood close to the drapes. The man knocked. Her hands trembled as she straightened her hair. She reached her front hall on the third knock.

"Yes?" she said, peering around a slightly opened door. "Good afternoon, ma'am," the man said loudly. "Would you take a delivery for your neighbour?"

"Yes," Sophie answered, pulling the door wide open. "Where would you like me to put them?" the man asked politely as he strode in.

"In the kitchen, please. On the table. " The man looked big to Sophie. She could hardly see his face between his green cap and full beard. Sophie was glad he left quickly, and she locked the door after him.

The box was as long as the kitchen table. Sophie drew near to it and bent over to read the lettering: "NATALIE'S Flowers for Every Occasion." The rich smell of roses engulfed her. She closed her eyes and took slower breaths, imagining yellow roses. Joe had always chosen yellow. "To my sunshine," he would say, presenting the extravagant bouquet. He would laugh delightedly, kiss her on the forehead, then take her hands in his and sing to her "You Are My Sunshine."

It's was five o'clock when Mrs. Mason knocked at Sophie's front door. Sophie was still at the kitchen table. The flower box was now open though, and she held the roses on her lap, swaying slightly and stroking the delicate yellow petals. Mrs. Mason knocked again, but Sophie did not hear her, and after several minutes the neighbour left.

Sophie rose a little while later, laying the flowers on the kitchen table. Her cheeks were flushed. She dragged a step stool across the kitchen floor and lifted a white porcelain vase from the top corner cabinet. Using a drinking glass, she filled the vase with water, then tenderly arranged the roses and greens, and carried them into the sitting room.

She was smiling as she reached the middle of the room. She turned slightly and began to dip and twirl in small slow circles. She stepped lightly, gracefully, around the sitting room, into the kitchen, down the hall, back again. She danced till her knees grew weak, and then she dropped into the armchair and slept.

At a quarter past six, Sophie awoke with a start. Someone was knocking on the back door this time. It was Mrs. Mason.

"Hello, Sophie," Mrs. Mason said. "How are you? I knocked at five and was a little worried when you didn't come. Were you napping?" She chattered as she wiped her snowy boots on the welcome mat and stepped inside. "I just hate snow, don't you? The radio says we might have six inches by midnight, but you can never trust them, you know. Do you remember last winter when they predicted four inches, and we hand twenty-one? Twenty-one! And they said we'd have a mild winter this year. Ha! I don't think it's been over zero in weeks. Do you know my oil bill was $263 last month? For my little house!"

Sophie was only half-listening. She had remembered the roses suddenly and was turning hot with shame. The empty flower box was behind her on the kitchen table. What would she say to Mrs. Mason?

"I don't know how much longer I can keep paying the bills. If only Alfred, God bless him, had been as careful with money as your Joseph. Joseph! Oh, good heavens! I almost forgot about the roses."
Sophie's cheeks burned. She began to stammer an apology, stepping aside to reveal the empty box.

"Oh, good," Mrs. Mason interrupted. "You put the roses in water. Then you saw the card. I hope it didn't startle your to see Joseph's handwriting. Joseph had asked me to bring you the roses the first year, so I could explain for him. He didn't want to alarm you. His 'Rose Trust,' I think he called it. He arranged it with the florist last April. Such a good man, your Joseph..."

But Sophie had stopped listening. Her heart was pounding as she picked up the small white envelope she had missed earlier. It had been lying beside the flower box all this time. With trembling hands, she removed the card.

"To my sunshine," it said. "I love you with all my heart. Try to be happy when you think of me. Love, Joe."

To cry is uniquely human, to weep for joy even more so. I cry every day.

I cry for all the years I wanted and needed to cry and didn’t. I cry for the loneliness and pain I”ve felt. I cry for the sheer delight of being alive. I cry for the pleasure that moving my body brings, and for ability to dance and stretch and sweat. I cry in gratitude for the life I have now.

I was a cute little girl. I loved laughing and playing with my friends. Then, When I was eight years old, I experienced the devastating trauma of incest. In order to cope with that physical, mental and emotional nightmare, I made two unconscious decisions: First, I wanted to be as ugly ad possible, second, I didn’t want to think or feel. I knew if I let myself feel anything, it would be too much for me.

So I started eating. When the fear came, I ate when the pain came, I ate. By the time I was 12, I weighed 200 pounds.

I spent most of my time by myself, doing things with my hands or watching TV. Even with my brothers and sisters, I felt alone. I was never asked out to dance or to a movie or on a date. I was socially invisible.

By the time I was 25, I weighed 420 pounds. My doctor gave me six months to live. My body couldn’t support the fat I was carrying. I didn’t leave my house for two years. I literally couldn’t move. I had to lose the weight if I wanted to live. And I decided I would do whatever the doctor told me to do to lose it.

I lost my first 100 pounds and I felt so light I wanted to dance. But I started to gain it back, and I realized I had to go deeper and deal with root of my problem- the unfelt pain. I began therapy, joined a Twelve-step program and accepted the love and support of my family and friends. At 35, I cried for first time since of my weight loss.

Once I turned that corner, it was up to me to continue the work and to be conscious one day at a time. It was a process of growing self-knowledge and self-acceptance. I continued my therapy. I started to study nutrition, and I learned that for me , eating fat is a sedative. I watched my behavior and monitored what brought on my need to eat. When I found myself knee-deep in Haagen-Dazs, I stopped and asked myself how I got there.

Though there were times when I would backslide, it was my acceptance of myself in all my strengths and weaknesses that helped me get back up and keep going. My goal was to be better- not perfect.

When I see childhood obesity now, it breaks my heart. We wouldn’t dream of laughing at a child who has no arm or leg or who uses a wheelchair. But people will tease and ostracize a child who has an eating disorder and is obese. We still don’t understand that the weight such a child carries is the weight of that child’s own pain.

Healing my life wasn’t just about losing weight. I had to learn how to live life as an adult. I had never learned basic social skills- once, at work, a man talked to me at the water cooler and I giggled like a 14 year-old girl. I started the process of learning about relationships and growing up.

Now, at 46, I am an adult, I have become a person I truly love. My weight is the average range, I exercise regularly and I have a career I love as motivational speaker. I recognize that good things that came from my years of childhood pain and isolation: my love for classical music, my ability to sew and to do stained glass-to create beauty with my hands. Even my ability to speak well and engagingly can be traced to many hours I spent watching such great entertainers as Lucille Ball and Milton Berle on TV

I am grateful for blessing in my life now, and I accept the events in my life as gifts of growth that create strength of character and strength of faith. Today I cry in gratitude for the life I have.

Once three old men stood by a house and asked for food. The lady of the house invited them into her house to appease their hunger. To her surprise, they declined it saying that only one of them whom she chooses would enter the house. They further introduced themselves as 'Wealth', 'Success' and 'Love'. The amused lady replied that she would get back to them after discussing with her husband.

The lady returned back and invited 'Love' into her house. The old man who was 'Love' walked into the house surprisingly with 'Wealth' and 'Success' following him.

When the bemused lady enquired as to why the other two pursued 'Love,' the two others said that they normally followed love even without an invite if 'Love' was chosen. But also clarified, that had one of them instead of 'Love' had been chosen, invariably the other two would not have stepped in.

They said, "Where ever love goes, we also follow!”

It is only too natural for the inclusion of all goodness in one's life with the all embracing aspect of love blossoming from one's very being!

Love is the light that illumines one's life