The Best Funny Jokes And Funny Images With Stories

Slave to His Destiny, A

One morning a sixteen-year-old boy was kidnapped from his house by a band of knife-wielding thugs and taken to another country, there to be sold as a slave. The year was 401 AD.

He was made a shepherd. Slaves were not allowed to wear clothes, so he was often dangerously cold and frequently on the verge of starvation. He spent months at a time without seeing another human being -- a severe psychological torture.

But this greatest of difficulties was transformed into the greatest of blessings because it gave him an opportunity not many get in a lifetime. Long lengths of solitude have been used by people all through history to meditate, to learn to control the mind and to explore the depths of feeling and thought to a degree impossible in the hubbub of normal life.

He wasn't looking for such an "opportunity," but he got it anyway. He had never been a religious person, but to hold himself together and take his mind off the pain, he began to pray, so much that "...in one day," he wrote later, "I would say as many as a hundred prayers and after dark nearly as many again...I would wake and pray before daybreak -- through snow, frost, and rain...."

This young man, at the onset of his manhood, got a 'raw deal.' But therein lies the lesson. Nobody gets a perfect life. The question is not "What could I have done if I'd gotten a better life?" but rather "What can I do with the life I've got?"

How can you take your personality, your circumstances, your upbringing, the time and place you live in, and make something extraordinary out of it? What can you do with what you've got?

The young slave prayed. He didn't have much else available to do, so he did what he could with all his might. And after six years of praying, he heard a voice in his sleep say that his prayers would be answered: He was going home. He sat bolt upright and the voice said, "Look, your ship is ready."

He was a long way from the ocean, but he started walking. After two hundred miles, he came to the ocean and there was a ship, preparing to leave for Britain, his homeland. Somehow he got aboard the ship and went home to reunite with his family.

But he had changed. The sixteen-year-old boy had become a holy man. He had visions. He heard the voices of the people from the island he had left -- Ireland -- calling him back. The voices were persistent, and he eventually left his family to become ordained as a priest and a bishop with the intention of returning to Ireland and converting the Irish to Christianity.

At the time, the Irish were fierce, illiterate, Iron-Age people. For over eleven hundred years, the Roman Empire had been spreading its civilizing influence from Africa to Britain, but Rome never conquered Ireland.

The people of Ireland warred constantly. They made human sacrifices of prisoners of war and sacrificed newborns to the gods of the harvest. They hung the skulls of their enemies on their belts as ornaments.

Our slave-boy-turned-bishop decided to make these people literate and peaceful. Braving dangers and obstacles of tremendous magnitude, he actually succeeded! By the end of his life, Ireland was Christian. Slavery had ceased entirely. Wars were much less frequent, and literacy was spreading.

How did he do it? He began by teaching people to read -- starting with the Bible. Students eventually became teachers and went to other parts of the island to create new places of learning, and wherever they went, they brought the know-how to turn sheepskin into paper and paper into books.

Copying books became the major religious activity of that country. The Irish had a long-standing love of words, and it expressed itself to the full when they became literate. Monks spent their lives copying books: the Bible, the lives of saints, and the works accumulated by the Roman culture -- Latin, Greek, and Hebrew books, grammars, the works of Plato, Aristotle, Virgil, Homer, Greek philosophy, math, geometry, astronomy.

In fact, because so many books were being copied, they were saved, because as Ireland was being civilized, the Roman Empire was falling apart. Libraries disappeared in Europe. Books were no longer copied (except in the city of Rome itself), and children were no longer taught to read. The civilization that had been built up over eleven centuries disintegrated. This was the beginning of the Dark Ages.

Because our slave-boy-turned-bishop transformed his suffering into a mission, civilization itself, in the form of literature and the accumulated knowledge contained in that literature, was saved and not lost during that time of darkness. He was named a saint, the famous Saint Patrick. You can read the full and fascinating story if you like in the excellent book How the Irish Saved Civilization by Thomas Cahill.

"Very interesting," you might say, "but what does that have to do with me?"

Well...you are also in some circumstances or other, and it's not all peaches and cream, is it? There's some stuff you don't like -- maybe something about your circumstances, perhaps, or maybe some events that occurred in your childhood.

But here you are, with that past, with these circumstances, with the things you consider less than ideal. What are you going to do with them? If those circumstances have made you uniquely qualified for some contribution, what would it be?

You may not know the answer to that question right now, but keep in mind that the circumstances you think only spell misery may contain the seeds of something profoundly Good. Assume that's true, and the assumption will begin to gather evidence until your misery is transformed, as Saint Patrick's suffering was, from a raw deal to the perfect preparation for something better.

One morning a sixteen-year-old boy was kidnapped from his house by a band of knife-wielding thugs and taken to another country, there to be sold as a slave. The year was 401 AD. He was made a shepherd. Slaves were not allowed to wear clothes, so he was often dangerously cold and frequently on the verge of starvation. He spent months at a time without seeing another human being -- a severe psychological torture. But this greatest of difficulties was transformed into the greatest of blessings because it gave him an opportunity not many get in a lifetime. Long lengths of solitude have been used by people all through history to meditate, to learn to control the mind and to explore the depths of feeling and thought to a degree impossible in the hubbub of normal life. He wasn't looking for such an "opportunity," but he got it anyway. He had never been a religious person, but to hold himself together and take his mind off the pain, he began to pray, so much that "...in one day," he wrote later, "I would say as many as a hundred prayers and after dark nearly as many again...I would wake and pray before daybreak -- through snow, frost, and rain...." This young man, at the onset of his manhood, got a 'raw deal.' But therein lies the lesson. Nobody gets a perfect life. The question is not "What could I have done if I'd gotten a better life?" but rather "What can I do with the life I've got?" How can you take your personality, your circumstances, your upbringing, the time and place you live in, and make something extraordinary out of it? What can you do with what you've got? The young slave prayed. He didn't have much else available to do, so he did what he could with all his might. And after six years of praying, he heard a voice in his sleep say that his prayers would be answered: He was going home. He sat bolt upright and the voice said, "Look, your ship is ready." He was a long way from the ocean, but he started walking. After two hundred miles, he came to the ocean and there was a ship, preparing to leave for Britain, his homeland. Somehow he got aboard the ship and went home to reunite with his family. But he had changed. The sixteen-year-old boy had become a holy man. He had visions. He heard the voices of the people from the island he had left -- Ireland -- calling him back. The voices were persistent, and he eventually left his family to become ordained as a priest and a bishop with the intention of returning to Ireland and converting the Irish to Christianity. At the time, the Irish were fierce, illiterate, Iron-Age people. For over eleven hundred years, the Roman Empire had been spreading its civilizing influence from Africa to Britain, but Rome never conquered Ireland. The people of Ireland warred constantly. They made human sacrifices of prisoners of war and sacrificed newborns to the gods of the harvest. They hung the skulls of their enemies on their belts as ornaments. Our slave-boy-turned-bishop decided to make these people literate and peaceful. Braving dangers and obstacles of tremendous magnitude, he actually succeeded! By the end of his life, Ireland was Christian. Slavery had ceased entirely. Wars were much less frequent, and literacy was spreading. How did he do it? He began by teaching people to read -- starting with the Bible. Students eventually became teachers and went to other parts of the island to create new places of learning, and wherever they went, they brought the know-how to turn sheepskin into paper and paper into books. Copying books became the major religious activity of that country. The Irish had a long-standing love of words, and it expressed itself to the full when they became literate. Monks spent their lives copying books: the Bible, the lives of saints, and the works accumulated by the Roman culture -- Latin, Greek, and Hebrew books, grammars, the works of Plato, Aristotle, Virgil, Homer, Greek philosophy, math, geometry, astronomy. In fact, because so many books were being copied, they were saved, because as Ireland was being civilized, the Roman Empire was falling apart. Libraries disappeared in Europe. Books were no longer copied (except in the city of Rome itself), and children were no longer taught to read. The civilization that had been built up over eleven centuries disintegrated. This was the beginning of the Dark Ages. Because our slave-boy-turned-bishop transformed his suffering into a mission, civilization itself, in the form of literature and the accumulated knowledge contained in that literature, was saved and not lost during that time of darkness. He was named a saint, the famous Saint Patrick. You can read the full and fascinating story if you like in the excellent book How the Irish Saved Civilization by Thomas Cahill. "Very interesting," you might say, "but what does that have to do with me?" Well...you are also in some circumstances or other, and it's not all peaches and cream, is it? There's some stuff you don't like -- maybe something about your circumstances, perhaps, or maybe some events that occurred in your childhood. But here you are, with that past, with these circumstances, with the things you consider less than ideal. What are you going to do with them? If those circumstances have made you uniquely qualified for some contribution, what would it be? You may not know the answer to that question right now, but keep in mind that the circumstances you think only spell misery may contain the seeds of something profoundly Good. Assume that's true, and the assumption will begin to gather evidence until your misery is transformed, as Saint Patrick's suffering was, from a raw deal to the perfect preparation for something better.

Is It too Tough?

Exercise shouldn't be drudgery. It may seem that way at first, but as you begin to reap the benefits, exercise may turn into one your most enjoyable past time. Exercise is often a lifestyle.

If you continue to exercise simply because you think you "must," you may not receive all the benefits that come in between the lines. If you lift because you "have to," maybe you should try to change your mindset. When you find the proper mindset, you will look forward to your workout. Lifting is actually a privilege that only some can partake in. Let me narrate some personal history to you so you can see where I'm coming from.

On December 22, 1995, my life changed. Don't get me wrong. I was content with my life -- at the time. It was a cold and clear night in midwinter in Washington state. I was cruising on my 1992 Suzuki traveling southbound on a country road. As I traveled that direction, a truck was approaching. All of a sudden, he realizes he forgot his lumber grading manual in his locker. He needed to study this text over the holidays so he could learn the new grading criteria for the lumber.

As he makes a left turn into a deserted driveway, he hears a thunderous crash. That thunderous crash was my bike slamming into his passenger door.

I did everything I could to stop in time. Marks were left on the road where I had locked up my brakes. I hit the truck and went airborne. I traveled about 50 feet before I hit the ground.

By the time the medics arrived, I was comatose. Intubation was done at the scene. On my right leg, deep lacerations were evident. Today, I am still missing a piece of my tibialis (a muscle on the front of the lower leg). Not only did I suffer from cuts, but I developed deep ulnar neuropathy. The left half of my body went into uncontrollable spasms. In lingo that people other than doctors can understand, I was in "really" bad shape.

My coma lasted from December 22, 1995 to February 15, 1996. Well, that was actually the first time I gave signs of cognitive thinking. On that day, I put my hands up to my mouth acting as if I was pushing food in it. Very primitive communication, but it got the point across. Because I consumed every calorie I could cram in my mouth after I awoke, I ballooned up to 190 pounds fast. I consumed delicacies like cheesecake and ice cream often. I really wanted cheesecake! I needed calories.

On top of all my medical problems, my wife divorced me! I was so distraught! I needed help! I was not ready to face the world on my own! So I lived with my aunt for a couple months until finding my own place. I found an apartment in Blaine, WA and relocated. Blaine is a small town near the Canadian border in Washington.

I had no car, nor a license for that matter, so turning to public transportation system was my only option. One day, when entering Bellingham. my bus passed a gym . I saw "World Gym" daily and started thinking, "Maybe if I join and get to looking good, people will overlook my disabilities." In reality, my only driving ambition was my desire for companionship. Not the most noteworthy aspiration, but it got me in there and on that day, my life began!

I joined that fitness center. I couldn't afford to do it, but something was telling me I couldn't make my ends meet if I didn't find a way. For two months, I had the most amazing pump. I could feel protein synthesis occurring under the skin of my chest. Just imagine the feeling. It was a slight, painless tingle. It felt so terrific that I wanted it for life. Personal trainers often inquired if I was on "the juice." The growth was supernatural to them. Heck, I actually thought I might have been genetically altered due to the brain injury.

While visiting my mother in Texas, I found an old Joe Weider lifting manual that my father had given me when I was in 5th grade. I began reading and dreaming that my body looked like the photographed lifters. I examined that text but my desire for knowledge only grew.

For the next couple months, I read every book I could about diet and exercise. After a month or so, the library ran out of works quickly. I examined topics from Essential Fatty Acids to "Reps!", a training technique guide. As the book depot ran low on works, I turned to magazines. I read every Muscle and Fitness and Muscle Media I could find.

In actuality, I was extremely lucky how my weightlifting life started. For two months, I only performed compound movements and fiercely concentrated on form. Focus is of utmost importance when lifting. I really had to center my attention to have my partially paralyzed left side work as hard as my right. Not only did I read about training, I observed Yolanda Hughes, a professional bodybuilder, when she trained herself and others. This tightened my form.

As I lifted and recovered more, I gained knowledge. I found that because of the broken mind-muscle connection, multi-joint exercises were the best for me to perform. You may ask why? I reply like this. Multi-joint exercises are more taxing on the brain. Even with those exercises, I had a hard time learning how to fully contract the targeted muscle. The central nervous system incurs much more stress during these movements so it was forced to build new connections.

How does our body react to stress? It grows! In computer terms, my brain began restoring itself all because I lifted weights! Would I be where I am today without my commitment to diet and exercise? My reply is a resounding "Hell No!!" that echoes for miles. I know bodybuilding gave me the chance to live a normal life so I am not going to turn my back on it.

The goal of my life is to touch as many lives as I can. A true appreciation of weightlifting is what I want to give each person. Progressive Resistance Exercise is something that every human being, young or old, should perform. Yes, it will make you look better, but that is not where the ultimate power is found. The real strength of this sport is in the extras that come along with it. Feelings of confidence, control over tomorrow, and knowing that you have supreme rule over at least one being -- yourself. There is life in the ability to get out of bed in the morning, put on your running shoes, and jog or lift weights ask you to pause and ponder just how much we take for granted

This recreation is not open to everyone. Those that can participate should cherish the opportunity and put their all into it. Get empowered by realizing that you have a gift. Look at it like, "Well since Bob can't, I'll just have to take up the slack. I'll do everything in my might to build my best possible body. I hope it gives him the strength and will to fight for what he deserves!" If used properly, someone else's disability can be your strength. The key is to appreciate and rejoice in your ability to experience weightlifting. Even I get power from the idea of changing a disabled individuals way of thinking.

When you get down on yourself and think you have it too tough, just remember that, in every circumstance, someone has it tougher! If you have it bad, someone has it worse!

I want you to know that I am not sorry this happened. So, I have a few residual effects that aren't all that welcome. I seldom see them. But understand this? There is no way in hell that I wish anything differently! Except the separation from my two beautiful daughters who are now 5 and 3.

I have found the greatest things in life. I found bodybuilding, and that is one of them. And you know? I think I found "the secret of life!" You say "Oh sure, the secret of life?! Isn't he going a little overboard?" That long sought secret been here all the time! Everyone can join me! It's so wonderful! The secret of life ... enjoying every moment without taking anything for granted! Life is wonderful and I thank bodybuilding for giving me another chance!

Exercise shouldn't be drudgery. It may seem that way at first, but as you begin to reap the benefits, exercise may turn into one your most enjoyable past time. Exercise is often a lifestyle. If you continue to exercise simply because you think you "must," you may not receive all the benefits that come in between the lines. If you lift because you "have to," maybe you should try to change your mindset. When you find the proper mindset, you will look forward to your workout. Lifting is actually a privilege that only some can partake in. Let me narrate some personal history to you so you can see where I'm coming from. On December 22, 1995, my life changed. Don't get me wrong. I was content with my life -- at the time. It was a cold and clear night in midwinter in Washington state. I was cruising on my 1992 Suzuki traveling southbound on a country road. As I traveled that direction, a truck was approaching. All of a sudden, he realizes he forgot his lumber grading manual in his locker. He needed to study this text over the holidays so he could learn the new grading criteria for the lumber. As he makes a left turn into a deserted driveway, he hears a thunderous crash. That thunderous crash was my bike slamming into his passenger door. I did everything I could to stop in time. Marks were left on the road where I had locked up my brakes. I hit the truck and went airborne. I traveled about 50 feet before I hit the ground. By the time the medics arrived, I was comatose. Intubation was done at the scene. On my right leg, deep lacerations were evident. Today, I am still missing a piece of my tibialis (a muscle on the front of the lower leg). Not only did I suffer from cuts, but I developed deep ulnar neuropathy. The left half of my body went into uncontrollable spasms. In lingo that people other than doctors can understand, I was in "really" bad shape. My coma lasted from December 22, 1995 to February 15, 1996. Well, that was actually the first time I gave signs of cognitive thinking. On that day, I put my hands up to my mouth acting as if I was pushing food in it. Very primitive communication, but it got the point across. Because I consumed every calorie I could cram in my mouth after I awoke, I ballooned up to 190 pounds fast. I consumed delicacies like cheesecake and ice cream often. I really wanted cheesecake! I needed calories. On top of all my medical problems, my wife divorced me! I was so distraught! I needed help! I was not ready to face the world on my own! So I lived with my aunt for a couple months until finding my own place. I found an apartment in Blaine, WA and relocated. Blaine is a small town near the Canadian border in Washington. I had no car, nor a license for that matter, so turning to public transportation system was my only option. One day, when entering Bellingham. my bus passed a gym . I saw "World Gym" daily and started thinking, "Maybe if I join and get to looking good, people will overlook my disabilities." In reality, my only driving ambition was my desire for companionship. Not the most noteworthy aspiration, but it got me in there and on that day, my life began! I joined that fitness center. I couldn't afford to do it, but something was telling me I couldn't make my ends meet if I didn't find a way. For two months, I had the most amazing pump. I could feel protein synthesis occurring under the skin of my chest. Just imagine the feeling. It was a slight, painless tingle. It felt so terrific that I wanted it for life. Personal trainers often inquired if I was on "the juice." The growth was supernatural to them. Heck, I actually thought I might have been genetically altered due to the brain injury. While visiting my mother in Texas, I found an old Joe Weider lifting manual that my father had given me when I was in 5th grade. I began reading and dreaming that my body looked like the photographed lifters. I examined that text but my desire for knowledge only grew. For the next couple months, I read every book I could about diet and exercise. After a month or so, the library ran out of works quickly. I examined topics from Essential Fatty Acids to "Reps!", a training technique guide. As the book depot ran low on works, I turned to magazines. I read every Muscle and Fitness and Muscle Media I could find. In actuality, I was extremely lucky how my weightlifting life started. For two months, I only performed compound movements and fiercely concentrated on form. Focus is of utmost importance when lifting. I really had to center my attention to have my partially paralyzed left side work as hard as my right. Not only did I read about training, I observed Yolanda Hughes, a professional bodybuilder, when she trained herself and others. This tightened my form. As I lifted and recovered more, I gained knowledge. I found that because of the broken mind-muscle connection, multi-joint exercises were the best for me to perform. You may ask why? I reply like this. Multi-joint exercises are more taxing on the brain. Even with those exercises, I had a hard time learning how to fully contract the targeted muscle. The central nervous system incurs much more stress during these movements so it was forced to build new connections. How does our body react to stress? It grows! In computer terms, my brain began restoring itself all because I lifted weights! Would I be where I am today without my commitment to diet and exercise? My reply is a resounding "Hell No!!" that echoes for miles. I know bodybuilding gave me the chance to live a normal life so I am not going to turn my back on it. The goal of my life is to touch as many lives as I can. A true appreciation of weightlifting is what I want to give each person. Progressive Resistance Exercise is something that every human being, young or old, should perform. Yes, it will make you look better, but that is not where the ultimate power is found. The real strength of this sport is in the extras that come along with it. Feelings of confidence, control over tomorrow, and knowing that you have supreme rule over at least one being -- yourself. There is life in the ability to get out of bed in the morning, put on your running shoes, and jog or lift weights ask you to pause and ponder just how much we take for granted This recreation is not open to everyone. Those that can participate should cherish the opportunity and put their all into it. Get empowered by realizing that you have a gift. Look at it like, "Well since Bob can't, I'll just have to take up the slack. I'll do everything in my might to build my best possible body. I hope it gives him the strength and will to fight for what he deserves!" If used properly, someone else's disability can be your strength. The key is to appreciate and rejoice in your ability to experience weightlifting. Even I get power from the idea of changing a disabled individuals way of thinking. When you get down on yourself and think you have it too tough, just remember that, in every circumstance, someone has it tougher! If you have it bad, someone has it worse! I want you to know that I am not sorry this happened. So, I have a few residual effects that aren't all that welcome. I seldom see them. But understand this? There is no way in hell that I wish anything differently! Except the separation from my two beautiful daughters who are now 5 and 3. I have found the greatest things in life. I found bodybuilding, and that is one of them. And you know? I think I found "the secret of life!" You say "Oh sure, the secret of life?! Isn't he going a little overboard?" That long sought secret been here all the time! Everyone can join me! It's so wonderful! The secret of life ... enjoying every moment without taking anything for granted! Life is wonderful and I thank bodybuilding for giving me another chance!

Destiny

During a momentous battle, a Japanese general decided to attack even though his army was greatly outnumbered. He was confident they would win, but his men were filled with doubt.

On the way to the battle, they stopped at a religious shrine. After praying with the men, the general took out a coin and said, "I shall now toss this coin. If it is heads, we shall win. If it is tails we shall lose."

"Destiny will now reveal itself."

He threw the coin into the air and all watched intently as it landed. It was heads. The soldiers were so overjoyed and filled with confidence that they vigorously attacked the enemy and were victorious.

After the battle. a lieutenant remarked to the general, "No one can change destiny."

"Quite right," the general replied as he showed the lieutenant the coin, which had heads on both sides.

Finish Line

In December of 1992 I was a happy husband and father of two young children. A month later, I was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoplastic Luekemia.

After two years of chemoterapy that helped me into remission, my body was weak and lifeless. I felt as if I were a puppet who needed help to lift his arms or hold up his head.

I began to run. After six months my strength had come back. On one of my runs, one where I felt I could run forever, I decided I was going to try to run a marathon.

After telling my Dad about my plan he told me of a program that trains people to run a marathon, while raising funds for Luekemia research at the same time. So that summer, through the Luekemia Society's Team In Training program I started to train for the Marine Corps Marathon. During mile after mile of uncertainty, the day finally came to run the marathon.

On October 27,1996, at 8am, the cannon went off and so did I. Along with 19,000 other brave souls I started on a twenty-six and two tenths mile journey that I will never forget.

I first saw my wife Patty at the six mile mark: she seemed happy that I was still looking as if I knew what I was doing , and having a good time doing it. At mile 17, my mind was going back to those two horrible years that tried to bring my family and me down. I saw her again. The concern in her face told me she knew I was starting to struggle. I felt as if we were thinking the same, nine more miles and these last few years will be behind us.

That thought alone pulled me forward. Mile 22, 23, slowing but going, 24, 25, then there it was. The Iwo Jima War Memorial. I have seen nothing so grand and inspiring in my life. At 3 hours and 41 minutes after I started, I crossed what I think has to be the most fitting finish line in all of road racing!

That night the Luekemia Society gave me a pin at a post race party that simply says, "Luekemia 26.2".

If God wills, and I relapse, my cancer may once again take away my hair and my strength, maybe even my life. But it can never take away my pin, or the fact that I am a marathoner.

In December of 1992 I was a happy husband and father of two young children. A month later, I was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoplastic Luekemia. After two years of chemoterapy that helped me into remission, my body was weak and lifeless. I felt as if I were a puppet who needed help to lift his arms or hold up his head. I began to run. After six months my strength had come back. On one of my runs, one where I felt I could run forever, I decided I was going to try to run a marathon. After telling my Dad about my plan he told me of a program that trains people to run a marathon, while raising funds for Luekemia research at the same time. So that summer, through the Luekemia Society's Team In Training program I started to train for the Marine Corps Marathon. During mile after mile of uncertainty, the day finally came to run the marathon. On October 27,1996, at 8am, the cannon went off and so did I. Along with 19,000 other brave souls I started on a twenty-six and two tenths mile journey that I will never forget. I first saw my wife Patty at the six mile mark: she seemed happy that I was still looking as if I knew what I was doing , and having a good time doing it. At mile 17, my mind was going back to those two horrible years that tried to bring my family and me down. I saw her again. The concern in her face told me she knew I was starting to struggle. I felt as if we were thinking the same, nine more miles and these last few years will be behind us. That thought alone pulled me forward. Mile 22, 23, slowing but going, 24, 25, then there it was. The Iwo Jima War Memorial. I have seen nothing so grand and inspiring in my life. At 3 hours and 41 minutes after I started, I crossed what I think has to be the most fitting finish line in all of road racing! That night the Luekemia Society gave me a pin at a post race party that simply says, "Luekemia 26.2". If God wills, and I relapse, my cancer may once again take away my hair and my strength, maybe even my life. But it can never take away my pin, or the fact that I am a marathoner.

Choice in the Face of Adversity

One man approached me later that evening and shared a picture of his son with me. The young man was holding a huge fish he had caught during the father and son fishing trip they planned every year. He heard me speak about my sons and felt connected, one Dad to another. I went to my room and returned with a copy of my book for him signed with this message: "I am honored that you shared that personal story and photo with me. You caused me to think of my sons and that gives me great joy. You also give me hope for the world. I know we can make a difference one child at a time." His wife attended my breakout session the next day and told me how touched he was. "He hates to read. But he'll read this one."

Two perfect strangers lifted each other up by recognizing our sameness.

But earlier that day a gentleman from my area of the state told me this story. He spoke of war.

He had fought in Germany and spoke about the difficult times. But it wasn't until he heard me speak about turning your adversities around and taking control of situations that are obviously out of your control that he remembered this very personal story.

"They say we had defeated this group of German soldiers. Actually they just gave up. I stood off to the side as a handful of our men gathered the Germans in formation. One by one each German soldier was stripped of his personal belongings. Some stood tall and without a struggle had watches, rings, and wallets removed. A few cried and begged to keep their wedding rings and photos, but to no avail. This was war.", he told me in a humble, soft tone.

"Suddenly, a German standing close to me turned his head and as if looking around for someone he knew, grabbed my hand and placed his watch in it. I was stunned for a moment. Out of all the American soldiers nearby he chose me.", he continued.

Pausing, now looking down at the floor and re-living that moment in his mind, he said, "He took control. Knowing that someone was about to take everything from him, that German soldier chose not to have it stolen but to give it as a gift to someone he selected. Me."

We are all aware of the atrocities of that war. But let us never forget the battle fought inside each of the participants.

What troubles and pains are you experiencing now that you can reclaim control of, inspite of the obvious negative outcome. I challenge you to do what Robert H. Schuller tells us.

"Turn your scars into stars."

I was the keynote speaker for the County Commissioners Association of Pennsylvania last week. I am always honored and pleased when after hearing me speak, people are compelled to tell me their personal story. It tells me that something about what I said reached their soul or touched their spirit. That is my goal. One man approached me later that evening and shared a picture of his son with me. The young man was holding a huge fish he had caught during the father and son fishing trip they planned every year. He heard me speak about my sons and felt connected, one Dad to another. I went to my room and returned with a copy of my book for him signed with this message: "I am honored that you shared that personal story and photo with me. You caused me to think of my sons and that gives me great joy. You also give me hope for the world. I know we can make a difference one child at a time." His wife attended my breakout session the next day and told me how touched he was. "He hates to read. But he'll read this one." Two perfect strangers lifted each other up by recognizing our sameness. But earlier that day a gentleman from my area of the state told me this story. He spoke of war. He had fought in Germany and spoke about the difficult times. But it wasn't until he heard me speak about turning your adversities around and taking control of situations that are obviously out of your control that he remembered this very personal story. "They say we had defeated this group of German soldiers. Actually they just gave up. I stood off to the side as a handful of our men gathered the Germans in formation. One by one each German soldier was stripped of his personal belongings. Some stood tall and without a struggle had watches, rings, and wallets removed. A few cried and begged to keep their wedding rings and photos, but to no avail. This was war.", he told me in a humble, soft tone. "Suddenly, a German standing close to me turned his head and as if looking around for someone he knew, grabbed my hand and placed his watch in it. I was stunned for a moment. Out of all the American soldiers nearby he chose me.", he continued. Pausing, now looking down at the floor and re-living that moment in his mind, he said, "He took control. Knowing that someone was about to take everything from him, that German soldier chose not to have it stolen but to give it as a gift to someone he selected. Me." We are all aware of the atrocities of that war. But let us never forget the battle fought inside each of the participants. What troubles and pains are you experiencing now that you can reclaim control of, inspite of the obvious negative outcome. I challenge you to do what Robert H. Schuller tells us. "Turn your scars into stars."