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Paul Harvey Writes:

We tried so hard to make things better for our kids that we made them worse. For my grandchildren, I'd like better. 
I'd really like for them to know about hand me down clothes and homemade ice cream and leftover meat loaf sandwiches. I really would.

I hope you learn humility by being humiliated, and that you learn honesty by being cheated. 
I hope you learn to make your own bed and mow the lawn and wash the car. 
And I really hope nobody gives you a brand new car when you are sixteen.

It will be good if at least one time you can see puppies born and your old dog put to sleep.

I hope you get a black eye fighting for something you believe in.

I hope you have to share a bedroom with your younger brother/sister. And it's all right if you have to draw a line down the middle of the room,but when he wants to crawl under the covers with you because he's scared, I hope you let him.

When you want to see a movie and your little brother/sister wants to tag along, I hope you'll let him/her. 
I hope you have to walk uphill to school with your friends and that you live in a town where you can do it safely.

On rainy days when you have to catch a ride, I hope you don't ask your driver to drop you two blocks away so you won't be seen riding with someone as uncool as your Mom.

If you want a slingshot, I hope your Dad teaches you how to make one instead of buying one. 
I hope you learn to dig in the dirt and read books.

 

When you learn to use computers, I hope you also learn to add and subtract in your head.

I hope you get teased by your friends when you have your first crush on a boygirl, and when you talk back to your mother that you learn what ivory soap tastes like.

May you skin your knee climbing a mountain, burn your hand on a stove and stick your tongue on a frozen flagpole.

I don't care if you try a beer once, but I hope you don't like it.. And if a friend offers you dope or a joint, I hope you realize he is not your friend.

I sure hope you make time to sit on a porch with your Grandma/Grandpa and go fishing with your Uncle.

May you feel sorrow at a funeral and joy during the holidays.

I hope your mother punishes you when you throw a baseball through your neighbor's window and that she hugs you and kisses you at Hannukah/Christmas time when you give her a plaster mold of your hand.

Just wanted to briefly write about a great compliment that my wife and I were given this past weekend.  As we sat around eating lunch and watching our children play in the park, a lady who was watching our children told my wife, "I just wanted to let you know that with children like yours, they are anti-birth control."  :)  "Thank you" to that lady. 

Shoes in church

I showered and shaved and adjusted my tie.

I got there and sat in a pew just in time.

Bowing my head in prayer as I closed my eyes,

I saw the shoe of the man next to me touching my own, I sighed.

With plenty of room on either side I thought, "Why must our soles touch?"

It bothered me, his shoe touching mine but it didn’t bother him much.

A prayer began: "Our Father” I thought, "This man with the shoes has no pride.

they're dusty, worn, and scratched. Even worse, there are holes on the side!"

"Thank You for blessings," the prayer went on.

The shoe man said a quiet "Amen."

I tried to focus on the prayer but my thoughts were on his shoes again.

Aren't we supposed to look our best when walking through that door?

"Well, this certainly isn't it," I thought, glancing toward the floor.

Then the prayer was ended and the songs of praise began.

The shoe man was certainly loud sounding proud as he sang.

His voice lifted the rafters and his hands were raised high.

The Lord could surely hear the shoe man's voice from the sky.

It was time for the offering and what I threw in was steep.

I watched as the shoe man reached into his pockets so deep.

I saw what was pulled out, what the shoe man put in.

Then I heard a soft "clink" as when silver hits tin.

The sermon really bored me to tears, and that's no lie.

It was the same for the shoe man for tears fell from his eyes.

At the end of the service as is the custom here.

We must greet new visitors and show them all good cheer.

But I felt moved somehow and wanted to meet the shoe man.

So after the closing prayer I reached over and shook his hand.

He was old and his skin was dark and his hair was truly a mess.

But I thanked him for coming for being our guest.

He said, "My names' Charlie I'm glad to meet  you, my friend."

There were tears in his eyes but he had a large, wide grin.

"Let me explain," he said wiping tears from his eyes.

"I've been coming here for months and you're the first to say 'Hi.'"

"I know that my appearance is not like all the rest.

but I really do try to always look my best."

"I always clean and polish my shoes before my very long walk.

but by the time I get here they're dirty and dusty, like chalk."

My heart filled with pain and I swallowed to hide my tears

as he continued to apologize for daring to sit so near.

He said, "When I get here I know I must  look a sight.

but I thought if I could touch you then maybe our souls might unite."

I was silent for a moment knowing whatever was said

would pale in comparison I spoke from my heart, not my head.

"Oh, you've touched me," I said and  taught me, in part;

that the best of any man is what  is found in his heart."

The rest, I thought this shoe man will  never know.

Like just how thankful I really am that his dirty old shoe touched my soul


Thought this was cool.  The author is unknown

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