Around the Bend

From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Think Positive

By Karen Majoris-Garrison

In the depth of winter I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.
~Albert Camus


The snow arrived earlier than predicted as I stuffed grocery bags into the Chevy's trunk and shut the hatch. Several feet of snow already covered our community, and this new storm was another cruel blast.


"It'll probably be the storm of the century," I grumbled, revving the engine and thinking about the past few difficult years. I'd worked through illness, financial loss, and the deaths of friends, but something else was distressing me -- the hopelessness that results from unattained goals and broken dreams. And, now, the seeds of regret, something I'd never nurtured in the past, had sprouted.


"Another storm," I whispered aloud, usually relishing wintry evenings such as this.


Tonight, though, my thoughts lay heavy as I edged toward our country home.


Usually a positive person of faith, I had always viewed life as a series of hurdles to overcome. In recent years, however, the hurdles seemed endless and more difficult to clear. Though I thought I'd handled the adversity well, I hadn't realized that the real me, the one whose passion for life had inspired others, had burned out.


In the past year, I had been faced with unexpected choices. And in my disillusioned state, I'd chosen wrongly, making critical mistakes. Now I was afraid to trust my judgment, afraid to make decisions, and afraid of the future.


The headlights flashed along my home's white picket fence. I maneuvered the skidding car around a sharp curve, up the icy slope to our driveway, then parked and shut the engine off. Exiting the car, I lifted several bags of groceries, dropping a package of apples. The plastic bag burst -- sending an apple rolling into the snow. Picking up the bruised fruit, I stuffed it into my coat pocket, thankful when my husband, Jeff, hurried out to help.


"I'm glad you're home," he said. "This storm hit sooner than expected, and that curve on our street freezes quickly. I prayed you'd remember to take that bend cautiously."


"And I did remember," I said, thinking of how well I knew the curves of our neighborhood roads. How I wish I knew what lingered around the bend for our future....


Jeff's hazel eyes studied me. "You've been crying?"


"It's melting snowflakes," I joked, attempting a smile.


"You don't have to be strong all the time," he pointed out later inside our home.


But I do, I reasoned. Too many people depend on me, and I can't afford to make more mistakes. Yet, I'm so tired and in need of a positive surprise.


After putting away the groceries, my children and I settled by the fireplace to play a board game. When nighttime arrived, I prayed with each of them by their bedsides and then returned downstairs. My husband had fallen asleep on the couch, and I covered him with a blanket before moving towards a window to peek outside. The white snow glowed against the dark backdrop of night.


I decided to take a walk in the crystallized world outside, and pulled on my coat and boots and gloves. Outside, my feet seemed to disappear in the endless white as I plodded along snowy fields toward the forest a quarter of a mile or so ahead.


The hushed quiet -- a peace that only a freshly fallen snowfall provides -- encouraged me to surrender my burdens. It was during heavy snowfalls like these, I'd told my children through the years, that time stood still.


Somewhere along my journey, I realized I'd been crying. Pausing to catch my breath, I felt a moment's panic. I'd somehow traveled off the recognizable path from my home. "Oh, no," I murmured, uncertain of my location. "Help me, Lord."


Through the windblown snow I searched for familiar landmarks and found none. It was symbolic of my life, making mistakes like going for a walk in a snowstorm, and wandering off course. I had fumbled in unfamiliar territory again, and I was suffering the consequences.


Tired and defeated, I slumped to the ground, resting my head on my drawn-up knees. Minutes passed, and then I felt a nudge against my arm. I slowly lifted my head and my breath caught.


A doe stood only a few inches away. She locked her gaze on mine, and then she snorted -- sending swirling puffs of steam into the air. I studied her. She seemed thinner than most does I'd seen, and she was alone -- an oddity since I'd always seen deer in groups.


My father, an experienced hunter, had told me that during harsh winters, hungry deer ventured closer to residential areas in search of food. Perhaps this was one of those times.


Mesmerized by her beauty, I waited. Her nervousness suggested she'd flee at any moment, so why had she approached me? The snowfall eased and peaceful silence seemed to encourage a mutual trust between this mysterious creature and me.


She stepped closer, my heart raced, and then she lowered her head and nudged the right side of my coat. I felt my pocket and realized I still had the apple I had retrieved from the driveway. I offered it to her.


A few moments passed as she sized up both the apple and me. I couldn't believe this was happening. I had walked off the beaten path, gotten lost, and was now experiencing a remarkable moment.


"You've given me what I'd hoped for," I said to my new friend. "Mistakes can bring positive outcomes, after all." As if she'd been waiting for me to say that, she took the apple in her mouth and sprinted away into the night.


"Thank you, God," I whispered, suddenly unafraid as I stood up. I was warmly dressed, not in imminent danger, and so I picked the most logical path to head home. If I made a new directional mistake, perhaps another astonishing wonder waited around the bend.


Just like in life, I told myself. Mistakes, regrets, and incorrect choices... they come with consequences, pain, and fear, but it's the wisdom and willingness to learn from the past and then press onward that can lead to a surprising and joyful future.


Excited by my new insight, I trudged ahead in powdery drifts of snow, growing tired but pressing onward, determined to be just as persistent in life... even if that life contained unfamiliar, unseen bends in the road... because maybe once-in-a-lifetime moments waited just around the corner.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/12/Around-the-Bend.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru

What You Don't Know

Chicken Soup for the Soul: True Love

BY: Jamie Driggers

Love one another and you will be happy. It's as simple and as difficult as that.
~Michael Leunig


When you are young and uneducated in the game of life and picking a spouse -- particularly if you are a young, stupid Christian and trying to obey God -- your reasons for getting married probably don't go much further than the fact that you are "In Love" and your hormones are raging. A year seems like a long time to have been together, thirteen years is rather obscure, and a lifetime is unfathomable.


You don't know that thirteen years will pass in the blink of an eye.


When you put on the white dress and vow "for better or for worse," you don't know how bad the worse can really be. You don't know how hard it is to suffer three years of infertility, defend your decision to adopt to people who think you should put your resources into fertility treatments, or how another three years of postpartum depression when you do have a baby can tear you apart. You don't know when you vow "for richer or poorer" how poor that really means. You don't know that the $100 a month you lived on in college will look like a windfall after thirteen months of no income with small children.


When you pack up your things and move into your new home together, you don't realize that that pair of pants that he wads up on the floor will always be there, and the dishes she leaves in the sink will, too. Even though you didn't intend to marry your father or mother, you don't know that you will pull them into an argument in order to make your point that dishes shouldn't be left in the sink and pants don't belong on the floor if you intended to wear them again.


You don't know that those deals you made in the first week, on the honeymoon, won't be kept and that no matter how much you hate it, no matter how many times you remind them, the dirty dishes will still be out and the toilet will still have a ring (until the mother-in-law comes to visit).


You have no idea that he will still want you with baby flab and saggy breasts. You don't know how special it will be to look into little blue eyes and see your spouse. You don't know that when you look into the brown face of your son, you will also see your husband because nurture makes a fool of nature. You don't know that when you do finally get pregnant after adopting that your husband will tell you that when a white baby comes out, he'll know you've cheated because his babies are brown.


You don't know that when you get a wild idea to become a writer or start your own company that your spouse will be your biggest cheerleader. You don't know that when even your family thinks your spouse is crazy, you'll cling even tighter to him. You don't know the good that will come.


Face it, when you're young and stupid, you don't know what you are getting into.


You don't.


But I'm glad I got into it.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/12/What-You-Dont-Know.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru

My Chemo Hero

Chicken Soup for the Soul: What I Learned from the Dog

BY: Ann M. Sheridan

Better to lose count while naming your blessings than to lose your blessings when counting your troubles.
~Maltbie D. Babcock

My friend Terri, who worked as a volunteer at our county animal shelter, told me about the white pup with brindled markings that included a patch around one eye and who reminded her of Petey, the dog that appeared on The Little Rascals show. I can still recall the sadness in her voice as she relayed how a policeman had found the eight-week-old puppy, sealed in a cardboard box that had been tossed into a snow bank. The puppy was trapped, alone and shivering in below-freezing temperatures. The box had been abandoned late on a Saturday night in the parking lot of a large mall, one that would not open again until Monday. If that policeman had been less observant, the dog could not have survived those thirty hours. He took the pup to the animal shelter where she was checked over, warmed up, fed, and placed in a cage for the night.

When Terri reported for duty on Sunday morning she immediately fell in love with the tiny pup. Her markings identified her as an American Staffordshire Terrier, a breed that fell under the Pit Bull classification. At the time, shelter regulations prohibited families with no prior shelter relationship from adopting Pit Bulls, because those breeds were under attack by anti-"vicious dog" activists and this was the shelter's way of preventing their adoption by unsavory characters.

"If someone we know doesn't take her, she'll have to be put down," Terri sobbed.

I had heard Terri's refrain about other animals she had tried to place, but this time was the right time. My husband and I had recently purchased our first home, and were anxious to adopt a dog. Terri pulled some strings, we signed affidavits and waivers of liability, agreed to participate in obedience training, and the puppy was ours. The paperwork stated she was an American Staffordshire Terrier and would grow to approximately forty pounds as a medium-sized, adult dog.

That small bundle of love immediately brought joy to our new home and, after several days during which she remained nameless, we eventually settled on the name Bimbo, because she resembled an animated character from Betty Boop cartoons with that same name. Her antics never failed to entertain us, and over the years she grew into a gentle ninety-pound giant. Bimbo was the first dog I'd ever owned, and she turned me into a dog person almost overnight. She taught me all the usual things that dogs teach their owners: unconditional love, go for the gusto, and live each moment to the fullest, but those lessons are not what this story is about.

After more than ten years during which Bimbo continually proved that you can't judge a "Pit Bull" according to the stereotype, our beloved Bimbo was diagnosed with lymphoma, a cancer that attacks the lymphatic system. While still reeling from the shock of her diagnosis, we faced an overwhelming decision -- either put her down or try a few rounds of chemotherapy to see if she would go into remission. I researched the potential side effects of the foreign-sounding drugs, and became adept at navigating the world of veterinary oncology as Bimbo's advocate. We opted for chemo and Bimbo was the perfect patient. She enjoyed the weekly car ride to the animal hospital, wagged her tail with enthusiasm as we entered the clinic, and spread her good nature and love to all members of the veterinary staff the entire time we were there. I realized that Bimbo remained fearless and optimistic because she had no preconceived notions about the meaning of the word cancer. She accepted whatever each new day brought to the table. If she felt tired or ill, she rested. If she felt good, she played with her toys and lived that day to its fullest.

Mere months after we learned of Bimbo's illness, I discovered a small lump in my breast that turned out to be an aggressive form of breast cancer. I sat in the office of my new oncologist, listening to him rattle off the names of the chemotherapy drugs I was certain I'd be blasted with in the upcoming months. I became almost giddy, because my drugs were some of the same drugs that were being given to Bimbo. Suddenly I was navigating familiar terrain, because I had witnessed how Bimbo had tolerated the side effects that are so common with these toxic but necessary treatments. And if Bimbo could do it, so would I!

Bimbo and I journeyed through our chemotherapy side by side. By following her example, I learned to rest when I was tired, eat when I was hungry, and take advantage of every energetic moment I was granted. When my compromised immune system caused chills and fever, Bimbo crawled under my blankets to provide additional warmth. And after Bimbo's third remission failed, I was there to comfort her with my love as she rested her head in my lap and took her last breath.

During the remainder of my treatments and recovery, I was inspired to share what I learned from my chemo hero. If chemo is so hard for me, I thought, how do little kids do it? Many young children do not understand the word cancer. When confronted with cancer, children may sense the fears of their siblings, parents, or grandparents. They may feel guilty for causing their families to be upset. I wanted to share Bimbo with those littlest cancer patients, who must fight a huge daily battle with this grown-up disease. I wrote a story called Dogs Get Cancer Too, in which Bimbo teaches children to discuss their fears while enabling them to realize that cancer sometimes can have a positive side. It invites children to identify with Bimbo while encouraging them to express their feelings and reassuring them that they are not alone.

I then formed an organization called Bimbo's Buddies so I could communicate her message of hope and courage to all pediatric cancer patients. Dogs Get Cancer Too has evolved into an illustrated picture book, and our mission is to provide these kids with free copies of the book and a companion plush toy created in Bimbo's likeness. In this way, Bimbo will live on and continue to be the model she was for my own journey with cancer, by teaching children how to navigate their illness.

I have often wondered whether that dedicated policeman knew what a special pup he found on that snowy night, and how, by saving Bimbo, he played a role in her being able to help so many others.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/12/My-Chemo-Hero.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru

The Bandit Who Stole Our Hearts

Chicken Soup for the Soul: What I Learned from the Cat

BY: Donna Lowich

A meow massages the heart.
~Stuart McMillan

Moving Day began hot, blisteringly hot, but nothing was going to keep us from our new home. Many boxes were stacked in the garage, along with some rolled-up area carpets. As we took turns bringing the boxes into the house, Jeffrey came running in, breathless and overjoyed. "Guess what, Mommy? Guess what? We have a cat in our garage! Come look! Quick!"

Sure enough, there was a large black cat, with white on all four paws, and the tiniest of white spots on the tip of his nose, roaming through the garage. He was definitely inspecting our belongings, jumping from one stack of boxes to the next, and walking along the rolled-up carpets as a gymnast on a balance beam would do. He stopped to check out all the open boxes, and having been satisfied with his preliminary look-see, decided he would go inside and make sure things were satisfactory there, too.

He sat near the door that led into the family room, turned his head and looked at us, with every expectation that we would let him in. He waited patiently while we figured that out. Which we did, eventually. It wouldn't be the last time that we would do this large cat's will.

Bandit, we found out from our new neighbors, was this cat's name. He was a well-known character, known up and down the street as a real schmoozer, always on hand to take that last bit of cat food (or people food, for that matter) off your hands.

At a neighborhood Christmas party we found no fewer than four families who admitted that they succumbed to Bandit's wiles, and were feeding him on a regular basis. But, as far as we could tell, it was our house he preferred to shelter him from inclement weather.

He was a street-smart cat who never lost his ability to love a little boy. Despite the not-always-so gentleness of a three-year-old, Bandit never got angry or upset. I never saw him hiss or even bare a claw despite being put into baskets, lullabied to sleep and cradled lovingly, but sometimes uncomfortably, in a little boy's arms, a little boy whose normally gentle ways with animals were sometimes lost in his exuberance to play with his brand-new friend. Bandit somehow knew this, and was content to be placed in a shirt-sized gift box one Christmas Day, which was then moved from place to place, until the proper spot was found for the lullabies and loving pats on the head to begin, which continued until Bandit fell asleep.

I didn't know much about cats back then, but I knew that this was a rare blend of outside-cat toughness and inside-cat gentleness. He was a true gentle giant of a cat.

Jeffrey and Bandit grew up together and became fast friends. In fact, whenever there was a storm coming, we could rely on the fact that Bandit would spend it with us, sometimes allowing us to keep him indoors overnight during hurricanes and snowstorms. It seemed as though he took comfort from being with us -- Jeffrey, in particular.

Jeffrey, in return, seemed to always enjoy Bandit's company. He grew to be both confident and gentle with animals, especially cats. This was the direct result of his close friendship with his pal, Bandit.

Bandit is gone now, and is sorely missed. He had lived a long life, but it wasn't long enough to suit us. I think he knew how much he meant to us. But I wonder if he could ever know how much he influenced a small boy. From the moment they met, Jeffrey loved cats. Bandit, through his own good nature and gentle treatment of a little boy, taught our son to be kind and gentle with animals.

Thank you, Bandit.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/12/The-Bandit-Who-Stole-Our-Hearts.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru

Pajama Day

From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Christmas Magic

By Laurie Higgins

Don't underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear, and not bothering.

~Pooh's Little Instruction Book, inspired by A.A. Milne

As wonderful as Christmas Day is, for me it takes second place to December 26th -- otherwise known around our house as Pajama Day. It's a tradition that came into being entirely by accident about ten years ago during a particularly hectic holiday season.

That year, Christmas Eve found my husband Steve and me staying up until close to dawn, wrapping presents and preparing for Christmas with our four kids. Just as our heads hit the pillow, the door to our two younger children's bedroom opened and we heard them sneak out. I took a nap to the sound of their excited whispers.

Christmas Day at our home is one long and joyous celebration that includes a revolving cast of family members from both sides that arrive in shifts. We host a breakfast for eight to twelve people, with a break for clean-up and showers, and then begin prepping for dinner for up to twenty-five people.

I was so exhausted I found myself dozing off, head propped in hand, while sitting at the dining room table over shrimp cocktail and artichoke dip at 3:00 in the afternoon. Luckily my chef husband was in charge of dinner because I simply couldn't do it.

The next day, while poor Steve headed to work, I slept late and then curled up on the couch with the new novel he had given me for Christmas. The kids played quietly with their toys and it was a lovely day all around. When Steve came home, I was still in my pajamas and we had leftovers for dinner. The day ended with me finishing the novel in front of a crackling fire.

Fit to Be Tied

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Family Matters

BY: Ann Williamson

A lovely thing about Christmas is that it's compulsory, like a thunderstorm,
and we all go through it together.
~Garrison Keillor

Whoever said that second marriages are twice as hard as first marriages hit the nail on the head. When I met my second husband, I felt my dreams had been answered. We both agreed we wouldn't introduce our children to each other until we knew our relationship was serious. When we got married, I had no illusions that blending two families would be easy.

We were married in May. When Christmas rolled around, we wondered how we would fare with five kids between us, ranging in age from six to fifteen. Some days were pretty hairy, but we were managing.

Shortly after Thanksgiving, we made the decision to go on a search for the perfect Christmas tree. We hit a couple of tree lots, but nothing looked good. Finally, we found a lot where the trees were reasonable and well-shaped. We had four of the five children with us. They were full of Christmas spirit and starting to get on my husband's nerves. To me, they were just being kids.

We all jumped out of the car on this cold day, and the children immediately started wandering all over the lot. My husband, getting grumpier by the minute, ordered everyone back to the car.

It was evident his patience was wearing thin. I gathered the children, and we all sat in the car while he paid for the tree we had selected. We waited patiently while the man from the tree lot placed the tree on top of the car. The lot man gave my husband some rope to tie it on. Being a dutiful wife, I followed my husband's directions as he handed me an end of the rope and advised me to hand it back at the demanded time. This process was repeated several times.

By now, he was on the verge of going ballistic, so I dared not say a word as he completed securing the tree to the roof of the car. After checking it by tugging on the rope several times, he was sure it wouldn't blow off or move until we got it home, just a few short blocks away.

Then, he attempted to open the driver's side door. He pushed the button on the door handle and pulled on it. He had tied the door shut with the rope!

The children looked terrified. I, on the other hand, started to smile. The smile turned into an audible giggle, and the giggle sparked relief and amusement on the part of the children. My husband, realizing what he had done and feeling more than a little foolish, started to relax. But the calmness turned to embarrassment as the lot attendant stood watching while he untied the tree and re-secured it, tying it to the bumpers this time.

By the time we got home, we were all laughing so hard that tears ran down our cheeks. My husband, still not happy but not enraged, laughed along with us until we got home and took the tree off the car.

That happened more than twenty-five years ago, but we still retell the story every Christmas. And every Christmas my husband begs us not to retell it! But it is a fond memory of a particularly difficult time for all of us, which we recall with affection and love.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/11/Fit-to-Be-Tied.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru

The Constant

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Thanks Dad

BY: Kimberlee Murray

Love is the condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.
~Robert Heinlein

My parents divorced when I was seven years old. My dad moved out of our house and into his own place and we began our memorable routine of weekly visitations on Wednesday nights and sleepovers every other weekend. It was the characteristic and predictable court-appointed agreement for divorced families. My dad's idea of visitations and parenting, however, was vastly different from the Court's. He made a promise on the day his divorce was final that would change the course of my life forever.

My dad promised that he would be more than just a "weekend dad" who fulfilled his obligatory parental duties with limited visits. He wanted more than anything to be a significant presence in my life even though we were not living under the same roof. To this day, I am so grateful to him for overcoming the many obstacles that face divorced dads and cementing an unbreakable bond with me, his youngest daughter.

Throughout my life my dad made me a priority and everybody knew it. He would stop by my house every day, usually after school, to chat for a minute and tell me how much he loved and missed me. I waited on most days with eager anticipation for his shiny, yellow 1976 Stingray Corvette to turn the corner of our block and meander slowly toward my house. When I spotted my dad with the T-tops off and the windows down, I just knew my day was going to get better. Sometimes he would take me for a ride and sometimes we would just sit in the car and talk for a few minutes in the driveway while he learned about what went on in my day.

I felt like the luckiest girl in the world to have someone so interested in what was happening in my life. If he could not see me in person he would call on the phone. For the next eleven years until I left for college, I talked to my dad every single day.

During the weekends that I spent at his house I can remember him grilling the best pork chops I've ever tasted. He made scrambled eggs for breakfast every morning and cooked pot roast to perfection on Sundays. He always let me help because everything we did, we did together. He rarely accepted any party or dinner invitations on our weekends together because he cherished our time alone as much as I did. We played catch or Frisbee in the yard and rode bikes or took walks to find secret treasures. My fondest memory of those weekends, however, was when my dad would turn on the stove after dinner and I would hear the slow crackle and smell the unmistakable aroma of Jiffy Pop popcorn. I can remember like yesterday the excitement I felt as the tinfoil pouch began to rise and steam poured out from the sides of the pan. My dad would shake and jiggle and pop those kernels to absolute perfection every time.

My adolescence was a typically confusing time, but the bond I had with my dad was the constant in an otherwise chaotic life. After the divorce, and during all of the tumultuous times that the divorce brought to our family (remarriages, stepfamilies, bitter ex-spouses etc.), he always listened patiently. He never discounted the sometimes complex feelings of a young girl. He just listened. And he remained the only reliable, stable presence in my life. I could count on my dad to take me to every doctor or orthodontist appointment, watch every softball game, attend every conference and be present at every significant life event. He always lived up to his promise. I cannot say that about anyone else.

All of my life lessons I learned from my dad. He taught me that you must keep your word. Period. He taught me to be kind, fair and just. He taught me to take the high road, give 110% and never let 'em see you sweat. He taught me that success is a journey, not a destination. But most importantly, he taught me by example.

Conventional wisdom says that to be successful you should simply develop the traits you admire in other successful people. As I figured out what to do with my life and how I wanted to live I didn't have to look too far for inspiration. My dad is, by far, the most successful person I know. Ever since I was a little girl, I have admired his sense of humor, determination and integrity. He taught me that my only limitations were those that I imposed on myself. I will always be thankful for having such an encouraging and loving teacher in my father; something that many young women of divorced families never get to experience with their own fathers.

Even though I recognized and appreciated my dad's love, it wasn't until I had my own children that I realized the profundity of our bond. The closeness we share has always transcended space and time, but I am even more in awe of our relationship because now I can fully appreciate his sense of purpose. To comprehend my dad's unconditional love for me I need look no further than my own children. When I look deep into their adoring eyes and promise to love them forever and ever, I see the reflection of pure happiness and joy staring back at me. I know my dad must have seen that same blissful reflection in my eyes.

The confidence and security I possess today as a person and a parent is directly related to the man who vowed so many years ago to be more than just a "weekend dad." He made good on his promise in more ways than I can convey in one story. However, I am most thankful for the father who took in his arms a scared, confused and angry seven-year-old and whispered in her ear, "I love you and I will never leave you."

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/12/The-Constant.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter&utm_term=mail.ru