Children Learn What They Live .Dorothy Law Nolte Ph.D

If a child lives with hostility,
He learns to fight.

If a child lives with ridicule,
He learns to be shy.

If a child lives with shame
He learns to feel guilty.

If a child lives with tolerance,
He learns to be patient.

If a child lives with praise,
He learns to appreciate.

If a child lives with encouragement,
He learns confidence.

If a child lives with fairness,
He learns justice.

If a child lives with security,
He learns to have faith.

If a child lives with approval,
He learns to like himself.

If a child lives with acceptance and friendship,
He learns to find love in the world.

A Bag of Hurts Spiritual Story by Zura Ledbetter

There was a sweet, wonder-filled little girl who was hurt over and
over so badly that she entered adult life assuming that she was so bad
that others just couldn't be nice to her.

What she didn't know until much later, was that God had given her an
extra dose of curiosity. This curiosity is what kept her going,
seeking answers. She sought many wise people to help her understand
why she was so bad that her mother hurt her. And why she was unable to
be better so that men wouldn't hurt her.

She was on a journey that she thought was to help her be "better", but
she dragged a big sack with her everywhere she went. Inside this sack
were all the hurts she had experienced. Because she was so eager to
please those who offered their wisdom, she willingly agreed with what
they said about forgiving and compassion toward those who caused the
hurts. But she clung tightly to that sack of hurts.

But over time, she started loosening her grip on that sack. Her
curiosity prompting her to explore... what if she let just one of them
go? What if she looked at the men as victims, too? What if she looked
at her mother as woman instead of a villain?

After 50 years of dragging that sack around and boldly showing it to
all she met as if it were proof that she was a good person, she
decided to open it up and just see what happened.

When she looked inside it was filled with bits of paper. At one time
they had words on them, detailing the hurts. But time had faded the
words and all that was left was some tattered and torn scraps of
useless paper. She had been struggling to carry this bag that held
nothing but the image of something that once was.

This sweet little girl had now become an almost-old woman. She saw the
absurdity of lugging that bag around. It made her laugh. She started
laughing and the laughter led to dancing and she felt free!

She was able to see her mother as a young woman with long beautiful
hair. Her mother was a woman, a mother who loved her child, and she
was sad that her little girl felt unloved.

By letting go of the sack of paper, and having compassion for those
that hurt her, this little girl was able to become a woman. The woman
looked in the mirror and said, "I am smart. I am interesting. I am
kind. I am talented."

But most importantly, she was able to say "I am lovable." Although it
took many years, she was finally open to bringing love and respect
into her life in the people she surrounded herself with.

She finally saw the sweet, wonder-filled little girl that she had always been.

Somebody's Mother-..Mary Dow Brine

The woman was old and ragged and gray
And bent with the chill of the Winter's day.

The street was wet with a recent snow
And the woman's feet were aged and slow.

She stood at the crossing and waited long,
Alone, uncared for, amid the throng

Of human beings who passed her by
Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.

Down the street with laughter and shout,
Glad in the freedom of 'school let out,"

Came the boys like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep.

Past the woman so old and gray
Hastened the children on their way.

Nor offered a helping hand to her-
So meek, so tired, afraid to stir

Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet
Should crowd her down in the slippery street.

At last came one of the merry troop,
The gayest laddie of all the group;

He paused beside her and whispered low,
'I'll help you cross, if you wish to go."

Her aged hand on his strong young arm
She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,

He guided the trembling feet along,
Proud that his own were firm and strong.

Then back again to his friends he went,
His young heart happy and well content.

'She's somebody's mother, boys, you know,
For all she's aged and poor and slow,

'And I hope some fellow will lend a hand
To help my mother, you understand,

'If ever she's poor and old and gray,
When her own dear boy is far away.'

And "somebody's mother" bowed low her head
In her home that night, and the prayer she said

Was, 'God be kind to the noble boy,
Who is somebody's son, and pride and joy!"