"The Daffodil Principle" by Jaroldeen Asplund Edwards

Several times we just meet situation where we just don't want to move forward. We just blame people around here, we blame for lack of time. And we use to wait for right time, but as such "no time is wrong to do the right thing."

This is a very inspirational story I ever like whenever i stop, I use to say, "stop waiting" -The Daffodil principle , Here it is :

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Several times my daughter had telephoned to say, “Mother, you must come to see the daffodils before they are over”. I wanted to go, but it was a two-hour drive from Laguna to Lake Arrowhead. “I will come next Tuesday”, I promised a little reluctantly on her third call.

Next Tuesday dawned cold and rainy. Still, I had promised, and reluctantly I drove there. When I finally walked into Carolyn’s house, I was welcomed by the joyful sounds of happy children. I delightedly hugged and greeted my grandchildren.

“Forget the daffodils, Carolyn! The road is invisible in these clouds and fog, and there is nothing in the world except you and these children that I want to see badly enough to drive another inch!”... “But first we’re going to see the daffodils. It’s just a few blocks”, Carolyn said. “I’ll drive. I’m used to this”....

After about 20 minutes, we turned onto a small gravel road and I saw a small church. On the far side of the church, I saw a hand-lettered sign with an arrow that read, ‘Daffodil Garden’.

We got out of the car, each took a child’s hand, and I followed Carolyn down the path. Then, as we turned a corner, I looked up and gasped. Before me lay the most glorious sight.

It looked as though someone had taken a great vat of gold and poured it over the mountain peak and its surrounding slopes. The flowers were planted in majestic, swirling patterns, great ribbons and swaths of deep orange, creamy white, lemon yellow, salmon pink, saffron and butter yellow.

Each different-coloured variety was planted in large groups so that it swirled and flowed like its own river with its own unique hue. There were five acres of flowers. “Who did this?” I asked Carolyn.

“Just one woman”, Carolyn answered. “She lives on the property. That’s her home”. Carolyn pointed to a well-kept A-frame house, small and modestly sitting in the midst of all that glory. We walked up to the house.

On the patio, we saw a poster. ‘Answers to the Questions I Know You Are Asking’, was the headline. The first answer was a simple one. ‘50,000 bulbs’, it read.

The second answer was, ‘One at a time, by one woman. Two hands, two feet, and one brain’. The third answer was, ‘Began in 1958’.

For me, that moment was a life-changing experience. I thought of this woman whom I had never met, who, more than 40 years before, had begun, one bulb at a time, to bring her vision of beauty and joy to an obscure mountaintop. Planting one bulb at a time, year after year, this unknown woman had forever changed the world in which she lived.

One step at a time, she had created something of extraordinary magnificence, beauty, and inspiration. The principle her daffodil garden taught is one of the greatest principles of celebration.

“It makes me sad in a way”, I admitted to Carolyn. “What might I have accomplished if i had thought of a wonderful goal 35 or 40 years ago and had worked away at it ‘one bulb at a time’ through all those years? Just think what I might have been able to achieve!”

My daughter summed up the message of the day in her usual direct way. “Start tomorrow”, she said.

She was right. It’s so pointless to think of the lost hours of yesterdays. The way to make learning a lesson of celebration instead of a cause for regret is to only ask, “How can I put this to use today?”

Use the Daffodil Principle. Stop waiting...

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 what I have learned from this simple short story is :

   Stop waiting...move forward  and do remember one thing.   

"The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step "

 

  

A short story - "A letter to a silent brother"

Today, I am not writing anything from my-side. I love a short story from a long time. As I don't know actual source of this story, I am just sharing here without courtesy.[but you may find several links in google related to this short story. I still have this one in my collection. Hope you will like this :)

Dear Patrick,
I was then an only child who had everything I could ever want. But even a pretty, spoiled and rich kid could get lonely once in a while so when Mom told me that she was pregnant, I was ecstatic. I imagined how wonderful you would be and how we'd always be together and how much you would look like me. So, when you were born, I looked at your tiny hands and feet and marveled at how beautiful you were. We took you home and I showed you proudly to my friends. They would touch you and sometimes pinch you, but you never reacted. When you were five months old, some things began to bother Mom. You seemed so unmoving and numb, and your cry sounded odd -- almost like a kitten's..
So we brought you to many doctors. The thirteenth doctor who looked at you quietly said you have the "cry du chat" (pronounced kree-do-sha) syndrome, 'cry of the cat' in French. When I asked what that meant, he looked at me with pity and softly said, "Your brother will never walk nor talk."
The doctor told us that it is a condition that afflicts one in 50,000 babies, rendering victims severely retarded. Mom was shocked and I was furious. I thought it was unfair. When we went home, Mom took you in her arms and cried. I looked at you and realized that word will get around that you're not normal. So to hold on to my popularity, I did the unthinkable ... I disowned you. Mom and Dad didn't know but I steeled myself not to love you as you grew.
Mom and Dad showered you with love and attention and that made me bitter. And as the years passed, that bitterness turned to anger, and then hate.
Mom never gave up on you. She knew she had to do it for your sake. Every time she put your toys down, you'd roll instead of crawl. I watched her heart break every time she took away your toys and strapped your tummy with foam so you couldn't roll. You'd struggle and you'd cry in that pitiful way, the cry of the kitten. But she still didn't give up. And then one day, you defied what all your doctors said -- you crawled.
When Mom saw this, she knew that you would eventually walk. So when you were still crawling at age four , she'd put you on the grass with only your diapers on knowing that you hate the feel of the grass your skin. Then she'd leave you there. I would sometimes watch from the window and smile at your discomfort. You would crawl to the sidewalk and Mom would put you back. Again and again, Mom repeated this on the lawn.
Until one day, Mom saw you pull yourself up and toddle off the grass as fast as your little legs could carry you. Laughing and crying, she shouted for Dad and I to come. Dad hugged you crying openly.
I watched from my bedroom window this heartbreaking scene. Over the years, Mom taught you to speak, read and write. From then on, I would sometimes see you walk outside, smell the flowers, marvel at the birds, or just smile at no one. I began to see the beauty of the world around me, the simplicity of life and the wonders of this world, through your eyes. It was then that I realized that you were my brother and no matter how much I tried to hate you, I couldn't, because I had grown to love you.
During the next few days, we again became acquainted with each other. I would buy you toys and give you all the love that a sister could ever give to her brother. And you would reward me by smiling and hugging me.
But I guess, you were never really meant for us. On your tenth birthday, you felt severe headaches. The doctor's diagnosis -- leukemia. Mom gasped and Dad held her, while I fought hard to keep my tears from falling. At that moment, I loved you all the more. I couldn't even bear to leave your side. Then the doctors told us that your only hope was to have a bonemarrow transplant. You became the subject of a nationwide donor search. When at last we found the right match, you were too sick, and the doctor reluctantly ruled out the operations. Since then, you underwent chemotherapy and radiation.
Even at the end, you continued to pursue life. Just a month before you died, you made me draw up a list of things you wanted to do when you got out of the hospital. Two days after the list was completed, you asked the doctors to send you home. There, we ate ice cream and cake, run across the grass, flew kites, went fishing, took pictures of one another and let the balloons fly.
I remember the last conversation that we had. You said that if you die, and if I need of help, I could send you a note to heaven by tying it on the string of a balloon and letting it fly. When you said this, I started crying. Then you hugged me. Then again, for the last time, you got sick.
That last night, you asked for water, a back rub, a cuddle. Finally, you went into seizure with tears streaming down your face. Later, at the hospital, you struggled to talk but the words wouldn't come. I know what you wanted to say. "I hear you," I whispered. And for the last time, I said, "I'll always love you and I will never forget you. Don't be afraid. You'll soon be with God in heaven."
Then, with my tears flowing freely, I watched the bravest boy I had ever known finally stop breathing. Dad, Mom and I cried until I felt as if there were no more tears left. Patrick was finally gone, leaving us behind.
From then on, you were my source of inspiration. You showed me how to love life and live life to the fullest. With your simplicity and honesty, you showed me a world full of love and caring. And you made me realize that the most important thing in this life is to continue loving without asking why or how and without setting any limit. Thank you, my little brother, for all these.
Your sister,
SARAH