Three Days to See.rm Sometimes I thought it would be an excellent rule to live each day as if we should die tomorrow. Such an attitude would emphasize strongly the values of life. We should live each day with a gentleness, a force and a strong interest of appreciation, which is often lost when the time is before us inflyff money the constant prospect of more days and months and years to come. There are, of course, who would Epicurean motto "Eat, drink and be merry," but most people would be chastened by the certainty of impending death. In the stories condemned hero is usually saved at the last minute by some stroke of luck, but almost always his sense of values is changed. He will always be grateful for the meaning of life and its permanent spiritual values. It hasoften been noted that those who live or have lived in the shadow of death, a gentle sweetness to everything they do. Most of us, but life for us. We know that one day we must die, but usually we are at this day so far in the future. If we areMaple Story Mesos in good health, is death, but all inconceivable. We think it only rarely. The times, in an endless view. So we go about our small tasks that are hardly known to our listless attitude toward life. The same lethargy, I am afraid, characterizes the use of all our abilities and senses. Only the deaf communicate, only blind people recognize the many blessings that are in the eyes. Above all, this statement applies to those who have lost eyesight and hearing in adulthood. But those who have never suffered impairment of sight or hearing seldom use the full capabilities of these blessed. Their eyes and ears take in all sights and sounds hazily, without concentration and with little appreciation. It's the same old story, not grateful for what we have until we lose it, unaware of the health, until we are sick. I've often thought it would be a blessing if each human being stricken regions have been blind and deaf for a few days at some point during his early adulthood. Darkness would appreciate him more visibility; silence would tech him the joy of sound. From time to time I tested, my friends to see, to discover what they see. Recently I was visited by a very good friends who just returned from a long walk in the woods, and I asked her what she had observed ... "Nothing particular," she replied. I would disbelieve, I was not accustomed to such lies, for a long time ago, I was convinced that the seeing see little. How was it possible, I asked myself, on foot for about an hour through the woods and see nothing worth mentioning? I can not see the hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I think the delicate symmetry MapleStory mesos of a leaf. I my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough, Shaggy bark of a pine. In spring I touch the branches of trees hopefully in search of a bud the first sign of awakening Nature after her winter sleep. I think the delightful, velvety texture of a flower, and discover its remarkable convolutions, and something about the wonders of nature is for me. Occasionally, if I am very happy, my hand gently on a small tree and feel the happy quiver of a bird in full song. I am delighted with the cool waters of a brook rush thought my finger open. To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug. To me the page ant of the seasons is an exciting and endless drama, the action of the streams, through my fingertips. At times my heart cries with longing EverQuest 2 gold to see all these things. If I can be so much pleasure from mere touch, how much beauty must be out of sight. But those who have eyes apparently see little. the panorama of action, color and fills the world is for us. It is human, perhaps, something which we have too long for what we do not have, but it is very unfortunate that in the light of the world the gift of vision is seen as merely a convenience and not as a means of wealth of life. If I were the president of a university I should be a compulsory subject in "How to Use Your Eyes." The professor would try to show his pupils how they could be happy in their lives by really happened, what is before them unnoticed. He would try to awake their dormant and slowly faculties. Perhaps I can best illustrate the idea that what I most like to see if I understand it for the use of my eyes, say, only foreq2 plat three days. And if I have the idea that you also use your mind to work on the problem, how would your own eyes, if you only had three days to see. If the on-coming darkness of the third night you knew that the sun would never again for you, would you like for those three precious intervening days? What would you most want to let your eyes rest on? Of course I should most wish to see the things that are me through my years of darkness. You also want to let your eyes on the things that are too expensive, so you could be the memory of them into the night, before that was before you. Christmas Morning.rm A light drizzle fell, as my sister Jill and I ran out of the Methodist Church, like at home and play with the presents, Santa had for us and our little sister, Sharon. Over the road from the church was a Pan American gas station, where the Greyhound bus stopped. It was Christmas, but I have a family Runescape gold outside the locked door, pushed under the narrow overhang in an attempt to dry. I wondered briefly why they were there, but then forget it, as I drove to work with Jill. If we are at home, there was hardly time for our presents. We had to go to our grandparents' house for our annual Christmas dinner. As we traveled the highway through town, I noticed that the family is still there, outside of the closed gas station. My father was a very slow drive the highway. The closer we get to the turn-off for my grandparents' house, the slower the car went. Suddenly, my father-U in the middle of the street and said: "I can not!" "What?" Asked my mother. "It is the people there again on the Pan Am, in the rain. They have children. It's Christmas. I can not." When my father went into the service station, I saw that there are five of them: the parents and three children - two girls and a little boy. My father rolled his window. "Merry Christmas," he said. "Howdy," the man replied. He was very big and had too little Stoop to peer into the car. Jill, Sharon, and I stared at the children, and they stared back at us. "They are waiting for the bus?" Asked my father. The man said that they were. They went to Birmingham, where he had a brother and the prospects for a job. "Well, the bus is not to come for a few hours, and you're wet standing here. Winborn is only a few miles on the road. They have a shed with a cover, and some benches," said my father. "Why y'all is not in the car and I run it." The man thought for a moment and then he waved to his family. They climbed into the car. They had no luggage, only the clothes they wore. Once they are in, my father looked back over the shoulder and asked the children if Santa had found them yet. Three Glum faces mutely gave him his answer. "Well, I do not think so," My father said, winking at my mother, "because when I saw Santa this morning, he told me that he had with difficulty to find, and he asked me if he could be your toy in my house. We do it before I started off at the bus stop. " All at once, the three children into his face lights up and she began to bounce around in the back, laugh and chat. When we are out of the car in our house, the three children ran through the front door and straight to the toys that are under our Christmas tree. One of the girls spied on Jill's Doll and hugged them immediately to their chest. I remember that the little boy grabbed Sharon's ball And the other girls soRunescape money That was the Christmas when my sisters and I learned the joy that others happy. My mother found that the average child was wearing a short sleeved dress, so she gave the girls only Jill's sweater to wear. My father invited them to join us in our grandparents at Christmas dinner, but the parents refused. Even if we all tried to speak, they were companies in their decision. Back in the car, on the way to Winborn, my father asked the man if he money for the ticket. His brother had tickets, the man said. My father reached into his pocket and pulled two U.S. dollars, which was everything he had until his next payday. He pressed the money into the human hand. The man tried to back it, but my father insisted. "It is late, if you look for Birmingham, and these children will be hungry before then. Take it. I broke before, and I know how it is when your family does not eat." We have them there at the bus stop in Winborn. As we drove away, I looked out the window as long as I could, looking back on the small gihugging her new doll.