Tobias' Corner Online
“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear…Your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. “…So do not worry…” Mathew 6: 25
Like A Diamond
--Jewel Diamond Taylor
My father was a gemologist and owned a jewelry store for over 20 years in my birthplace, Washington D.C. I learned from his books that the diamond is formed from pressure, fire and cutting.
When you and I are under pressure and going through the fire, it's not much fun, we don't understand. We ask, "why me, why now and what's next?"
Feeling the pressures of life will either make you a strong diamond or
you'll crumble from the pressure. When you are under the pressure of bills, family, career, children, racism, meeting deadlines, studies in class,
coping with illness, divorce, death in the family, you will either focus or
fold.
Being under pressure will either push you to focus on only the most
important things to do because everything else now has less priority. When you can't cope, the pressure will make you fold, give up, stress out, miss your goal, lose your mind or lose your faith.
Staying healthy, spiritually grounded and surrounding yourself with the right people are so important to your peace of mind. Why? Because when you are tired and stressed you can't remember anything, you can't reason anything and you can't resist the temptation to take the easy way out.
Emotional and physical pain has such a grip and your past reactionary coping skills will automatically kick you into your habitual pattern of FOCUSING OR FOLDING. Emotional and physical pain drains you of so much vital energy. You need your energy to think through the problem or trust your way through the problem.
When I feel the squeeze of life, my breathing is difficult and the joy is
hard to find. I ask myself "what's most important, what can I do about
it, what or who needs my attention, what's my plan, what do I really
believe, what am I willing to let go of, where can I simplify my life, is it
time to take action or is it time to be still, is it time to be quiet or is
it time to speak up, is that I don't trust God or is that I don't trust
myself to get through this situation?"
From breath to breath, moment-to-moment and day-by-day, as you learn to lessen the tension and start trusting, your problems may not go away, but your peace of mind and some sense of order in your life will be restored.
Focus on solutions, positive outcomes, your faith, your goal and the
presence of God in guiding you every step of the way.
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Stress Reducers
Pray.
Go to bed on time.
Get up on time so you can start the day unrushed.
Say no, to projects that won't fit into your time schedule, or that will compromise your mental health.
Delegate tasks to capable others.
Simplify and unclutter your life.
Allow extra time to do things and to get to places.
Pace yourself. Spread out big changes and difficult projects over time; don't lump the hard things all together.
Take one day at a time.
Separate worries from concerns. If a situation is a concern, find out what God would have you to do and let go of the anxiety. If you can't do anything about a situation, forget it.
Live within your budget; don't use credit cards for ordinary purchases.
Have backups; an extra car key in your wallet, an extra house key buried in the garden, extra stamps, etc.,
K.M.S. (Keep Mouth Shut). This single piece of advice can prevent an enormous amount of grief and trouble.
Do something for the “Child” in You everyday.
Carry a Rosary with you to pray while waiting in line or while “stuck” in heavy traffic.
Get enough exercise.
Eat right.
Get organized so everything has its place.
While driving, listen to a tape or CD of the Rosary.
Write thoughts and inspirations down.
Every day, find time to be alone.
Having problems? Talk to God on the spot. Try to nip small problems in the bud. Don't wait until it's time to go to bed to try and pray.
Make friends with Godly people.
Keep a folder of favorite scriptures on hand.
Laugh.
Laugh some more.
Laugh long and loud, and out loud.
Take your work seriously.
Develop a forgiving attitude (most people are doing the best they can).
Be kind to unkind people (they probably need it the most).
Talk less; listen more.
Slow down.
Remind yourself that you are not the general manager of the universe.
Every night before bed, think of one thing you're grateful for that you've never been grateful for before.
Make each and every day The Best Day Of Your Life…and remember God has a way of turning things around for you.
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Remember to focus on solutions, positive outcomes, your faith, your goals and the presence of God and the presence of your guardian angel by your side to guide you every step of the way.
Hugs, Tobias…
“The best fast is on bread and water. Through fasting and prayer, one can stop wars; one can suspend the laws of nature. Charity cannot replace fasting. Those who are not able to fast can sometimes replace it with prayer, charity and a confession; but everyone, except the sick, must fast.” Our Lady of Medjugorje –July 21, 1982
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Sportin’ Dirty Shoes
My alarm went off, it was Sunday again. I was sleepy and tired, and I wanted to sleep in. But instead I got up. I showered and shaved, dressed in my Sunday best and adjusted my tie. I got there and sat in the back 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 but it didn't seem to bother him at all as his dirty old shoe touched mine.
A prayer began: "Our Father" I thought to myself, "This man with the dirty 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. His voice lifted the rafters. His hands were raised high. The Lord could surely hear the shoe man's voice.
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, and then I heard a soft "clink" as when silver hits tin.
The sermon really bored me to tears, and that's no lie it ‘twas 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 name's Charlie, I'm glad to meet you, my friend." There were tears in his eyes but he had a large 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 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 just dirty and dusty, like chalk."
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 be dull in comparison. So I spoke from my heart, not my head. "Oh, you've touched me, and taught me, in part, that the best of any man is what is found in his heart."
I remembered the corpus on the cross. The sweet Lord Jesus was not sportin’ dirty shoes, in fact He was not sportin’ any shoes at all. The shoe man will never know just how thankful I really was that his dirty old shoe touched mine. For in so doing he truly touched me heart n’ soul.
--Author unknown
“It is one of the most beautiful compensations of this life, that no man can sincerely try to help another without helping himself.” –Ralph Waldo Emerson
Hugs. Tobias…
“We cannot and we dare not wait for the bishops, the religious congregations, or even the Holy Father himself to give the call for penance to save our souls and safeguard our lives. It is up to each and every one of us to save our own souls and to do everything and anything we can to bring the “good news” of the Gospel to all who cross our path and to awaken in them a love for our crucified Lord and Savior.” --Sister Maria Lucia of Jesus and of the Immaculate Heart O.C.D, lone surviving seer of Fatima.
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Encouragement
In his book, "Homemade," Dr. Ernest Mellor shares: "Recently my wife and I sat charmed at an outdoor performance by young Suzuki violin students. After the concert, an instructor spoke briefly on how children as young as two, three and four years old are taught to play the violin.
The first thing the children learn, he said, is a proper stance. And the second thing they learn--even before they pick up the violin--is how to take a bow. 'If the children just play the violin and stop, people may forget to show their appreciation,' the instructor said, 'but when the children bow, the audience invariably applauds. And applause is the best motivator we've found to make children feel good about performing and want to do it well.'"
Being appreciated and encouraged is important not only for children, but also for adults. When genuinely expressed, it is a powerful source of motivation.
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The Carpenters’ Tools
Gimlet, n. A small tool with a screw point, grooved shank, and cross handle for boring holes).
The Carpenter's Tools had a meeting. Brother Hammer served as the chairman. The other members of the tool belt informed him that he must leave, because he was too noisy. But Brother Hammer said, “If I have to leave this carpenter’s shop, then Brother Gimlet must go too. He’s insignificant and makes a very small impression.”
Little brother Gimlet arose and said, “All right, but Brother Screwdriver
must go also. You have to turn him around and around and around to get anywhere with him.” Brother Screwdriver turned to the other tools in the belt and said, “If you wish, I will go, but brother Plane must leave too.
All his work is on the surface; there’s no depth to his work.”
To this brother plane leveled his terse reply, “Well, then, brother Saw will have to depart. The changes he proposed always cut too deep.” Brother Saw complained, saying, “Brother Ruler will have to withdraw if I leave, for he’s always measuring other folks as though he were the only one who is right.” Brother Ruler then surveyed the group and said, “Brother Sandpaper doesn’t belong here, either. He’s rougher than he ought to be, and is always rubbing people the wrong way.”
In the midst of the discussion, the two Carpenters of Nazareth Jesus and his foster father Joseph walked in. They had come to perform their day’s work. He put on his tool belt and went to the workbench to finish the cradle they had been working on. He employed the ruler, the saw, the plane, the hammer, the gimlet, the screwdriver, the sandpaper, and all the other tools.
When the day’s work was over, the cradle was finished, and the carpenters went home. All the accusations against each of these tools were absolutely true, yet the carpenters used every one of them. No matter which tool they used, no other tool could have done the work better.
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And so it is with each and every one of us. We are all tools in Jesus'
“tool belt”. Each of us has an important task to perform. It matters not if we are the lowly gimlet or the mighty hammer. We are all fellow workmen in the “tool belt” of the Lord.
Hugs, Tobias…
The Unopened Letter’s…
--Author Unknown
Mr. Smith was about sixty years old when he committed suicide. He simply got up one morning, neatly laid his slippers on the window ledge and jumped 30 stories to his death. His wife had died of cancer years before and they had no children. He lived alone. He never had any visitors, and over the years I had watched his demeanor go from friendly and open to surly and withdrawn.
My earliest memories of Mr. Smith were when I was about four years old. My mother and I had just moved into the neighborhood. I suppose that because he and Mrs. Smith had no children of their own, they took every
opportunity to dote on me.
However, when I began to attend kindergarten my visits with the Smith's became less frequent. As the years went by, contact faded even further. When I did see Mrs. Smith around I noticed her warm smile had not changed one iota, but her eyes looked weary. She was pale and thin. When I came home from school one day my mom told me that she had “passed beyond the veil”.
We took some food over to Mr. Smith's apartment. The moment I walked in I felt strange. The warmth and life in their home was gone. Everything seemed dark, even Mr. Smith.
He sat in Mrs. Smith’s favorite chair just staring out of the window in a daze of shock and disbelief. His face was haggard and drawn. I didn't know what to say, so I sat there while my mother tried to make conversation and get him to eat. He never even looked away from the window, so we just sat there with him in silence for a while before leaving.
That experience was too unnerving for me, but my mother would continue to bring over meals and make sure he was okay. Soon he stopped answering his door, although my mom said she could hear activity inside.
Now and then I saw him going to the store and running errands, but he was never the same again. He stopped speaking to everyone and became a recluse.
My mother periodically tried to visit, but he was aloof and refused to let her in. The last time I saw Mr. Smith before his death he had a shopping bag in his hand and was walking towards our building. I gave my usual unreciprocated greeting as he mumbled something under his breath, never even looking up at me. I looked down and realized that he had gone to the store in his house slippers.
My mother was asked by the authorities to identify his body. Afterwards, my mother and I were allowed to search his apartment to help find contact information for any relatives or friends to notify.
There was nothing around but boxes of old dusty books and pictures taken of him and his wife throughout the years. As we were about to leave, I noticed a black trunk under his bed and we pulled it out. It was filled with hundreds of unopened letters, many yellowed with age.
As we opened up the most recent letters we discovered that Mr. Smith had a younger brother. From what we could make out, there was a situation that caused a rift in their relationship many years ago. His brother apparently had been persistent in seeking forgiveness’ over the years.
The letters were absolutely touching, filled with recollections of their boyhood years and all the love and fun they had shared. He always ended each letter with a yearning plea for his big brother to contact him but maintained that he would continue to respect his wishes to never see him again.
Enclosed in some of his letters were notes, cards and drawings from
his children. The youngest was just a little older than I was. There were letters with birth announcements, school and family portraits, holiday cards, birthday party and graduation invitations, and more.
As soon as Mr. Smith's brother had walked into the apartment, I felt as though I was transported back in time. He looked just like I remembered Mr. Smith when I was a young child. Behind him were his wife and their three children. They ranged from their late teens to early twenties.
The sadness and pain on Mr. Smith's brother's face was almost tangible as he silently walked around touching his brother's things, picking up familiar items, staring at and holding them as if trying to recapture his brother's spirit. His wife and children followed at a close distance, but my mom and I respectfully stayed behind.
Moments after going into the bedroom, his brother let out a loud anguished cry, breaking down into wrenching sobs. Immediately I
knew he had found the open trunk full of letters. "Why? Why?” he agonized. "Didn't he know how much I loved him? He never opened any of my letters!"
He now began wailing in distress. His wife and children were also crying. At this, my mother and I decided to leave, unable to fight back our own tears. Once outside the apartment, my chest began heaving in sobs as I buried myself in my mother's comforting arms.
It still saddens me to know that Mr. Smith did not have to die despondent, alone, lonely, bitter and angry. He had so much and yet he never knew it because he did not open the many letters nor did he open “The House of His Heart”.
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Clutter
In her book, The Courage To Be Rich, Suzie Orman explains, “You’ve heard the phrase “Less is more”. In this context it means that clutter blocks the way for more. Surrounded by clutter, you can’t find what you need, see what you have, notice what you value or pinpoint what’s missing.
In a rich and radiantly abundant life, on the other hand, one in which there is clarity, there is always room for more to come. To have more we have to remove the clutter and junk from our home, work, lives in general and of course remove the clutter from “The House of Your Heart”.
Hugs, Tobias…
“For the cure of the sick, it is important to say the following prayers: The Creed, and seven times each, the Lord’s Prayer, the Hail Mary, and the Glory Be; and to fast on bread and water.”
–Our Lady of Medjugorje, July 25, 1982
The Face Of God…
A photographer was commissioned to put together a book about people who have survived catastrophes. He found himself in Ecuador in the late 1980s. At that time, the United States and international lending organizations were pressuring Ecuador to pay off their debts and to
keep up their enormous interest payments while threatening to cut aid
and investment. In response, the government heavily taxed cooking and heating oil as a broad way to increase monies. This tax was especially
devastating to the poor, indigenous, and day laborers.
Then the country was hit by a cholera epidemic of huge proportions. Then there were torrential rainfalls and land and mudslides that destroyed crops and brought devastation to whole villages and cities. The United Nations and Catholic Relief Services responded by bringing planeloads and truckloads of food into the devastated areas.
The photographer took up a position on a main street where people would line up to receive food relief. Then he found the person who would be the focus of his pictorial essay of Ecuador. It was a young girl of about nine or ten. She waited in a long line with hundreds of others for food. The photographer noticed that while she waited patiently in line, she kept looking over at three younger children sitting in the shade of a tree. Her attention was divided between watching them and keeping her place on the long line moving slowly toward the trucks of food.
After several hours, the photographer noticed to his dismay that the relief workers were beginning to run out of food. The workers were becoming visibly distraught and anxious because the line was endless and the supplies were not. But the young girl hadn't noticed. She only watched her charges from a distance.
After hours in the sun, the young girl finally got to the front of the line. All she was given was a banana. One banana. But her reaction stunned him and paralyzed him and brought him to tears.
First her face lit up in a beautiful smile. She took the banana and bowed
to the aid worker. Then she ran to the three children under the bushes and ever so carefully peeled the banana, split it evenly into three pieces and, like a communion, put one piece into the palm of each child.
Together they bowed their heads and said a blessing! They ate their pieces of banana, chewing slowly, while she sucked on the peel.
The photographer lost it all together. First he wept uncontrollably, forgot all about his cameras and what he was there for.
Then he began to question, not only himself and what he was doing and why, but also everything he took for granted and assumed the world was. He watched the girl and said later “In that moment he saw the Face of God, Shining”. He had been given a glimpse of the kingdom of heaven in the face and actions of a poor street child rich in love care for others, generosity, and such beauty in spite of poverty, hunger, and international exploitation, the politics of greed and profit and human indifference.
He never did take a picture of the young girl or her sister and brothers, if that is who they were, but her face and her smile are etched forever in his memory and his soul.
--Paraphrased from Megan McKenna "Blessings and Woes"
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Blessings
(This is a reprint from one of the first Tobias’ Corners, published Dec. 29, 2000)
The man whispered, “God Speak to me,” and a meadowlark sang. But the man did not hear.
So the man yelled, “God, speak to me,” and the thunder rolled across the sky. But the man did not listen.
The man looked around and said, “God let me see You,” and a star shined brightly. But the man did not notice.
And the man shouted, “God show me a miracle,” and a life was born. But the man did not know.
So the man cried out in despair, “Touch me, God, and let me know You are here.” Whereupon, God reached down and touched the man, but the man brushed the butterfly away and walked on.
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Don’t miss out on a blessing because it isn’t packaged the way that you expect.
Hugs, Tobias…
