Fwd: Sandpiper for you - worth the tears you will shed!

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In a message dated 06/26/2001 12:29:52 PM Central Daylight Time,

me.tig2@... writes:

<< A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY... >>

A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY...

By

She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I

live.

I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the

world begins to close in on me. She was building a sandcastle or

something

and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.

" Hello, " she said. I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to

bother

with a small child.

" I'm building, " she said.

" I see that. What is it? " I asked, not caring.

" Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand. "

That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes.

A sandpiper glided by.

" That's a joy, " the child said.

" It's a what? "

" It's a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy. "

The bird went gliding down the beach.

" Good-bye joy, " I muttered to myself, " hello pain, " and turned to walk

on.

I was depressed; my life seemed completely out of balance.

" What's your name? " She wouldn't give up.

" , " I answered. " I'm . "

" Mine's ... I'm six. "

" Hi, . "

She giggled. " You're funny, " she said.

In spite of my gloom I laughed too and walked on. Her musical giggle

followed me.

" Come again, Mr. P, " she called. " We'll have another happy day. "

The days and weeks that followed belonged to others:

a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, and an ailing mother. The sun

was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwater. " I need

a

sandpiper, " I said to myself, gathering up my coat.

The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly,

but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed. I had

forgotten the child and was startled when she appeared.

" Hello, Mr. P, " she said. " Do you want to play? "

" What did you have in mind? " I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.

" I don't know, you say. "

" How about charades? " I asked sarcastically.

The tinkling laughter burst forth again. " I don't know what that is. "

" Then let's just walk. " Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness

of

her face.

" Where do you live? " I asked.

" Over there. " She pointed toward a row of summer cottages. Strange, I

thought in winter.

" Where do you go to school? "

" I don't go to school. Mommy says we're on vacation. "

She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind

was on other things. When I left for home, said it had been a

happy

day. Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.

Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I was

in

no mood to even greet . I thought I saw her mother on the porch and

felt like demanding she keep her child at home.

" Look, if you don't mind, " I said crossly when caught up with me,

" I'd rather be alone today. "

She seems unusually pale and out of breath. " Why? " she asked.

I turned to her and shouted, " Because my mother died! " and thought, " My

God, why was I saying this to a little child? "

" Oh, " she said quietly, " then this is a bad day. "

" Yes, " I said, " and yesterday and the day before and-oh, go away! "

" Did it hurt? " she inquired.

" Did what hurt? " I was exasperated with her, with myself.

" When she died? "

" Of course it hurt! " I snapped, misunderstanding, wrapped up in myself.

I

strode off. A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she

wasn't there.

Feeling guilty, ashamed and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up

to

the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn looking young

woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.

" Hello, " I said. " I'm . I missed your little girl today

and

wondered where she was. "

" Oh yes, Mr. , please come in. spoke of you so much. I'm

afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance, please,

accept

my apologies. "

" Not at all-she's a delightful child, " I said, suddenly realizing that I

meant what I had just said.

" died last week, Mr. . She had leukemia. Maybe she didn't

tell you. "

Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. I had to catch my breath.

" She loved this beach; so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no.

She

seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days.

But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly " ... Her voice faltered,

" She

left something for you ... if only I can find it. Could you wait a

moment

while I look? "

I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something, to say to this lovely

young woman. She handed me a smeared envelope, with MR. P printed in

bold

childish letters.

Inside was a drawing in bright crayon of a yellow beach, a blue sea, and

a

brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed:

A SANDPIPER TO BRING YOU JOY.

Tears welled up in my eyes and a heart that had almost forgotten to love

opened wide. I took 's mother in my arms. " I'm so sorry, I'm so

sorry, I'm so sorry, I muttered over and over, and we wept together.

The precious little picture is framed now and hangs in my study.

Six words -- one for each year of her life -- that speak to me of

harmony,

courage, and undemanding love. . .A gift from a child with sea-blue eyes

and hair the color of sand -- who taught me the gift of love.

NOTE: This is a true story sent out by .

It serves as a reminder to all of us that we need to take time to enjoy

living and life and each other.

" The price of hating other human beings is loving oneself less. "

Life is so complicated, the hustle and bustle of everyday traumas can

make

us lose focus about what is truly important or what is only a monetary

setback or crisis. This weekend, be sure to give your loved ones an extra

hug, and by all means, take a moment .......even if it is only ten

seconds, to stop and smell the roses.

This comes from someone's heart, and is shared with many and now I share

it with you.

May God Bless everyone that receives this!

There are NO coincidences!

Everything that happens to us happens for a reason.

Never brush aside anyone as insignificant.

Who knows what they can teach us?