I was doing some last-minute Christmas shopping in a toy store and decided to
look at Barbie dolls for my nieces.

A nicely-dressed little girl was excitedly looking through the Barbie dolls as well,
with a roll of money clamped tightly in her little hand. When she came upon a
Barbie she liked, she would turn and ask her father if she had enough money
to buy it.  He usually said "yes," but she would keep looking and keep going
through their ritual of "do I have enough?"

As she was looking, a little boy wandered in across the aisle and started sorting
through the Pokemon toys.

He was dressed neatly, but in clothes that were obviously rather worn, and
wearing a jacket that was probably a couple of sizes too small.  He, too, had
money in his hand, but it looked to be no more than five dollars or so, at the
most.

He was with his father as well, and kept picking up the Pokemon video toys.  
Each time he picked one up and looked at his father, his father shook his
head, "no."

The little girl had apparently chosen her Barbie, a beautifully-dressed,
glamorous doll that would have been the envy of every little girl on the block.

However, she had stopped and was watching the interchange between the
little boy and his father.  Rather dejectedly, the boy had given up on the
video games and had chosen what looked like a book of stickers instead.  He
and his father then started walking through another aisle of the store.

The little girl put her Barbie back on the shelf, and ran over to the Pokemon
games.  She excitedly picked up one that was lying on top of the other toys,
and raced toward the check-out, after speaking with her father.

I picked up my purchases and got in line behind them.

Then, much to the little girl's obvious delight, the little boy and his father got
in line behind me.

After the toy was paid for and bagged, the little girl handed it back to the
cashier and whispered something in her ear.  The cashier smiled and put the
package under the counter.

I paid for my purchases and was rearranging things in my purse when the little
boy came up to the cashier.  The cashier rang up his purchases and then said,
"Congratulations, you are my hundredth customer today, and you win a prize!"

With that, she handed the little boy the Pokemon game, and he could only
stare in disbelief. It was, he said, exactly what he had wanted!

The little girl and her father had been standing at the doorway during all of
this, and I saw the biggest, prettiest, toothless grin on that little girl that I
have ever seen in my life.  Then they walked out the door, and I followed,
close behind them.

As I walked back to my car, in amazement over what I had just witnessed, I
heard the father ask his daughter why she had done that.  I'll never forget
what she said to him.

"Daddy, didn't Nana and PawPaw want me to buy something that would make
me happy?"

He said, "Of course they did, honey."

To which the little girl replied, "Well, I just did!"

With that, she giggled and started skipping toward their car. Apparently, she
had decided on the answer to her own question of, "do I have enough?"

I feel very privileged to have witnessed the true spirit of Christmas in that toy
store, in the form of a little girl who understands more about the reason for
the season than most adults I know!

May God bless her and her parents, just as she blessed that little boy, and me,
that day!

      -- Sharon Palmer, Tennessee   

Source: Heartwarmers

We decided that part of the problem might be a lack of information, and that a round of research – on family strengths – might help to correct the negative slant. We placed a brief notice in four dozen newspapers in 25 states. “If you live in a strong family, please contact us. We know a lot about what makes families fail; we need to know more about what makes them succeed.”

One thing I've been spending more time wondering about recently is why so much media attention is focused on the down side of married life. Newspapers and magazines are filled with stories of marriages gone awry; film plots and TV show storylines so often revolve around nagging and philandering spouses. And hardly do the stories show overcoming the hurdles of married life.

I'm sharing two stories about married life. They're not about perfect and problem-free relationships (there's no such thing, as most of us know); neither are they prettified accounts of marriage that has husband and wife traipsing three feet off the ground, clouds of mist billowing around them, in permanent wedded bliss.

The first is from the Heartwarmers site, while the second is something I got on email which, I assumed, was written by a man from somewhere in Asia (based on the names).

See for yourself.

My father was not a sentimental man.

I don’t remember him ever ohhing or ahhing over something I made as a
child.  Don’t get me wrong, I knew that my Dad loved me, but getting
all mushy-eyed was not his thing.  I learned that he showed me he loved
me in other ways.

There was one particular moment when this became real to me.....

I always believed that my parents had a good marriage, but just before I,
the youngest of four children, turned 16, my belief was sorely tested.

My father who used to share in the chores around the house, gradually
started becoming despondent.  From the time he came home from his job
at the factory, to the time he went to bed, he hardly spoke a word to my
Mom or us kids.  The strain on my Mom and Dad’s relationship was very
evident. However, I was not prepared for the day that Mom sat my siblings
and me down and told us that Dad had decided to leave.

All that I could think of was that I was going to become a product of a
divorced family.  It was something I never thought possible and it grieved
me greatly.  I kept telling myself that it wasn't going to happen, and I
went totally numb when I knew my Dad was really leaving.  The night
before he left I stayed up in my room for a long time.  I prayed and I
cried -- and I wrote a long letter to my Dad.  I told him how much I
loved him and how much I would miss him.  I told him that I was praying
for him and wanted him to know that, no matter what, Jesus and I loved
him.  I told him that I would always and forever be his Krissie.... his
Noodles.

As I folded my note I stuck in a picture of me with a saying I had always
heard. “Anyone can be a father but it takes someone special to be called
a Daddy.”

Early, the next morning as my Dad left our house, I snuck out to the car
and slipped my letter into one of his bags.

Two weeks went by with hardly a word from my father.

Then, one afternoon, I came home from school to find my Mom sitting
at the dining room table waiting to talk to me.  I could see in her eyes
that she had been crying.  She told me that Dad had been there and that
they had had a very long talk.  They decided that there were things that
the both of them could, and would change -- and that their marriage was
worth saving.

Mom then turned her focus to my eyes.  “Kristi, Dad told me that you
wrote him a letter.  Can I ask what you wrote to him?”

I found it hard to share with my Mom what I wrote from my heart to my
Dad.  I mumbled a few words and shrugged.  My mom replied, “Well, Dad
said that when he read your letter, it made him cry.  It meant a lot to
him and I have hardly ever seen your Dad cry.  After he read your letter,
he called to ask if he could come over to talk.  Whatever you said really
made a difference to your Dad.”

A few days later, my Dad was back.  This time to stay.  We never talked
about the letter, my Dad and I.  I guess I always figured that it was
something that was a secret between us.

My parents went on to be married a total of 36 years before my Dad’s
early death, at the age of 53, cut short their lives together.  In the last
16 years of my parents’ marriage, I and all those who knew my Mom and
Dad, witnessed one of the truly “great” marriages.  Their love grew
stronger every day and my heart swelled with pride as I saw them grow
closer together.

When Mom and Dad received the news from the doctor that his heart was
deteriorating rapidly, they took it hand in hand, side by side, all the way.

After Dad’s death we had the most unpleasant task of going through his
things.  I have never liked this task and opted to run errands so I did not
have to be there while most of the things were divided and boxed up.  When
I got back from my errands, my brother said, “Kristi, Mom said to give this
to you.  She said you would know what it meant.”

As I looked down into his outstretched hand it was then that I knew the
impact of my letter that day so long ago.  In my brother’s hand was my
picture that I gave my Dad that day.  My unsentimental Dad, who never
let his emotions get the best of him.  My Dad, who almost never outwardly
showed his love for me, had kept the one thing that meant so much to him
and me.

I sat down and the tears began to flow.  Tears that I thought had dried up
from the grief of his death, but that had now found new life as I realized
what I meant to him.  Mom told me that Dad kept both the picture and that
letter his whole life.

I have a box in my home that I call the “Dad” box.  In it are so many things
that remind me of my Dad.  I pull that picture out every once in a while and
remember.  I remember a promise that was made many years ago between
a young man and his bride on their wedding day.  And I remember the
unspoken promise that was made between a father and his daughter...

A promise kept.

             -- Kristi Powers    

On my wedding day, I carried my wife in my arms.

The bridal car stopped in front of our one-room flat. My buddies insisted that I carry her out of the car in my arms. So I carried her into our home. She was then plump and shy. I was a strong and happy bridegroom.

This was the scene of ten years ago.

The following days were as simple as a cup of pure water: we had a kid, I went into business and tried to make more money. When the assets were steadily increasing, the affections between us seemed to ebb. She was a civil servant. Every morning we left home together and got home almost at the same time. Our kid was studying in a boarding school.

Our marriage life seemed to be enviably happy. But the calm life was more likely to be affected by unpredictable changes.

Dew came into my life.

It was a sunny day. I stood on a spacious balcony. Dew hugged me from behind. My heart once again was immersed in her stream of love. This was the apartment I bought for her.

Dew said, “You are the kind of man who best draws girls’ eyeballs.” Her words suddenly reminded me of my wife. When we just married, my wife said, “Men like you, once successful, will be very attractive to girls.”

Thinking of this, I became somewhat hesitant. I knew I had betrayed my wife. But I couldn't help doing so.

I moved Dew’s hands aside and said, “You go to select some furniture, O.K.? I’ve got something to do in the company.” Obviously she was unhappy, because I had promised her to go and see with her. At the moment, the idea of divorce became clearer in my mind although it used to be something impossible to me.

However, I found it rather difficult to tell my wife about it. No matter how mildly I mentioned it to her, she would be deeply hurt. Honestly, she was a good wife. Every evening she was busy preparing dinner. I was sitting in front of the TV. The dinner was ready soon. Then we watched TV together. Or, I was lounging before the computer, visualizing Dew’s body. This was the means of my entertainment.

One day I said to her in a slight joking way, “Suppose we divorce, what will you do?” She stared at me for a few seconds without a word. Apparently she believed that ‘divorce’ was something too far away from her. I couldn’t imagine how she would react once she got to know I was serious.

When my wife went to my office, Dew had just stepped out. Almost all the staff looked at my wife with a sympathetic eye and tried to hide something while talking with her. She seemed to have got some hint. She gently smiled at my subordinates. But I read some hurt in her eyes.

Once again, Dew said to me, “He Ning, divorce her, O.K.? Then we live together.” I nodded. I knew I could not hesitate anymore.

When my wife served the last dish, I held her hand.

“I've got something to tell you,” I said.

She sat down and ate quietly. Again I observed the hurt in her eyes. Suddenly I didn't know how to open my mouth. But I had to let her know what I was thinking. “I want to divorce.” I raised a serious topic calmly.

She didn’t seem to be much annoyed by my words, instead she asked me softly, “Why?”

“I’m serious.” I avoided her question. This so-called answer turned her angry. She threw away the chopsticks and shouted at me, “You are not a man!”

At that night, we didn’t talk to each other. She was weeping. I knew she wanted to find out what had happened to our marriage. But I could hardly give her a satisfactory answer, because my heart had gone to Dew.

With a deep sense of guilt, I drafted a divorce agreement which stated that she could own our house, our car, and 30% stake of my company. She glanced at it and then tore it into pieces. I felt a pain in my heart. The woman who had been living ten years with me would become a stranger one day. But I could not take back what I had said.

Finally she cried loudly in front of me, which was what I had expected to see. To me her cry was actually a kind of release. The idea of divorce which had obsessed me for several weeks seemed to be firmer and clearer.

A late night, I came back home after entertaining my clients. I saw her writing something at the table. I fell asleep fast. When I woke up, I found she was still there. I turned over and was asleep again.

She brought up her divorce conditions: she didn't want anything from me, but I was supposed to give her one month's time before divorce, and in the month's time we must live as normal life as possible. Her reason was simple: our son would finish his summer vacation a month later and she didn't want him to see our marriage was broken.

She passed me the agreement she drafted, and then asked me, “He Ning, do you still remember how I entered our bridal room on the wedding day?”

This question suddenly brought back all those wonderful memories to me. I nodded and said, “I remember.” “You carried me in your arms,” she continued, “so, I have a requirement, that is, you carry me out in your arms on the day when we divorce. From now to the end of this month, you must carry me out from the bedroom to the door every morning.”

I accepted with a smile. I knew she missed those sweet days and wished to end her marriage with a romantic form.

I told Dew about my wife's divorce conditions. She laughed loudly and thought it was absurd. “No matter what tricks she does, she has to face the result of divorce,” she said scornfully. Her words more or less made me feel uncomfortable.

My wife and I hadn't had any body contact since my divorce intention was explicitly expressed. We even treated each other as a stranger. So when I carried her out for the first day, we both appeared clumsy. Our son clapped behind us, “daddy is holding mummy in his arms.” His words brought me a sense of pain. From the bedroom to the sitting room, then to the door, I walked over ten meters with her in my arms. She closed her eyes and said softly, “Let us start from today, don't tell our son.” I nodded, feeling somewhat upset. I put her down outside the door. She went to wait for bus, I drove to office.

On the second day, both of us acted much more easily. She leaned on my chest. We were so close that I could smell the fragrance of her blouse. I realized that I hadn't looked at this intimate woman carefully for a long time. I found she was not young any more. There were some fine wrinkles on her face.

On the third day, she whispered to me, “The outside garden is being demolished. Be careful when you pass there.”

On the fourth day, when I lifted her up, I seemed to feel that we were still an intimate couple and I was holding my sweetheart in my arms. The visualization of Dew became vaguer.

On the fifth and sixth day, she kept reminding me something, such as, where she put the ironed shirts, I should be careful while cooking, etc. I nodded. The sense of intimacy was even stronger.

I didn't tell Dew about this.

I felt it was easier to carry her. Perhaps the everyday workout made me stronger. I said to her, “It seems not difficult to carry you now.”

She was picking her dresses. I was waiting to carry her out. She tried quite a few but could not find a suitable one. Then she sighed, “All my dresses have grown fatter.” I smiled. But I suddenly realized that it was because she was thinner that I could carry her more easily, not because I was stronger. I knew she had buried all the bitterness in her heart. Again, I felt a sense of pain. Subconsciously I reached out a hand to touch her head.

Our son came in at the moment. “Dad, it's time to carry mum out.” He said. To him, seeing his father carrying his mother out had been an essential part of his life. She gestured our son to come closer and hugged him tightly. I turned my face because I was afraid I would change my mind at the last minute. I held her in my arms, walking from the bedroom, through the sitting room, to the hallway. Her hand surrounded my neck softly and naturally. I held her body tightly, as if we came back to our wedding day. But her much lighter weight made me sad.

On the last day, when I held her in my arms I could hardly move a step. Our son had gone to school. She said, “Actually I hope you will hold me in your arms until we are old.”

I held her tightly and said, “Both you and I didn't notice that our life was lack of such intimacy.”

I jumped out of the car swiftly without locking the door. I was afraid any delay would make me change my decision. I walked upstairs. Dew opened the door. I said to her, “Sorry, Dew, I won't divorce. I'm serious.”

She looked at me, astonished. The she touched my forehead. “You got no fever.” She said. I moved her hand off my head. “Sorry, Dew,” I said, “I can only say sorry to you, I won't divorce. My marriage life was boring probably because she and I didn't value the details of life, not because we didn't love each other any more. Now I understand that since I carried her into the home, she gave birth to our child, I am supposed to hold her until I am old. So I have to say sorry to you.”

Dew seemed to suddenly wake up. She gave me a loud slap and then slammed the door and burst into cry. I walked downstairs and drove to the office.

When I passed the floral shop on the way, I ordered a bouquet for my wife which was her favorite. The salesgirl asked me to write the greeting words on the card. I smiled and wrote, “I'll carry you out every morning until we are old.”

Allen, 3, went to the grocery story with his dad.  All through the
grocery store Allen asked questions, every one starting with the
query "Daddy?"  Allen was very talkative and asked what seemed like
a million questions.  When they got to the check out, the line was
very long.  Allen continued with his questions, asking, "Daddy?" to
start each one.  This question and answer session was entertainment
for the other shoppers, who were bored with waiting. Finally, Frank,
tired of answering yet another question, told Allen not to call him
"Daddy" again.  Allen sat very quietly for a few moments.  Then
there was a quiet little, "Father?"

Back in 1970, when Batman was on TV I would put the children to bed
and hurry down to watch, not realizing that the children were sitting
at the top of the stairs taking it all in.  One morning at breakfast,
three year old Jerry asked me what bird was singing and I said that it
was a Robin.  His prompt response was, "If that's Robin, where is
Batman?" I really didn't know how to answer.  -- Polly

Cherie recently flew with her 6-year-old son.  She could tell that
the pressure change during take-off was bothering his ears.  "Are
your ears popping?" Cherie asked.  He replied, "No, Mommy, my ears
have the hiccups!" -- Cherie Newman of Fort Worth, Texas

Laura, 7, was asked to retrieve a Phillips screwdriver from the
kitchen and bring it to her mother. She got one and said, "I think
this one is the Phillips screwdriver because the other one said
Stanley." (And, yes, she did have the Phillips screwdriver.)

Six Secrets of Strong Families
From Secrets of Strong Families by Nick Stinnett and John DeFrain

Do strong families still exist? After 30 years as marriage and family counselors, we know that despite the average family’s ups and downs, the answer is yes. What puzzled us was why so much media attention focused on the down side of family life.

We decided that part of the problem might be a lack of information, and that a round of research – on family strengths – might help to correct the negative slant. We placed a brief notice in four dozen newspapers in 25 states. “If you live in a strong family, please contact us. We know a lot about what makes families fail; we need to know more about what makes them succeed.”

Letters poured in. A questionnaire was mailed to each family who responded and the Family Strengths Research Project was born. So far, more than 3,000 families have participated.

One of the most surprising things to emerge is that six key qualities for making a strong family function were mentioned time and time again by many families. These qualities are:

1. Commitment

Crucial to any family’s success is an investment of time, energy, spirit and heart, an investment otherwise known as commitment. The family comes first. Family members are dedicated to promoting each other’s welfare and happiness – and they expect the family to endure.

For strong families, commitment and sexual fidelity are so closely linked that an extramarital affair is regarded as the ultimate threat to a marriage. “An affair does terrible things to your partner’s self-esteem,” one woman wrote. “It says: ‘You’re replaceable.’”

Some families have seen commitment eroded by a more subtle enemy – work, and its demands on time, attention, and energy. One Wisconsin father offered this insight: “sometimes I feel that the time I spend with my sons could be better spent at the office. Then I remind myself that the productivity report will affect life for a few days or weeks. I must do it and it’s important, but my job as a father is more important.

“If I’m a good father to my sons, they’re likely to be good parents too. Someday – after I’m gone, and certainly after that report has rotted – my grandchild or great-grandchild will have a good father because I was a good father.”

2. Time together